"You sure? I don't mind."
"I'm sure."
Once they were buckled into Gail's Pathfinder, the doc confessed, "I'm glad your boys had that spat. This way I get to spend some time with you."
Frank studied the ME's profile, glowing deep pink in the dying sun.
"What'd I do now?"
"Nothing. I just meant I only see you during autopsies or on Friday nights. Neither place is very conducive for conversation."
Curiosity edged Frank's fatigue out of the way and she decided to spar a little with the doc.
"No says you were asking questions about me the other night."
Gail immediately bristled.
"Did he say that?"
"Yep. He's my main dog. Tells me everything."
Enjoying Gail's embarrassment, Frank continued, "Now that we're in such a conversationally conducive spot, what did you want to know?"
"I was just. . . wondering about you," Gail stammered. "You're so reticent."
"If I'm not mistaken, your exact description was intriguingly impenetrable."
"My God, what'd he do? Recite our entire conversation verbatim?"
Frank was like a cat with a mouse.
"Said you asked about me and Kennedy."
"Oh, God," Gail cringed. "I will never ask him anything again."
"Not if you want to keep it a secret," Frank grinned. "No's the department gossip."
"So I see. Oh God, how embarrassing. It's none of my business, I know. I was just curious about you."
Frank didn't know the doc that well and calculated just how much she wanted to reveal. She and Mag had called themselves roommates, rarely acknowledging the carpet cleaner and muff diver comments. During the long drought between Mag and Kennedy it hadn't been much of an issue; people made presumptions and she'd let them. Besides, she was sure her relationship with Maggie was carefully documented in an IAD file somewhere. Being in the LAPD and having secrets was a contradiction. She'd believed in "don't ask, don't tell" long before Clinton had thought of it. Conversely, Frank didn't like lying to the people closest to her. Her partners knew, and Joe had known. Frank decided to let Gail off the hook, offering, "Kennedy and I are just friends."
She summarized their bad bust on Johnston, and how they had become close as a result. Then Frank appended, "There was something between us, but it's been over for a while."
"Thanks for leveling with me," Gail said, catching her eye. "You didn't have to."
"No big deal."
The light was red and Frank looked away first. Checking out the street scene, she said to Gail, "Your turn."
The doc hesitated. She seemed strained and Frank said, "You don't have to if you don't want to."
"No," Gail breathed. "That's not it. There's just nothing, and no one to tell about. I'm just starting to hate the way that sounds. I've been so busy building a career that in all honesty I haven't ever made the room for a relationship. There were affairs here and there, people I really should have tried harder with, but I was too selfish. And I'm wondering if it's too late now. If I'm too set in my ways."
The doc trailed off, staring straight ahead. She didn't continue and Frank didn't push.
"Where are we going for that drink?" Gail asked.
"Tell you what. I know a place that serves the meanest roast beef sandwich in L.A. with the coldest imported ale. You up for it?"
"Sure. Tell me where to go."
"My place," Frank said. Gail chuckled. The sound was low in her throat and Frank liked it, thought it was kind of sexy. She wondered if Gail did it for effect or if it was just natural. Taking in the doc's simple clothes and the lack of make-up or jewelry, she decided Gail wasn't into artifice.
"What's so funny?"
"Do you always play everything so close to your vest?"
"Always," Frank admitted.
"Does anybody at work know you're gay?"
Frank squinted out the window, "Except for Noah, it's something most of my squad just assumes. I don't talk about it and they don't bring it up."
"I would imagine the LAPD's not the most tolerant institution."
"Now that's understatement. What about you? Rumor mill's outed you."
"I'm not surprised," Gail smirked. "All you have to do is reject a couple Neanderthal's and that automatically makes you a dyke. I feel sorry for straight women."
Gail turned where Frank told her, continuing, "I'm not out at work and don't intend to be. I'm not real comfortable mixing boudoir with business." Making an apologetic face, she said, "I know it's not PC, but frankly I've worked too hard to get where I am and don't want to blow it because of who I sleep with or don't."
"You don't think the good citizens of Los Angeles could handle a lesbian in the Chief Coroner's office?"
"I don't know and I don't want to find out."
The doc swiftly rerouted the subject, asking Frank how long she'd been a cop.
"Closing in on seventeen years."
"You're almost ready for retirement."
"Not quite."
Gail flashed a bright smile, "You like what you do?"
Frank nodded, "A lot. Miss being on the streets, though. It's easy to lose touch."
"I know what you mean. I miss being in the trenches too. I try and do a post every day. Where were you before Figueroa?"
"That's it. Never been anywhere else."
"You're kidding? That's pretty unusual."
"Yeah. Everybody want's to get out of Figueroa, not into it. That's where they put us — me — straight out of the Academy. Probably thought it would be a good way to weed the female boots out. But it was like home to me. Besides, it's a great station for homicide. I'd go crazy in one of the white-collar divisions."
Gail narrowed her green eyes. "You're not one of those adrenaline junkies, are you?"
Frank thought of Kennedy and said, "Definitely not."
They rolled into Frank's driveway. She switched lights on while Gail ooed and ahhed over the split level living room.
"Do I get the grand tour?" she asked.
"Soon as I get rid of this," Frank replied, emptying her bulging pockets. Gun, badge, and cuffs took their place next to case folders and manila envelopes on the crowded dining room.
"The place belonged to an architect," Frank explained, showing Gail the guest room and master bedroom to one side of the living room. She paused at the kitchen, open to the living and dining area, and pulled two Bass Ales out of the fridge.
Indicating the other side of the living room she said, "There's a den over there, and that second door used to lead into the garage. Now it's my gym."
She poured Gail's beer into a mug from the freezer. Hers she left in the bottle.
"Cheers," Gail said.
Frank nodded, draining a quarter of the bottle. She made the sandwiches as they talked easily about staffing nightmares and supervising men in a man's world. The conversation shifted to movies, then food, and Frank found Gail both articulate and amusing. Well after they'd finished the sandwiches, they each nursed a pony of Ruby Pinto, and it hit Frank that she hadn't thought of Placa in hours. She felt a stab of conscience and decided that was pretty unreasonable. Clay was right, maybe she rode herself too hard sometimes.
Gail must have sensed that Frank had drifted from the conversation, because she said, "I think I'd better go. It looks like I'm putting you to sleep."
"No. Not at all. I was just thinking..." Frank hesitated, wondering if she should admit it. "What a nice night it's been."
"Yeah," Gail agreed, rising. "Maybe we can do it again sometime."
"Yeah."
Frank walked Gail out to her car, telling her how to get back onto Huntington. When she went back inside the house was too still. She put a handful of CDs into the player and tapped the random button. She paced through the dining room, the kitchen, back into the dining room, her hand lingering over reports. She glanced at her wrist, wondering if it was too late to call Noah. Probably not, she thought.