Free The Way Things Are by A.J. Thomas Page A

helpful, they started bitching about getting back on schedule. You know, before you showed up at the jail this morning, Connelly was talking about the terminal schedule like it was sacred, and I thought it was just bullshit, but every guy out here is acting like we orchestrated this entire thing just to fuck them out of a couple of hours of work.”
    “No shock and horror, then?”
    “None. Not from anyone who didn’t just storm away because of you.”
    “That was just a misunderstanding,” Ken insisted. “Hell, I was assigned to his son’s case at two this morning, so if anything, I beat you to it.”
    “Fix it, Kenny. Appeal to the man’s better nature, if he’s got one, but fix it.”
    “Like I’ve got a choice. You only have to work with him for this case. I’m responsible for his son’s supervision. It’s only six weeks at the moment, but if this kid’s file from New York is anything to go by, he’s never going to stop reoffending and I’ll be stuck with him until he turns eighteen and I hand his case off to an adult probation officer.”
    Malcolm just rolled his eyes. “People aren’t going to die if the kid gets his hands on another can of spray paint. If this guy walks because Connelly won’t testify, someone might.”
    “Yeah, yeah. Your job’s more important than mine.” Ken climbed back into the car and shifted into reverse. “Thank you for reminding me.” He shut the door and rolled the window down. “Again.”
    One good thing about the docks was that, aside from the stacks of shipping containers and the towering cranes, there were no buildings the father and son could easily duck between. Ken turned around and drove slowly down the road until he came along side Patrick. He rolled down the passenger window again.
    “Pat,” Ken began, carefully using his first name, “you’re free to get your truck. The crime scene unit already cleared it. The only holdup was keeping you and the suspect separate.”
    Patrick chuckled. “Really? I can just head on back there, walk past the police cars, start my truck, and drive away? Without another set of handcuffs and more questions?”
    “I’d suggest you let them move the barricades first, but it’s your truck,” said Ken. “Your address is three miles away, Pat. I’ve got no doubt that you can manage that, but Jay looks like he’s ready to fall over.”
    “Don’t act as if you actually give a damn.”
    “My boss, Mary Anne, was on call last night. She assigned him to my caseload before my brother ever got to work. It’s a weird coincidence, but it is just a coincidence.” Ken pulled forward a bit to keep pace with them. A car behind him honked. Ken glanced in the review mirror, saw the TV station logo on the hood of the van, and glared. The van honked again, and Ken turned on the emergency flashers on the top of the car. It wasn’t a police car, but the flashy blue lights had the same effect.
    Ken caught a glimpse of Patrick as the man glanced backward, trying not to laugh at the creative hand gestures the driver was making. The sight of that half smile was all it took to make Ken’s head spin for the hundredth time since he’d offered Patrick and his son a ride. When he’d first seen Patrick through the mirrored glass of the interview room, he’d thought the man was hot, but up close, he was amazing. Ken had always assumed calling someone “breathtaking” was just a figure of speech, but when Ken caught sight of that real, amused smile, it hurt to breathe.
    “Come on,” Ken muttered, trying to keep his tone even. “You can’t file a complaint about me from out here.”
    Patrick rolled his eyes and waved his phone. “If I can do it on the web, I can do it on my phone. I think I’ll manage.”
    “Pop,” Jay whispered. “If you were arrested this morning, then he’s telling the truth. The lady I talked to last night told me his name, and that he’d come talk to me in the morning. Of course, he never showed