the suspected robber, who escaped. Sudas had been recently out of prison after serving time on a felony assault charge. He was arrested not long after his release, this time on drug charges. Judge Lewis Kerr tossed that case out during the preliminary hearing. Kerr ruled that the arresting officer, narcotics detective Robert Hitchcock, had acted improperly when he searched Sudas’s car and failed to show the probable cause necessary for a warrantless search of the vehicle. Within six months of his release, Sudas met up with Lisa Adams and sought her help with the robbery.
Frank took the pages back to his desk. He reread the article more slowly now. The largest photo was of Lisa Adams, looking blankly at the camera. Even in this poor reproduction, she appeared to be in shock. He was studying the photo when suddenly the fax was snatched from his hands.
“You asshole,” Vince said, tearing the pages in half and crumpling them into a ball. “You fucking asshole. You want to get back at me, you leave Lisa out of it!”
“This isn’t about her, Vince. Or you. That’s not why I was looking at that article.”
“Bullshit! Reading that crap in the paper.” He tightened his fists. “What’d you do? Get your wife to help you find something on me? Maybe I’ll start dragging your wife’s name through the mud. See how you like it.”
Frank stood up. “I said, this isn’t about your wife or you.”
“I don’t give a shit how big you are, Harriman,” he said, leaning closer. “You damned liar.”
“Get out of my face, Vince. Now.”
“I can’t believe you’d sink this low.”
Reed and Pete walked in the room just then. “Vince!” Reed called. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
Vince threw the torn fax at him without saying anything. He reclenched his fists.
Reed uncrumpled the ball, saw what the fax was about, and said, “Frank?” in a tone full of disappointment.
“I told him,” Frank said, “this isn’t about his ex. I was checking out something else.”
“Well, then,” Reed said, relieved. “Nothing to be upset about, is there, Vince?”
Vince was silent.
“Pete, help me out here,” Reed said. “Frank wouldn’t lie to any of us, right, Pete?”
Pete said nothing. Outraged, Frank turned to look at him. Pete looked away — just as Vince threw a punch.
Frank had expected it, though, and easily dodged the blow. He grabbed Vince’s wrist and pulled him halfway across the desk, then pinned him to it, holding him down with most of his weight. He pressed Vince’s face into the desk and said, “The only person around here who has mentioned her name is you.”
Vince struggled, but Frank was stronger. And nearly as angry.
“Frank…” Reed said.
“I’ll let him go when my partner asks me to,” Frank said. “Oh, wait — I can’t. I don’t have a partner.”
He straightened and shoved Vince off the desk. Vince wasn’t able to get his footing and landed hard on his ass.
Carlson came into the room just then.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Vince said.
“Then why are you on the floor?”
“I slipped and fell.”
Carlson looked at the other three. No one spoke. When the lieutenant turned toward Frank, Reed silently pocketed the fax.
“You,” Carlson said, pointing at Frank. “You seem to be at the center of a number of disturbances in our office lately.”
“It wasn’t Frank,” Pete said. “It was me. Just a joke I played on Vince that got a little out of hand, that’s all.”
“Read the department regulations!” Carlson said, rounding on him. “Horseplay is strictly forbidden!” He pointed a finger at Pete’s chest. “Do you know what we can do to those who engage in horseplay?”
“Ask for a blindfold and a cigarette, Pete,” Frank said. “They say it goes easier that way.”
The others laughed, with the exception of Carlson. He marched off toward his office.
The moment he was gone, the sour mood descended on the others again. Vince regained his feet and left the office. Pete and Reed followed suit.
39
Thursday, July 13, 7:55 P.M.
The Kelly-Harriman Home
He placed his skates, helmet, and uniform in a large duffel bag — already occupied by shin guards, elbow pads, and other hockey gear — and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He was choosing a pair of sticks when the dogs began barking, and soon after, someone rang the doorbell.
He swore softly. Irene wasn’t home — she had taken Seth to the skating rink not long after dinner, to enjoy some of the public skating time before the evening’s hockey games started. Elena was depressed or pouting or both — he couldn’t tell which — and had stayed behind, shutting herself up in the guest room. And now, just before he needed to leave, someone was at the door.
