The Snow Angel (27 page)

“Is your boss black?” Easterly asked.

“He's a white liberal. He said this was another attempt by the racist cops to undermine a black man.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“He said the police department has a long history of racism, and that's why they're trying to sabotage Jefferson Mosely.”

“Sabotage? The guy's a first-class asshole. He's in town ten minutes and everyone in the department has him pegged.”

“So I've heard. But my boss insisted my source had to be racially motivated. He told me to get my butt over there and get their side of it—before he'd even consider running the story.”

“Welcome to the world of political correctness,” Easterly said, trying not to sound bitter. “Thanks for covering for me.”

“I just wish there was some way to get this on the air.”

”I wish a lot of things,” Easterly said as she signed off.

I wish I lived in a world that was fair. I wish people could get along with each other. Most of all, I wish evil people didn't hurt little children.

Now, ten minutes after finishing with York, Easterly was startled by the sudden appearance of Stan Jablonski at her door. He noticed the dimness of the light. “You all right, Inspector?”

“No.” She beckoned for him to come in and close the door.

“What's wrong?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“Stan, I want your thinking about a couple of things.”

“Sure thing.” The old sergeant sat down. “What's up?”

“I know you talk to the troops, gossip a little…”

“Only harmless stuff. I never reveal anything sensitive.”

“I know that, too. I trust your judgment. So help me understand something.”

Easterly told Jablonski about the situation with Mosely, Demarest and York. He listened sympathetically. “I understand, skipper. If I were in your shoes, I would've done the same thing. What is it you don't understand?”

“Why Mosely and Demarest are sucking up to each other like this. They barely know one another.”

“Mosely's a career chief of police, hopping from place to place,” Jablonski said. “This won't be his last stop. He has his sights on something bigger, maybe New York or L.A.—some city that needs a black face at the helm—like we did.

“But he can't afford to look bad. So he can't admit any screw ups—especially one that helped kill a child.”

“Jesus,” Easterly groaned. “That figures. Why am I not surprised?”

“As for the FBI, they're in constant contact with police administrators all over the country. Mosely knows Demarest can help him with the right people.”

“What about Demarest?” she asked. “What's in it for him? This went beyond just the usual FBI arrogance.”

“My pals in the Bureau—I do have a couple; they're not all morons—they tell me Demarest is looking to become an Assistant FBI Director. That's why he grabbed this case—because it's high profile, the kid being a celebrity and all. And it's why he distanced himself when things went sideways.”

“So they scratch each other's backs and cover each other's asses, all
at the same time,” Easterly said.

“Being a whore isn't always about sex. You know that. Guys like these, they're so mediocre they can't rise on their own merits. So they use whatever they have going for them. With Demarest it's a headline case. With Mosely it's his skin color.”

Easterly stood up and turned on a light. She felt fatigue down to her bones. She needed a night with David. “So, tell me, Stanislaus, what does any of this have to do with crime, punishment and the public safety?”

“Nothing, boss. It never has and it never will.”

“You're even more cynical than I am.”

“That's because I'm older than you are.” Jablonski smiled. “Inspector, these guys—the Moselys and Demarests of the world—
they're
the cynics. They don't even
think
about things like right and wrong. Guys like Kane and Bell, screwed-up as they are, they're the kind who worry about things like that.”

“And people like us.”

“Yeah, and people like us. The only time those Mosely and Demarest types feel pain is when things don't go their way. They're like those TV news creeps. They couldn't care less about the Darryl Childresses of the world.”

“So what should I do?” Easterly asked. “I'm getting burnt out and jaded. I'm turning into a tired old cop.”

“Hang in there for
us,”
Jablonski commanded. “The real cops are counting on you. Chief of Detectives! My God, did you hear that cheer? Do you know how many admirers you have in this police department? You're the voice of reason.”

Easterly sat back down and looked at her adjutant, feeling a swell of gratitude. “Thanks, Stan.”

He smiled. “Now do you want some additional Father Jablonski advice?”

“Sure.”

“Go home, spend some time with your husband, get a good night's sleep.”

“As soon as Kane and Bell get back, I intend to do just that,” she said.

“Kane and Bell. I like the way you handled that.” Jablonski stood up. “Inspector, that's why the troops care about you. You have a great heart.” Easterly's throat tightened with emotion. “Get out of here, Sergeant.”

W
et snow was falling by the time Kane and Bell arrived downtown. Rush-hour traffic was snarled. Bell crept along toward headquarters, peering through the windshield wipers. Kane, in the shotgun seat, was again scrutinizing the mug shots in the passing lights.

“Those faces haven't changed since the last time you looked,” Bell said. “It's like you're
obsessed,
or something.”

“You mean you aren't? Don't give me that shit.”

Bell looked over at Kane. “I saw you in that alley last night.”

“What do you mean, you
saw
me?”

“I saw you drinking,” Bell said. “You had a flask, and you were drinking.”

Kane felt a fresh surge of anger. “Man, you already have me by the balls. Why are you busting them all of a sudden?”

“And then I saw you crying. Crying about the little boy.”

“Jesus!”

“That was the first time I ever thought of you as human.”

Kane shook his head bitterly. “For God's sake, don't tell anyone.”

“Then today I saw you
laugh.
You were talking to that old geezer before the meeting, the guy with a face like a mink. You were fighting it hard, but one time you actually
laughed.”
Bell shook his head. “Amazing what I've seen lately.”

