Free Cold Blood by Lynda La Plante Page B

have a bad word to say about her except that she got pissed when she missed a fucking volley.

    Lorraine called Rosie at the office from her cell phone.
    “Any developments?”
    “No, not yet,”
    Rosie replied.

    “Rooney gone to see that psychic?”
    asked Lorraine.

    “I think so, but he sort of thought it was a waste of time.”
    “Yeah, okay, I’m on my way to the Caleys’. I haven’t come up with anything positive yet, so I’ll interview them and then call in when I’m through.”
    “Oh, I think Rooney wanted to be in on your meeting with the Caleys, didn’t he?”
    “Rosie, I am running this case, not Bill Rooney.”
    No sooner had Rosie replaced the phone than Rooney barged into the office.

    Rosie smiled.
    “Lorraine just called in, she’s on her way to the Caleys’.”
    “Shit, I wanted in on that meet.”
    “I know, I told her, and she said she was running the case, so …”
    Rooney tossed his hat at the stand and missed, then took off his jacket, showing his sweat-stained shirt.
    “Well, I got a contact. Old buddy of mine used to be on the force ‘bout ten years ago, now works with the top investigation agency hired by the Caleys, Agnew. To be honest, I didn’t think he’d still be working, got a good pension when he was invalided out. Poor bastard got a leg full of lead… . I’ve arranged to see him tonight.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Nick Bartello.”
    Rooney frowned.

    “Italian, is he?”
    “At one time. She won’t like him. Dunno if they met, they were attached to different departments. He was drugs, she was with me on homicide.”
    “Why won’t she like him?”
    “He’s a dead ringer for her old partner, Lubrinski, same kind of guy. Nick and he were partners, short-lived ‘cause Lubrinski moved over to my team.”
    “Who’s he?”
    Rooney frowned.
    “She never mention him to you?”
    “No.”
    RosjŁ”Łrossed to the coffeemaker and began to brew up a pot.

    “They were partners at the old station.”
    “So why won’t she like him? If he’s a pal of yours maybe he can give us some inside information.”
    “Maybe. So she’s never mentioned Lubrinski to you?”
    Rosie returned to her cluttered desk.
    “No …”
    “He’s dead.”
    “Well, maybe that’s why.”
    She sat down.

    “He was one hell of a guy, Lubrinski, great cop. In fact, I gotta tell you, Rosie, during my time I saw a lot go down. Not all died, some just folded, you know, mentally, but Lubrinski, when I was told he’d bought it, he was the only officer I cried for. Not because he was one hell of an officer, he was that, but he was also a great guy, could drink any man under the table. Loner, crazy son of a bitch. When I partnered him with Lorraine I reckoned on fireworks …”
    “And?”
    Rosie asked, only half listening. But because Rooney remained silent she looked up. He was staring into space.

    “They were one fucking good team, best I ever had. He was injured in cross fire, took three bullets. He bled to death in the ambulance. She’d made a sort of tourniquet to try and stop the bleeding, used her panty hose … but it didn’t work. He was dead on arrival at the hospital, and she wouldn’t let go of his hand. Orderly told me they’d had to force her to let go, that she kept on saying he was gonna be     Rosie raised her eyebrows.
    “Well, she’s ne%r mentioned any of this to me. What happened afterward?”
    Rooney sighed, shifting his bulk.
    “She requested to be returned to duty immediately. About six weeks later she killed that kid… .”
    Rosie knew about the boy Lorraine had shot by mistake, a young kid caught up in a drug bust.
    “Maybe this Bartello isn’t such a good idea. Maybe she won’t want to be reminded of the past.”
    “It was a long time ago,”
    Rooney said, trying to change the subject. ‘And the guy’s good.”
    Then the phone rang, so Rosie’s attention was diverted. As she answered she didn’t hear Rooney say softly,
    “I think she was in