standing near the door, her arms crossed.
Anderson looked at her. “ Joette, go grab us some coffee, would you?”
She didn’t move.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re closest.”
She disappeared.
Anderson finally gave up trying to find the magazine and sat down at his desk. “The article said you refused to be interviewed. How come?”
“I don’t like reporters,” Louis said.
“They can make or break your career,” Anderson said. “And making a name for yourself is the only way you’re going to make any money doing what you do. You’re only what? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”
“T wenty-eight,” Louis said. “And I do okay. I do better than okay.”
Joe came back and handed Louis a Styrofoam cup and some sugar packets. She set Anderson’s cup on his de sk, then leaned against the door jamb.
Anderson was sitting back in his chair, just looking at Louis over the steeple of his fingers. Louis took a drink of coffee. It was awful but at least it was hot.
“The article said you used to be a cop,” Anderson said.
He needed to nip this in the bud; he wasn’t about to explain why he had quit and he had a feeling the article had pretty much told the whole story anyway.
“Major, I know how you guys feel about P.I.s —-”
Anderson stopped him with a raised hand. “Most of the guys. Not all. Not me, that’s for sure. I have no problem with you. I respect what you’ve done, and I hear the guys on the west coast think you’re okay, too. Hell, anyone who can put a serial killer and a goddamn slimy ass lawyer in jail is okay in my book.”
Louis glanced up at Joe. She took the cue and stepped forward. “Louis is here looking for a missing kid. The kid’s father is connected to one of the victims on Eighth Street.”
Anderson never looked at her. “Think your kid’s in Miami?”
“I did, but now I’m not so sure.”
“So you’re heading home?”
Louis nodded.
“Well, I’ll have Joette keep you up on things.” Anderson finally looked at her. “Let me know if you need her to check anything out for you.”
Anderson stood up and stuck out his hand. Louis rose and shook it.
“Tell Mel Landeta I said hello,” Anderson said.
“I will.”
Louis picked up his coffee and followed Joe out. She closed the office door and looked at him, her head cocked.
“ Criminal Pursuits Magazine ?” she asked. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of greatness.”
She wasn’t smiling, but Louis could see the amusement in her narrow eyes.
“Is Joette your real name?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve told him not to call me that. I think if he ever called me Joe, he’d have to start picturing me having balls instead of boobs.”
Louis smiled.
She looked off toward the window. “Let’s go do the report and get you out of here.”
Louis followed her back to the desk. He glanced at his watch as he sat down. It was almost two p.m. He had been gone twenty hours but it felt like a month. He stared at the form, pen poised, then he looked at the phone.
“Dial nine to get a line out .”
He looked up at Joe. “Thanks.”
Joe left him alone and he dialed Susan’s number. It rang five times, six. He sat there, hand to his brow, listening to the empty ring. Finally, someone picked up.
“Hello.”
A man’s voice.
“Who’s this?” Louis demanded.
“Who’s this?”
“Louis Kincaid. What the hell —-?”
“Hold on.” The sound of the phone being muffled and then the man was back. “Sorry, sir. I was just checking. This is Officer Jewell, Sereno PD.”
“Where’s Susan?”
“I think she’s asleep, sir. She’s right over on the sofa there. Should I go get her?”
“No, don’t wake her. Just tell her I called and that I’m coming home.”
“Will do, sir.”
Louis hung up and sat there, staring at the phone. Then he pulled the form over and began filling it out. He was signing his name when Joe came back. He rose quickly. “I’ve got to go.”
She nodded. “Yeah,
Anderson looked at her. “ Joette, go grab us some coffee, would you?”
She didn’t move.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re closest.”
She disappeared.
Anderson finally gave up trying to find the magazine and sat down at his desk. “The article said you refused to be interviewed. How come?”
“I don’t like reporters,” Louis said.
“They can make or break your career,” Anderson said. “And making a name for yourself is the only way you’re going to make any money doing what you do. You’re only what? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”
“T wenty-eight,” Louis said. “And I do okay. I do better than okay.”
Joe came back and handed Louis a Styrofoam cup and some sugar packets. She set Anderson’s cup on his de sk, then leaned against the door jamb.
Anderson was sitting back in his chair, just looking at Louis over the steeple of his fingers. Louis took a drink of coffee. It was awful but at least it was hot.
“The article said you used to be a cop,” Anderson said.
He needed to nip this in the bud; he wasn’t about to explain why he had quit and he had a feeling the article had pretty much told the whole story anyway.
“Major, I know how you guys feel about P.I.s —-”
Anderson stopped him with a raised hand. “Most of the guys. Not all. Not me, that’s for sure. I have no problem with you. I respect what you’ve done, and I hear the guys on the west coast think you’re okay, too. Hell, anyone who can put a serial killer and a goddamn slimy ass lawyer in jail is okay in my book.”
Louis glanced up at Joe. She took the cue and stepped forward. “Louis is here looking for a missing kid. The kid’s father is connected to one of the victims on Eighth Street.”
Anderson never looked at her. “Think your kid’s in Miami?”
“I did, but now I’m not so sure.”
“So you’re heading home?”
Louis nodded.
“Well, I’ll have Joette keep you up on things.” Anderson finally looked at her. “Let me know if you need her to check anything out for you.”
Anderson stood up and stuck out his hand. Louis rose and shook it.
“Tell Mel Landeta I said hello,” Anderson said.
“I will.”
Louis picked up his coffee and followed Joe out. She closed the office door and looked at him, her head cocked.
“ Criminal Pursuits Magazine ?” she asked. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of greatness.”
She wasn’t smiling, but Louis could see the amusement in her narrow eyes.
“Is Joette your real name?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve told him not to call me that. I think if he ever called me Joe, he’d have to start picturing me having balls instead of boobs.”
Louis smiled.
She looked off toward the window. “Let’s go do the report and get you out of here.”
Louis followed her back to the desk. He glanced at his watch as he sat down. It was almost two p.m. He had been gone twenty hours but it felt like a month. He stared at the form, pen poised, then he looked at the phone.
“Dial nine to get a line out .”
He looked up at Joe. “Thanks.”
Joe left him alone and he dialed Susan’s number. It rang five times, six. He sat there, hand to his brow, listening to the empty ring. Finally, someone picked up.
“Hello.”
A man’s voice.
“Who’s this?” Louis demanded.
“Who’s this?”
“Louis Kincaid. What the hell —-?”
“Hold on.” The sound of the phone being muffled and then the man was back. “Sorry, sir. I was just checking. This is Officer Jewell, Sereno PD.”
“Where’s Susan?”
“I think she’s asleep, sir. She’s right over on the sofa there. Should I go get her?”
“No, don’t wake her. Just tell her I called and that I’m coming home.”
“Will do, sir.”
Louis hung up and sat there, staring at the phone. Then he pulled the form over and began filling it out. He was signing his name when Joe came back. He rose quickly. “I’ve got to go.”
She nodded. “Yeah,
Similar Books
