The Chalk Girl

out before our meeting with Rocket Mann. He’d never risk us changing sides. So I have to figure he’s got something on you.’

‘Well, he doesn’t.’ Riker had the cleanest badge in the NYPD, and the brat knew that.

Still driving blind, Mallory rounded a corner and then decided that she believed him. She turned her eyes back to the road and what lay ahead of them – two pedestrians in the crosswalk.

The hairy roundabout in traffic was over; they had come full circle and pulled to the curb. On foot, they entered a giant archway that tunneled through a Centre Street building, and they emerged on the next street to stand at the foot of a public promenade paved with brick and lined with trees, lamp posts and benches. At the far end of One Police Plaza was a small gatehouse for the courtyard of NYPD Headquarters, a fourteen-story fortress built to withstand a siege of nonexistent enemies. Riker’s other name for this place was Paranoia in Spades, and so he knew they would not have to wait long.

Mallory checked her cell phone to read a text message. ‘It’s the gatehouse cop.’ He was their spy, their eye on the revolving door.

The detectives took cover behind a large sculpture, a frozen collision of gigantic red disks fused at odd angles. A few minutes later, Rolland Mann walked past them without his bodyguard, heading for the arch.

‘Nice timing, kid.’ Riker kept his position behind the sculpture – against his better judgment – waiting for another high-ranking official to walk by.

‘He’s coming,’ said Mallory. ‘Pay me.’

The man with the bullet-shaped head, Chief of Detectives Joe Goddard, was moving fast on the promenade, and then he slowed his steps to maintain a covert distance behind the acting police commissioner.

Riker handed his partner a twenty-dollar bill for a lost bet. He had not believed that Goddard would risk doing a shadow detail. And now they had solid proof that there was no official investigation into police corruption; the chief of D’s was running an under-the-table game.

The two detectives strolled through the arch and along the sidewalk of Centre Street. Riker insisted that his partner walk behind him. She had the strange idea that she could become invisible with only a pair of sunglasses to hide her, deluded that men would not stare at her.

Mallory really believed she was good at this.

But today she deferred to her partner. On shadow detail, Riker was the best of the best, though he would admit that Goddard was not all that bad. Fortunately, the chief had not anticipated being tailed, and there was never a backwards glance; the man was so focussed on his own quarry. And so they traveled, turning corners and walking down side streets, four ducks in a row.

The parade came to a halt when Rolland Mann stopped at the spread blanket of a sidewalk hawker and paid cash for a slightly used, certainly stolen, cell phone – a convoluted precaution in an age of anonymous calling cards and disposable phones.

How paranoid could he be?

Transaction done, onward they marched. Riker saw the action of a number punched into the cell phone that was then held to Rolland Mann’s ear to hear the rings. The time between this call and the next one suggested that no connections were made, but the third number resulted in a conversation of several minutes.

Calling concluded, Mann stopped by a vendor’s cart and purchased a bagel in a white sack. He looked around in all directions. His three followers had already stepped into shop doorways and out of sight. While Mann pulled out his bagel, Riker looked down at his side to see Mallory using the camera function of her phone. Click – a picture of Mann unfurling a handkerchief and wiping his prints from the cell phone – click – slipping the phone into the paper sack and – click – after crumpling the sack, he tossed it into a city trash container. Now, bagel in hand, he strolled back toward One Police Plaza.

A moment later, Chief Goddard stepped out on the sidewalk to retrieve the thrown-away phone from the rubbish. Riker followed Mallory’s cue and used his camera phone to snap a picture of the chief of detectives rutting around in the trash. Why not? In addition to proving chain of evidence for the ditched cell phone, this snapshot would make a great Christmas card.

Goddard never saw the two detectives, side by side, melding into foot traffic and turning a corner.

Coffey looked up when his senior detective broke with tradition to make a courtesy knock on the door to his private office. ‘Where’s your partner?’

‘She’s badgering another TV station to announce Humphrey Bledsoe’s funeral.’ Riker flopped down in the chair before the desk. ‘I might need to do some damage control.’

‘Something to do with God?’ And by that, the lieutenant could only mean Chief of Detectives Joe Goddard, every squad’s higher power. Coffey threw up his hands. ‘You’re too late. I just talked to him on the phone. He asked me if I told Mallory she failed her psych evaluation. When he talked to you guys, he had the impression that she didn’t know yet. I guess he’s sending a message . . . maybe a threat?’

‘But you submitted Charles Butler’s psych rebuttal, right?’

‘No, Riker, you really don’t want me to do that.’

‘She’s got a right to challenge Dr Kane’s evaluation. I know her lawyer gave you the—’

‘You mean this?’ The lieutenant held up the wadded ball of a legal document and tossed it over his shoulder. ‘All gone. Mallory’s still in limbo.’

‘What the—’ Riker was silenced when the lieutenant raised the flat of his hand.

‘I went to see Charles Butler today.’ Jack Coffey unlocked the top drawer of his desk. ‘I had a problem with his rebuttal. Small detail – thought it might be a typo. So he showed me his calendar dates for Mallory’s sessions and a draft of his report – a damn carbon copy from a typewriter. Will somebody please get that man a computer?’ The lieutenant pulled two sheaves of paper from the drawer and laid them on the blotter, side by side. ‘Here’s Dr Kane’s original evaluation, the one she failed. And this is Charles Butler’s rebuttal. Read the dates.’ He sat back and laced his fingers behind his head.

When the detective looked up from his reading and said, ‘Shit,’ the lieutenant smiled.

Charles Butler’s four-page defense of Mallory’s sanity mentioned the department psychologist’s evaluation, but Charles’s rebuttal had been written – and dated – a full week before Dr Kane’s findings were submitted to the NYPD. Riker stared at one document and then the other, uncomprehending. ‘How could this—’

‘You know what happened. She couldn’t wait for the official psych report. It was taking too long. So she hacked into the shrink’s personal computer. She knew what was in Dr Kane’s report long before it landed on the chief’s desk – and mine.’

Riker shook his head. ‘Mallory doesn’t make mistakes like this.’

‘Kane’s evaluation might’ve had a different date on it – when Mallory broke into his computer. His report should’ve gone out weeks ago. Your partner probably thought I was sitting on it all this time – just to torture her with more desk duty. Computer hacking couldn’t tell her that Dr Kane had the flu. I got that from his secretary. And that’s why his report was delayed.’ The lieutenant slipped the two evaluations back into his drawer – and slammed it. ‘It’s like Mallory took out a billboard ad to say she broke the law.’

‘What’re you gonna do?’

‘Me? Nothing. She doesn’t need my help to crash and burn. But it’s gonna take her a while to shop for another shrink . . . so she can make a legal challenge.’ The lieutenant’s meaning was clear. Charles Butler was officially out of the loop; the man could not simply alter the date of his rebuttal. ‘So, Riker . . . here’s your other problem. I think Chief Goddard likes Dr Kane’s report. He didn’t even reprimand me for putting a psycho cop on the street. He wants Mallory on this case. The chief might sit on that lousy psych report for years – or take her badge tomorrow if she gets out of line. That’s his style.’

Riker nodded his understanding of style. Joe Goddard’s motives were pure – and delusional. The chief of D’s wanted to reshape the NYPD in his own image. Toward that end, he collected dirt on people from ranks above and below his own. If they could not be remolded to his liking, he removed them. If Mallory failed to bring in the goods on Rolland Mann, she was gone. That was the message in Goddard’s phone call to the lieutenant.

‘Give the chief what he wants,’ said Coffey. ‘And for God’s sake – don’t give Mallory a heads-up. That’s your