Free Mirror Image by Dennis Palumbo Page B

sure they bring me the knife first, before it goes to forensics,” Biegler said.
    Casey joined us from the sidewalk, carrying her own cell phone. She handed it to Biegler. “Sinclair, for you.”
    The lieutenant spoke into the phone. Once. “Biegler.”
    For the next two minutes, Biegler just nodded, phone at his ear, not even managing an “uh-huh” or “okay.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatient, embarrassed, suddenly a low link in the chain of command.
    Polk gave me a sidelong glance, through the plume of smoke from the cigarette he was lighting. The wind took the smoke and fanned it away like a flag unfurling.
    Finally, Biegler got another word in. “Right.” Then he hung up and handed the phone back to Casey.
    “Okay, here’s the deal.” He squared his shoulders with importance. “The knife is probably the murder weapon, which pretty much clinches it that the Doc here is the target. Also, looks like the killer is totally confident that he will succeed next time. And wants us to know it.”
    “Or, at least, wants me to,” I offered.
    Ignoring me, he turned to Lowrey. “Detective, I want you to coordinate the CSU data, keeping me informed at all times. I want everything they find—prints, whatever—funneled through me first.”
    Only then, a quick look at me. “Dr. Rinaldi, we’ll need a list of everything that should be in your office. Files, books, personal items. ASAP.”
    Finally, he turned and pointed at Polk. “And, Harry, you get the cakewalk. Baby-sitting the Doc.”
    “No fuckin’ way.” Polk flicked ash from his Camel. “I’m supposed to be Primary on this investigation.”
    “Sinclair wants it this way. At least for the next day or two. If the killer makes a move, we’ve got to have somebody with the stones and experience to block it.”
    Lowrey punched Polk’s arm. “And since we don’t got anybody like that , you’re the next best thing.”
    “Don’t I get a vote?” I asked.
    “No.” Casey’s quick answer surprised me.
    She took a step toward me, subtly putting her back between us and the others. Her look was warm and strangely intimate. Again, as if there were nobody else here but us.
    “We have a safe house on Fifth,” she said. “Just till morning, at least. No way we can let you go home.”
    Just then, a CSU tech in a blue jumpsuit and gloves came out of the office building, holding a plastic evidence bag in both hands. Lowrey waved him over.
    Biegler peered at the long, thin knife through the plastic. Some dried blood from the blade dotted the inside of the bag.
    “All right,” he said. “Tag it and take it down.”
    The CSU guy hurried off. Biegler turned to Lowrey. “I want the whole building sealed. Then grab some uniforms and start canvassing the area. Again.” He pulled his overcoat collar up to his ears. “That’s it. Call me at home if anything pops.”
    We all watched Biegler walk quickly toward his car, parked a few spaces down the street. Something about the petulant stamp of his footsteps managed to convey the lieutenant’s overall disappointment with his life. Conferring with social inferiors at a crime scene, huddling in the frigid wind at one in the morning, having to look at blood-stained murder weapons in plastic bags. He probably figured that wherever Leland Sinclair was right now, barking orders on the phone all over the city, he was indoors and warm, and nursing a drink.
    “God, what a pussy,” Lowrey said in a low voice.
    “Look.” I turned to Casey. “I can’t do any good stuck in some roach motel, playing cards with Sergeant Polk.”
    “You’ve seen too many movies. Besides, this is police business. You’re out of it.”
    “More important,” Polk said, “you sure as hell ain’t gonna get your ass killed on my watch.”
    “I’m touched.”
    “Point is,” Casey went on, “finding that knife in your office made a believer out of Sinclair. And me. This guy’s determined, Danny. So let’s play it