End of Watch

Being in the city was harder than she thought. Maybe Mary was right. Maybe it was too soon. She wondered if Cal's still stood next to the precinct. A couple doubles would feel fine right now. Absolutely fine. But thinking the drinks through to their logical outcome meant there'd be no hot chocolate with Gail in the afternoon. Frank checked her watch, wondering how long she was going to be at the station.

At home, Frank's schedule was unpredictable at best and as Chief M.E., Gail's wasn't much better. Between them broken dates had been the norm, so Gail shouldn't be too upset if Frank had to bail. Maybe she'd be as surprised as Frank was by this twist in events and be willing to let her make it up.

As the cab came off the Williamsburg Bridge, Frank averted her eyes. It was okay to look at the Con Ed yard and Fish Park glittering in its raiment of broken bottles, but she didn't want to look at the projects or tenements. Hurtling up Ludlow to First she couldn't help but notice the tony shops and trendy bars. The gentrincation was a relief, yet at the same time she had to wonder where the poor were getting squeezed to. Seeing familiar names and buildings, her guts clenched. She cursed herself, wishing she'd listened to Mary and stayed home. The taxi rounded a corner and jerked to a stop in front of the Ninth.

Frank stared. The old station house looked cleaner than she remembered.

The cabbie twisted in his seat. 'This the place?'

'Yeah.' She paid him and got out with her carton, mustering the nerve to step inside, up to the desk. Squaring her shoulders she walked under the arch and through the door.

All these years the Ninth had loomed mythic in her memory but in reality the place was small, almost cramped. Frank almost laughed. She walked up to the desk, asking the duty officer where she could find Detective Silvester.

'In regard to what?'

'She's expecting me.'

'Oh, yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'Your name?'

'Lieutenant Franco, LAPD.'

'Lieutenant Franco,' the cop repeated, nonplussed. 'Hold on.' He picked up a phone, eyeballing her as he talked to Silvester. 'Yeah, okay.' He hung up. 'She'll be down in a sec,' he told her.

Frank nodded. About ten minutes later a trim woman in dark gray descended the stairs. The two detectives immediately made each other and as Silvester neared, she reproached, 'You said you were gonna call.'

'Happened to be in the neighborhood.'

Silvester pursed her lips while they took each other's measure.

The detective was a couple inches shorter than Frank, late forties or early fifties, sharp dark eyes, salt-and- pepper hair cut below gold hoop earrings, wide mouth, generously lipped. She looked Mediterranean—Jewish or Italian, Frank guessed.

Tilting her head toward the box, Silvester asked, 'This your evidence?'

'Yeah. So what did you find out?'

'Come upstairs.'

As they climbed, Silvester asked, 'You workin' this case indie, or what?'

'No. Not at all. Like I said, it's a long story and I don't have a lot of time. I'm just visiting for the weekend. Got a nine o'clock flight back home tonight.'

'Oh.' Silvester feigned concern. 'Why didn't you say so? If I'da known that I'da had this case solved for you ten minutes ago.'

'Look.' Frank stopped to glare. 'Enough with the attitude, okay? I come to you as a colleague with potential evidence and you're treatin' me like a snitch hoping to con a twenty outta you. If you can't be bothered with doing your job, find me someone who can.”

Two cops squeezed past them on the steps, one of them crying, 'Me-e-ow.'

Silvester's jaw bottomed out and she took a step toward Frank. 'Of all the freakin' nerve. You know how long it's been since I been home, Miss Hotshot California lieutenant? You know how long since my head's seen a pillow? I can't remembuh the last time I ate because Friday mornin' I got a eight- year-old whacked outta revenge and last night I get a fifty-four-year-old woman assaulted, raped and brained to death with her own broom and you got the freakin' nerve to stand there and tell me I can't be bothered with doing my job? If I had any freakin' strength left I'd kick your ass down these stairs all the way back to the airport!'

A passing man encouraged, 'I got fifty bucks on you, Annie.'

'Make it a hundred,' Annie snapped without looking away from Frank.

When she walks just like a samba that swings so cool and sways so gently.

'Okay. I know you're busy. I know how it is to juggle a dozen hot cases at the same time and something like this is lower than low priority. I appreciate that. I do. I just want to get this evidence delivered through the proper chain of command as soon as I can— this case is nothing to you and with good reason, but this has been my case since I was ten years old and this is the first break I've ever had in it. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking you for.'

Silvester shook her head and continued up the stairs, muttering darkly. Frank followed. Silvester pointed to a chair in front of a desk, ordering, 'Sit!'

Frank did. Silvester took the chair behind the desk.

She glared at Frank while pouring a handful of espresso beans into her mouth. 'How do I know you're who you say you are?'

Glad she'd pocketed her shield and ID card, Frank handed them to Silvester. She jotted down the numbers.

Silvester's phone rang and she picked it up, griping, 'Swell. Probably another Miss Marple with more old clues. Silvester,' she barked. She started scribbling furiously. 'Yeah, okay. At ten-forty, you said? Uh-huh. And the neighbors behind the building? What time?' She made notes. 'Yeah, okay. Thanks, Billy. Gimme twenty minutes, huh?' She banged the phone down, cursed. Yanking open a drawer, she extracted a handful of forms. Glowering at Frank, she snapped. 'Whaddaya got?'

'Two items. One clear glass Nino de Atocha religious candle and a glass mayonnaise jar.'

'Hold on,' Silvester said, filling out a form. 'How do you spell Atocha?'

Frank read off the candle. A thin, white-haired man strode into the room and when Silvester saw him she dropped her pen.

'Charlie, Charlie, Charlie,' she purred. It came out 'Cholly, Cholly, Cholly.'

'Annie,' he chortled from under a white handlebar moustache. 'How are you, love?'

She stood to receive a big hug, chiding, 'Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?'

'I am,' he wheezed. 'But we decided to drive home a couple days early. Supposed to be a big storm coming Tuesday and we didn't want to get caught in it.'

'What are you doing here?'

'I heard you caught a couple while I was gone. Thought you could use a hand.'

'Charlie Mercer, God love ya. There's a gold seat in heaven for you.'

'Yeah.' The old man chuckled. 'Probably an electric chair.'

Silvester pushed the forms toward him. 'Come help our friend here from Los Angeles. She's got some evidence needs bookin'.' Sliding her chair back, Silvester shrugged into a heavy coat.

'Which case?' Charlie asked.

Annie scribbled a note and handed it to him. 'Here's the number. Be a doll and check it out for me, huh? I'm sure the lieutenant here'll be glad to fill you in on the rest.' She stood on tiptoe to peck the old man's cheek. 'Thanks, Charlie.'

Grabbing a welter of binders and papers, she left Charlie and Frank staring at each other.

CHAPTER 9

Figuring it would go easier if Mercer knew he was talking to another cop Frank extended a hand and introduced herself. Mercer shook, asking, 'Los Angeles, huh?'

'Yeah.' Tipping her head toward the candy carton she explained, 'I'm on vacation and happened to find these.'