great. You got a lot to offer the right person, and believe me, a lotta times I've wished I was the right person. But I'm not.'
'How would you know if you never tried?' Nancy snaps.
Frank sighs. 'You're a civilian, Nance. Your life revolves around your son and hanging out with your friends and watching reality TV. My life
'Sometimes it's enough just to be with somebody warm at night.'
Frank closes her eyes. The pain inside her head is preferable to the pain outside. Keeping her eyes closed, she listens to Nancy sniffle. 'Look. I don't remember what happened last night. I don't know what I did. If I led you on I am truly sorry. I was drunk. I was wrong. I never meant to hurt you, Nance.'
'Oh, yeah, I know. Because I'm so
Frank doesn't know what else to say. When they get to the bar, she says, 'Thanks for the ride.'
Unlocking her car, she half expects Nancy to chase after her. She doesn't, and Frank blows lights all the way to the station. Because it's preferable to her shame, Frank nurses her irritation with Nancy. There's never been more than a mild flirtation between them, but suddenly Nancy's acting like they're the lesbian Romeo and Juliet.
'Fuck her,' Frank swears. 'Just absolutely fuck her and the duck she flew in on. Fuck Nancy. Fuck Gail. Fuck all of 'em.'
She's still fuming as she changes into a clean suit in the locker room. Her blouse is wrinkled but will have to do. She dry swallows a couple naproxen and brushes her teeth.
Smacking her cheeks, watching blood replace the pallor, she murmurs, 'Christ. I'm as bad as Johnnie.'
She says the words, but refuses to believe them.
After a perfunctory briefing she retreats to her office and closes the door. She curses under her breath at the knock that immediately follows. 'Yeah.'
Lewis pops her head in. 'Can I talk to you a minute?'
Lewis is barely off detective probation and Frank regrets she's been neglecting her. Waving at a chair, Frank answers, 'Always. S'up?'
Lewis delivers Frank two neatly typed 60-days.
'Got an ID on the religious case?'
'Nah.' Lewis flops a meaty hand. 'Still a John Doe.'
While she's got Lewis in her office, Frank decides to confront a nagging concern. 'I hear you and Freeman been knocking boots. That true?'
Lewis is so taken aback she forgets to be angry. Then she remembers. 'Who the hell tolt you that?'
'Heard it a couple different places. If you two think you're being discreet, you're not. You're a senior officer, Lewis. He's a patrolman. I hope it's worth it.'
'We ain't doing
'Might want to limit it to that. You know the regs about mixing it up in the ranks. Wrong person gets wind of it, even if there's nothing going on, might end up in your package.'
'God
'Don't go out of pocket on me, Lewis. I don't write the rules. I'm just telling you what they are. You can go places. You got the brains and the backbone. You want to risk it all on some joystick, that's your business. Just don't say you weren't warned.'
'It's not like that,' Lewis insists.
'Whatever. I'm just telling you. Word's out.' Frank turns her attention to Lewis's follow-up reports.
Frank wants to tell Lewis to not even bother, that sooner or later the romance will end badly. She should just concentrate on her career, because at the end of the day, especially in this line of work, that's all she'll have. But even this is not true, and Frank wisely keeps her counsel.
Over the next few days, she checks in frequently with the Bakersfield PD. If she lived there she'd be surveilling the Ferrises' place every night. Being this far away, all she can do is wait. Frank reinterviews Sharon Ferris's old neighbors. None of them have anything to add about Antoine Bailey. She helps Diego with a messy banger case. The nine-three has three unsolveds in a row and Frank wants to break the cold streak. She stays late at the office and doesn't drink. She avoids the Alibi but knows she'll have to eventually face Nancy.
She goes by after a Saturday afternoon spent at the station. She's been sober all week and allows herself three drinks because it's the weekend. She's surprised to see Nancy, who usually works week-nights. It's slow, but Nancy lets the new girl wait on her. When Nancy is alone at the bar, figuring a tab, Frank approaches her.
'Hey. You ever gonna talk to this asshole again?'
'Hi,' Nancy says without raising her head.
'Look. I'm sorry I was such a—'
'Save it, Frank. I don't need your apology. I don't need anything from you.'
Squaring her tabs together, Nancy drops them into her apron and leaves Frank at the bar.
Chapter 38
The stack of rented movies doesn't hold her attention. She tries reading but can't concentrate. She's finished dinner and the dishes are done. She walks circles in the den after shutting the stereo off. All her music is irritating tonight. She's feels like she's got crabs under her skin.
She makes a pot of decaf and pores over the Pryce books, pacing all the while. But eventually even they lose their grip on her. She has her suspect. All she can do is wait him out. She's already had a grueling workout, but Frank returns to her punching bag. She savages it for almost an hour. The assault leaves her soaked and weak. She thinks maybe she can sleep now. After her shower she rewards herself with a nightcap. Just one. But it's a big one.
A sergeant from Bakersfield PD wakes her at three-thirty. She's pleased about waking Fubar to explain where she's going. Double-checking that she has the warrants, she begins the easy drive north.
She slaloms through light traffic, wind blowing through the car. L.A. recedes and the stars emerge, hard and bright. She falls back to Gail's irrepressible enthusiasm about the stars, how they were shining before she and Frank were born and how they'd be shining long after they were dead and gone. Gail found their continuity reassuring. Frank only finds it depressing.
Watching the blacktop unroll in the path of her headlights, she plans how she'll play Bailey. Frank is wound tighter than coiled steel. Like a tiger stalking a deer, she's deferred hunger for opportunity. She's waited for the perfect moment to strike, and that moment is approaching at eighty miles an hour. One misstep and the prey gets away.
She coordinates with the Bakersfield boys. They park near Bailey's camper. In the new dawn, she knocks on his thin metal door. When he answers, she dangles the search warrant. She tells a stunned Bailey that she's looking for stolen property. She's looking for Ladeenia Pryce's panties, so that's partly true. Frank drops the warrant loosely to her side. By not drawing attention to it, she hopes Bailey will disregard it.
He protests, 'I ain't stole nothin'.'
'Well, let's just have a look,' she says. Swinging into the doorway, she forces Bailey to jump down. Frank steps inside. Behind her, Bailey jabbers about harassment and planting evidence, just like they did to O.J., but in Frank's head it is quiet. This is her moment.
Though the camper reeks of stale grease and cigarettes, it is clean. Frank lays her hand on the built-in table to her left, aware of an old-fashioned, diner-style sugar dispenser. She studies the metal finish encircling the Formica. The same material girdles a narrow counter opposite. Frank pulls a picture from inside her jacket. When she smoothes it against the table, she sees her hand is trembling. There are four smudged lines in the bruise on Ladeenia Pryce's thigh. There are four raised ribs in the metal band. She holds a small ruler against the table edge. The ribbing corresponds roughly to the spacing on Ladeenia's bruise, and Frank gets shaky.
'Easy,' she whispers, her voice as thin and gray as the light seeping through the curtains. She shifts her
