It seemed to Wade that whenever Charlotte got really angry, she was stricken with a mild case of Tourette’s syndrome. He found it endearing.
“That’s a sticky dilemma,” Wade said.
She glared at him. “You’ve faced off with that guy before, haven’t you? It’s how you got all of those guns you had me take downtown.”
“He shot my car, so I shot his.”
“My God,” she said. “You’re behaving like children.”
“We can’t afford to look weak,” Wade said, “or we will never establish our authority.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll be dead long before that becomes an issue.”
“It was just a threat,” he said.
“This tit?for?tat game can only escalate,” she said. “It won’t end well.”
Wade knew she was right, but he also knew that there was no other way. Someone had to quit. Or die. It was how things were, and always had been. Evening the score was the oldest brand of justice that there was, and in the absence of any other kind, it was better than nothing.
It eventually restored the balance, which was a kind of peace.
An imperfect peace, but peace nonetheless.
They went back to the station and swept up the glass without speaking a word to each other. There was nothing they could do about boarding up the space left by the windows until morning.
After a snack of candy bars and coffee, they went back on patrol, cruising around the neighborhood in silence and without trouble until daybreak, when they returned to the station.
Wade got in his Explorer and drove to a lumberyard. He bought several sheets of plywood, strapped them to the roof of his car, and went back to the station, where Charlotte was using a knife to dig the bullets out of the front counter and drop them into evidence bags. It was pointless, but the right thing to do.
Wade began hammering the plywood over the windows inside the station while Charlotte busied herself with the latest issue of American Police Beat. She was pissed off and not hiding it well. He was nearly done with the job when Mandy walked over with two cups of coffee and surveyed the damage.
“It doesn’t look like you’re making a lot of friends around here,” she said.
“At least I’ve made one,” he said, taking the coffees from her.
“Yeah, but you can’t sleep with everybody.”
Wade looked over his shoulder to see if Charlotte heard the remark, but if she had, she wasn’t acknowledging it.
“Thanks for the coffees,” he said.
“I’ll put them on your tab,” she said and walked away.
Wade brought one of the coffees over to Charlotte and set it down on the desk in front of her as a peace offering and retreated to his desk.
They were still sipping their coffees in silence when Billy drove up, doing a slow glide as he passed the front of the station, then parked in back. He bounded in already in uniform and full of energy and enthusiasm. It made Wade feel all the sleep he wasn’t getting. He had to get more rest, but that would have to wait until he made some progress that day into Glory’s murder. He knew from experience that the best chance of closing a homicide is within the first forty?eight hours. After that, the chances of solving it drop dramatically. He couldn’t afford to sleep.
“Holy shit,” Billy said. “What happened?”
“We had a drive?by last night,” Wade said.
“I wish I could have been here last night to back you up,” Billy said. “I’ve never been in a shoot?out.”
“There wasn’t one,” Charlotte said. “We weren’t even here when it happened.”
“It was a warning,” Wade said.
Charlotte got up and dropped her coffee cup in the trash. “I’m out of here.”
“You’re that scared?” Billy asked her.
“No, I’m that tired,” Charlotte said. “My shift is over, remember? I’m going home.”
“On your way, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by MTA headquarters and get the security?camera tapes from all the Blue Line buses that ran to Havenhurst on Monday.”
“You think you’ll see Glory on one of those tapes?” Charlotte asked.
Wade shrugged. “Either way, it’ll tell us something.”
“Who is Glory?” Billy asked.
Wade tossed Billy a set of keys. “The dead girl. I’ll tell you all about it while you drive.”
“Where are we going?”
“Havenhurst,” Wade said.
“That’s not on our beat,” Billy said.
“It is today,” Wade said.
Havenhurst was one step higher up the social ladder than Meston Heights. For one thing, there were actually a few hills there, all of them offering spectacular views of the Chewelah River. But the best properties were right on the river itself or along several man?made tributaries. They all featured huge mansions set back from the water by an acre or two of lawns, pools, gardens, guesthouses, and tennis courts.
The Burdett house was an English Tudor perched on a hill that sloped gently down toward the river, where they had a large matching Tudor boathouse and dock.
Wade parked the squad car in the cobblestone motor court beside a sparkling Bentley and a new red Ferrari.
The two officers got out. Wade turned to Billy, who was admiring the Ferrari as if it were a Playboy centerfold.
“Stay here,” Wade said.
“Gladly,” Billy said and stroked the hood of the car.
Wade went to the front door of the house, where he was met by a big?haired blonde woman in her fifties in a V?neck blouse and shorts. The angles on her face were unnatural, her lips were too plump, and her skin was too taut, all of which combined to make her look constantly stunned and ready to kiss something. She stepped out onto the porch, her big, hard breasts leading the way.
“May I help you, Officer?” she asked.
“I’m Sergeant Tom Wade. Are you Gayle Burdett?”
“Yes, I am,” she said. “Are you looking for a donation to the policeman’s ball?”
“I didn’t know we had a ball,” he said.
“It’s at the Claremont, down on the water, in the fall. It’s lovely. It raises all kinds of money for the department.”
“I’ve never been invited.”
“Maybe you haven’t sold enough raffle tickets to earn an invitation.”
“That must be it,” he said. “Actually, I’m here about Glory Littleton.”
Gayle stepped aside and gestured for him to come inside. “What has she done?”
Wade edged past her breasts into a grand marble foyer with two large sweeping staircases that framed the entry to the two?story great room and picture windows with an incredible view of the lawn, the dock, and the river. “What makes you think that she’s done anything?”
“You’re here, she didn’t show up to clean yesterday, and she’s one of them.”
“Them?”
“Those people down there,” she said, waving her hand in the general direction of downriver. “You know who I mean. The ones who will pimp their mother for crack.”
“Oh yeah, those people.”
“But she’s always been great with us,” Gayle said. “I could leave my jewelry out when she was dusting and not worry about a thing. Was I wrong?”
“She didn’t commit any crimes-at least not that I know of.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“She’s been murdered,” Wade said.
Gayle gasped and put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were already very wide, so he was grateful for the
