along with a stack of Chief Brewer's newsletters, a glossy white four-sheet called The Beat. He assumed The Beat was required reading in this political squirrel cage. He was looking down when he heard the female voice that distressed him the most.
'Mavis,' the voice said, 'can you send all these 301's on the Scully deps out to the subpoena control officer and tell him I need them served as soon as he can get them issued? Also, make sure this charge sheet gets sent to Pam Davis in the District Attorney's Office. They're monitoring his board for a possible murder indictment.'
He looked up and saw Alexa Hamilton standing with her back to him, wearing one of her severe, tailored gray suits. Her shapely calves and tight, rounded ass were only a foot from his face.
'Work, work, work,' he said softly.
She turned abruptly and, for the first time, saw him sitting there.
'It's not work when you're having fun,' she replied.
'Don't forget to subpoena Barbara Molar; she's an eyewitness and supports my statement word for word.'
'We always include exculpatory evidence, despite what you think, Scully. This division exists to try and keep the department clean. We're not down here doing hatchet jobs.'
'This division exists to destroy hardworking cops so people like you can get an E-ticket ride to the top of the department. You know it. I know it. Everybody on the job knows it. But don't take it from me, go ask any uniform sitting in the front seat of a Plain Jane.'
Alexa stood there and tapped her thumb against a file folder. 'Y'know, Scully, you mighta been an okay cop, except you've gotta do everything your own stiff-necked, jackoff way. You're always trying to be the smartest guy in the room, always cutting corners and blaming others. This is a division that is set up to defend the rules and mandates of this department. Since you have your head so far up your ass, you only see things through your navel; it's understandable your view is clouded. That's your problem, not mine.' She turned to Mavis. 'On second thought, Mave, I'm gonna walk this stuff over to the subpoena control desk personally. Nothing's too good for Sergeant Scully.' She turned away and, carrying the paperwork, moved back to her desk behind the counter. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked. Shane felt nothing. She had turned his balls to ice.
The phone buzzed, twice.
'You can go in now,' Mavis said.
Shane got up and headed down the long rectangular space between the east wall and the three reception desks. He entered Zell's office at the end of the room.
Seated behind a slab of oak was Commander Zell. He had his jacket off; a huge Glock automatic in an upside-down shoulder holster hung under his arm like a sleeping bat. It is a proven LAPD street-cop axiom that any officer in plain clothes who wears a shoulder rig is, by definition, an asshole. If it's upside down, then he's a puckered, purebred asshole. Zell looked up and pushed a stack of signed papers away as Shane entered.
'Sergeant, don't bother to sit, you won't be in my office that long.' It was starting out worse than Shane had expected. 'You're under my direct supervision,' Zell went on, but while he spoke, he turned his attention to another stack of papers. 'I expect you to report for duty at eight-thirty every morning, without fail. You have only half an hour for lunch, so I suggest you bring it. You punch out at five. It's a straight eight. No overtime will be approved. Questions?'
'Well, sir, I have to drop a fifteen-year-old boy at school every morning. I have to get him there by eight- fifteen. Eight-thirty is going to be pretty tight.'
'Then here's your solution, Sergeant. You drop him off at eight instead of eight-fifteen.' Zell finally looked up, fixing his gaze on Shane, as if to determine what sort of lame idiot wouldn't be able to figure that out by himself.
'Sir, if I might ask, what will I be doing?'
'You're the unit discovery officer.'
'I'm sorry?'
'On every case going through here, the accused officer has the right to look at all statements and affidavits taken by our IOs. It's called discovery,' Zell said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'In order for the accused to get those documents, somebody has to Xerox the material, or make tape copies if it's a voice or video recording. The discovery officer works at the Xerox machines located on the second floor. There are four machines and some audio/video duplicating equipment. You make copies of everything, including personnel investigations, addenda, and any supplemental findings of proposed disciplinary action. Also include the response of the accused and the reply of the commanding officer, photographs or laser reproductions, rough field-interview notes, chronological records, case summaries, and the department wit list.' He was ticking them off from memory, showing off. 'Every case folder will tell you how many copies and where they are to be sent. They go out by registered mail to the accused officer's defense rep.'
'I'm a Xerox machine operator?' Shane asked. He couldn't believe this was his new job.
'You are the unit discovery officer. Your job is to operate Xerox and electronic duplicating equipment. That's it. That's the job. You're excused.'
'Wasn't there a crummier job you could have given me?' Shane asked, anger creeping into his voice.
'If you don't want the job, just tell me.'
'Why? So you can hit me with a negligent-duty slip and put me in for insubordination?'
'Then go do what you've been asked to do.'
'Yessir.'
Shane moved out of the room and walked back down the hall. He stopped at Mavis's desk. 'What room does the discovery officer use?'
'Room 256,' she said. 'It's locked. Here's the key.' She handed him a key attached to a square wood block. It reminded Shane of a gas-station lavatory key. Appropriate. He was definitely in the toilet. As he moved out of the Advocate Section into the open corridor, he saw Alexa Hamilton coming back from the ladies' room. She passed him, her gaze straight ahead, as if he didn't exist or, more to the point, as if she knew he was about to disappear.
He punched the button for the beautiful old wrought-iron box. The elevator arrived and he got on. An elderly black gentleman in a dark blue blazer was running the lift.
'You must be new here,' the old man said. 'Whatchu gonna be doin'?'
'I'm the new discovery officer.'
'Boy, good goin'. That sounds pretty darn important.'
'Yeah,' Shane said sadly. 'No doubt about it. I am de man.'
Chapter 16
After calling Harvard Westlake and leaving a message for Chooch that he'd be late picking him up, Shane spent the morning Xeroxing cases in the narrow one-window office on the second floor. It was the only office that Internal Affairs had rented on two. Except for the occasional secretary who came in and dropped more cases on his stack, he was alone with his thoughts while the Xerox hummed and coughed up copies, passing its white light over the endless pages.
Shane wondered how much longer he should stay on the job. He'd pretty much run out of police department highway. He couldn't believe that the district attorney would ever bring murder charges. That was just being orchestrated by Chief Brewer to put pressure on him. But being terminated by Alexa Hamilton at his upcoming board was a distinct possibility. Except for Bernie Cookson, the judges were stacked against him. He would probably lose his tin and be kicked out, his seventeen-year pension going down the drain with the verdict.
He thought about Barbara Molar, how he wanted to hold her and make love to her, but this was immediately followed by a puzzling feeling of dispirited grief for something he couldn't identify. Moments later he was aware of a thickening depression. As the Xerox machine hummed and kicked pages into a tray, he tried to work it out.
He knew that pursuing a relationship with Barbara was stupid under these circumstances. Beyond that,