“Why the
fuck
are you so interested in my emotional well-being all of a sudden?”

“Well,” Bell said, “you gotta admit we're sort of—what's the word?
—bonded
here.”

“Like I had a lot of choice in the matter,” Kane added.” He turned to the snow-spattered window and looked out. Then, despite himself, picturing ferret-faced George W, Kane smiled. “You know what the old fart's in for? He cut off his old lady's head and shot his best friend in the balls. Just because he caught them diddling each other.”

“The death penalty for adultery. It has a ring to it.”

“He said he was in a blackout, didn't even remember doing it. Thirty-three years ago.”

“Lotsa guys are there for things they don't remember. At least he's
doing something about his problem.”

“Fat lot of good it'll do him,” Kane said. “He's serving natural life.”

“Well, maybe he's a free man anyway.” Bell rubbed his eyes. “Could be he's freer than you are.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“When I was drinking, I was in a prison,” Bell said, “the prison inside my own head.”

“Listen,
Isaiah,
I'm cooperating, okay? Spare me the conversion speech.”

“You're right. I'm sorry.”

They arrived at headquarters, both of them exhausted. Platoon Two had gone for the night, so they found a parking spot in the basement garage. “Let's get upstairs before the Inspector leaves,” Kane said.

“One minute,” Bell said. He went around to the trunk and retrieved his briefcase containing Kane's bottle and his dope. Kane stood there glaring.

“What? You think I'd forget?” Bell asked.

“Well, I was sorta
hoping”
Kane said sarcastically. “You know, in light of our
bonding”

“Kane, we have an agreement, you and I. You don't welsh on a deal with me.”

“You know, Ike baby, I was right all along. You really are a prick.”

In silence, they rode up the creaky elevator to the fifth floor. They walked down the hall to Easterly's office. Jablonski was doing paperwork. He smiled when Kane and Bell walked in. “Nice work, guys.” He gestured toward her inner office. “She's waiting for you.”

Easterly was behind her desk staring out at the falling snow. She swiveled around and greeted the two detectives. “Welcome back,” she said.

“It's been a long day, skipper,” Bell said.

“There's good news. We got a positive ID on your boys.”

“The Chinese woman?” Kane asked eagerly.

“She's sure about both of them,” Easterly said.

Kane and Bell looked at each other. “Good,” Bell said. “That's real good.”

“We're doing a citywide canvas tonight, based on the information you two provided. I've got most of Major Crimes out beating the bushes.”
Easterly looked back and forth between the two detectives. “It was a stroke of genius for me to bring you two in on this case.”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Kane muttered.

“Now go get some rest,” Easterly ordered. “If we don't have these two in custody by morning, you'll have more work to do. Roll call is at eight.”

Kane and Bell turned to leave. “Ike, you forgot something,” Easterly said. She tossed Bell the keys to the Ford. “Thanks for your car.”

“Sure thing,” Bell said. He smiled at Kane. Kane just looked down at the floor, pissed off all over again.

E
asterly lay in bed with David, reading. She was fatigued beyond her tolerance. At the same time, she was worried whether she'd be able to get to sleep.

She tried to concentrate on a magazine piece about the state of the cinema. But her mind would not stop replaying every aspect of this hideous case—and the internal politics of local law enforcement. Images from the day's events kept flooding into her head.

Over on his side of the bed, David was reading a legal journal, brushing up on case law. Easterly covertly watched her husband. All these years, and she still could not comprehend how his mind could bend itself around material that boring. This was an aspect of the man which still fascinated her.

Finally he yawned and closed the journal. “Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “About how I don't have to take the job?”

“What's the matter? Something happen I don't know about?”

“No,” she said. “I mean yes.”

Then she blurted out the story about Nanci York, Mosely and Demarest. It came in a rush. Only when she heard herself telling it did Easterly realize how angry she really was.

“You weren't going to tell me this?” David asked. It was a gentle question, not an accusation.

“I didn't think I should bother you with it.”

“Since when have your problems been a bother to me?”

“What should I do?” she asked.

”It seems to me the question is, how much can you handle? As Chief of Detectives you'll be right under Mosely's thumb. But even if you don't take it, even if you stay in
this
job, you'll still have to deal with him constantly. The only way to be rid of him is to quit.”

“And that's not an option.”

“Three more years you can retire. You can leave sooner if you don't take any sick time.”

“I don't
want
to retire,” she protested. “Besides, in three more years Mosely will have only two to go.”

“Unless he's indicted or gets a better gig somewhere else.” David smiled. “Or he dies. All the Homicide dicks you have working for you, you can't arrange that?”

Easterly laughed. “You're starting to sound like a cop.”

“I've been married to you for too long.”

“Seriously, David, what should I do? Give me a nice, reasoned, lawyer-like answer.”

“Where can you do the most good for the city?”

“The Chief of Detectives is a lot more visible. And I'll have more juice with the Council and the Commission.”

“Well, my dear Bobbie, there's your answer.” He took her hand and examined it lovingly. “What's the worst thing that can happen?”

“I'll have a nervous breakdown and they'll cart me off in a straightjacket.”

“Well, I'll love you anyway.” He kissed her hand. “I'll even visit you in the nut house. If I'm not too busy with my teenaged mistress, that is.”

She slapped him playfully on the cheek. They lay there for a long moment, looking into each other's eyes.
You really are a lucky woman, Bobbie. Don't ever forget it.
Then she kissed him, passionately.