I go to the break room for coffee, spend a few minutes at my desk getting my head straight, then lift my briefcase onto the desktop, opening the limp leather flap. From my drawer I transfer Bea Kuykendahl’s file on Ford into my case, along with every bit of paper I can find related to the investigation. The keyed lock on the flap is broken, so I pull the wraparound straps taut before tucking the briefcase back under the desk, ready for a quick exit.
A loud thump on the other side of the cubicle wall gets my attention. Glancing over, I find Cavallo dumping a second cardboard box onto Lorenz’s old desk. The rest of her things are secured by bungee cords to a collapsible luggage cart.
“Moving in?”
“Don’t start in on me, okay? It’s hard enough-”
I lift my hands in surrender. “No offense intended. I’ve been called to the principal’s office, that’s all. I don’t look forward to it. What’s she got in store for me? I’m guessing you already know.”
“Come on, March, you can’t ask me that. My loyalties are complicated enough. I can’t go behind her back. You know that.”
“Just tell me this: should I be worried?”
“If I played the game your way, I’d always be worried.”
I have to smile at that.
The clock is ticking, but before I obey the summons from Wanda, I take Cavallo through the office and introduce her to some of the newer detectives, the ones who weren’t around to witness her work on the Hannah Mayhew case firsthand. I let them know Hedges wanted her in Homicide back then, trying to head off any potential ill will. It’s the least I can do for a friend who’s put her career on the line for me more than once.
While I’m breaking the ice for her, the captain’s door opens and Bascombe peers out. He beckons me with a crook of the finger.
“Wish me luck.”
I don’t know what this place will look like once Wanda’s put her stamp on it. In a lot of ways, it’s changed already. The old stalwarts are gone. Hedges is gone. Lorenz. Of the old guard, there’s just Bascombe and me, and our relationship has always been tenuous. The squad as I knew it is over and I’m turning the page-as always-with a blot on my book.
The captain’s office proves unrecognizable. Everything’s changed, right down to the carpet. The sterile, businesslike style Hedges preferred has been replaced by tufted chairs, warm earth tones, and blond wood. Even the cheap metal blinds have given way to thick white plastic ones with faux grain molded into the slats. Instead of waiting behind her desk, Wanda occupies a wing chair in a new seating area, while Bascombe sits rigid on the low couch, his knees halfway to his shoulders.
“Come in, March,” she says. “Have a seat.”
I take my place beside Bascombe. Wanda crosses her leg and consults a notebook resting in her lap, reminding me of a therapist.
“I feel like I should be lying on the couch.”
She smiles faintly while Bascombe just shifts his weight.
“I’ve asked the lieutenant to sit in,” Wanda says. “I’m sure you know what this is all about. You’ve worked for me in the past, so you know how I like to run things. I expect a lot from my people and they expect a lot from me.”
“I understand.”
“Lieutenant Bascombe has already briefed me on your case load. While you’re on leave, we will be reassigning the open investigations. Theresa Cavallo will pick up the slack, so I’d like you to brief her on anything outstanding.”
“Is that really necessary?” I ask. “Nothing against Cavallo, but the thing is, I’m ready to come back to work.”
“You’ve been through quite a trauma.”
“Regardless, I don’t want to sit on the sidelines any longer.”
“There’s the question of the IAD investigation. Until that’s concluded-”
“I’ll be riding a desk. I understand.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you do understand. Until further notice, you are on leave. We’ll review the situation periodically and reassess. In the meantime, I want you to hand everything over to Cavallo and bring her up to speed.”
“What are you trying to say, Wanda?”
“I think I said it.”
“That sounds like indefinite suspension to me.”
“Not at all.”
I turn to Bascombe for intercession. He’s busy counting the tiles in the suspended ceiling. Clearly Wanda has already clipped his wings.
“Listen,” I say. “My partner was murdered practically before my very eyes. I was held at gunpoint while they removed important evidence from the scene. We don’t have the luxury of sitting back and waiting, Wanda. This needs to be our top priority.”
“Are you really going to fight me on this, Roland? On my first day in the saddle? Frankly, I’m insulted that you feel the need to lecture me on my priorities. If you had your head on straight, you’d realize that the second you decided to shoot a man in half with a machine gun, your involvement in the case was basically over. At best you’re a witness, at worst-I don’t even want to say it.”
The problem with having history between us is, it gives me liberty to say more than I should. At a certain point, in an argument with Hedges or Bascombe, I’d know when to shut my mouth. Not with Wanda, though. In a family squabble you speak your mind, even when it’s suicide.
“You know something,” I say, “it is your first day, and with all due respect I’m only lecturing you because you seem to need it. One of our people is dead. We should be out there making our presence felt. There are some serious irregularities in this case and-”
Bascombe cuts me off, coming to life so suddenly he makes me flinch. “Now you listen to me! You’re way over the line. Now you either shut your mouth right now or you will be on indefinite suspension. Do I make myself clear?”
“Lieutenant,” Wanda says calmly.
I stare at Bascombe, still surprised. And then it dawns on me what’s going on. Despite what Wanda said, he hasn’t briefed her on the case, not entirely. He jumped in to prevent me from enumerating the irregularities-namely the FBI runaround and the fact that, unless he has a twin brother, my decapitated victim is very much alive and well and wielding a shotgun.
“You were saying?” Wanda asks me. Not that she really wants to hear it. She’s just giving me more rope.
My first impulse is to get everything out in the open. Why hold back? But Bascombe chose not to say anything, and he must have his reasons. I can feel the tension coming off him in waves.
“Nothing,” I say. “Never mind. If you want me to take a couple of days off, that’s your call. You can imagine the stress I’m under, so please disregard what I just said.”
She lifts her hand. “Don’t say another word. Lieutenant, let’s have Detective March come back in two weeks-”
“Two weeks?”
“-for a reassessment. Assuming he’s up to it and there are no new developments, we can look at the option of restricted duty.” She makes a note on her pad, then rises to escort me out. Again, like a shrink whose client’s hour just ran out. Bascombe starts to follow me out, but she recalls him to the couch, saying they have a lot of work to get through. “I’m sure March knows how to find the exit by now.”
After I’ve summarized my open cases for Cavallo and answered questions to the best of my ability concerning a couple of Lorenz’s files, I hoist my briefcase and make for the door. With every step I expect to be called out for trying to leave with the Brandon Ford paperwork. But I make it to the elevator without incident, then down to the lower-level garage.
Charlotte calls from her office, asking if I’m interested in lunch. I start to agree, but I really don’t feel up to it. I want to be alone, to lick the fresh wounds the morning has inflicted on my pride. Sensing my mood, she backs off.