Free Accused by Janice Cantore Page A

crew.”
    “Oh.” Carly frowned and hesitated a minute. She’d never been told an investigation was off limits to a sworn officer, especially a sworn officer who’d assisted with the incident. “I just . . . well, I wanted to follow a hunch about the juvenile, and Nick filed some information that might confirm my hunch. I want to be sure—”
    “Yeah, we saw the follow-up. Don’t worry; we have everything under control.” He waved his hand dismissively and his expression softened. “Don’t take this personal. Word just came down from city hall to button things up tight. This case is too high profile. We can’t afford any leaks.” His next smile was warm and apologetic.
    “I understand.” Carly knew her face probably said exactly the opposite, and she tried hard to hide her disappointment. “Well, if you do need anything, you know where to find me.” She turned to leave, glancing back at Drake, who was now busy with paperwork.
    Off limits? Carly’s shoulders sagged with disappointment as she walked back to the stairwell. It was too early to start her shift, but what else was there to do? She plodded up two flights to her floor, one step at a time.
    * * *
    The rest of the night passed uneventfully, compounding Carly’s disappointment. By ten o’clock she and Sergeant Altman, who was working a late shift tonight, booked only one juvenile. They both sat at the front desk. Altman said sitting in a quiet office made him sleepy. They alternated answering the phone when it rang, which was sporadic. Altman had an oldies station playing on the radio, and occasionally he hummed along with a song he liked. He passed quiet nights like this with a crossword, but only one thing lifted Carly’s spirits when she was bored.
    “Sarge, I’m going to my office to listen to the radio traffic. That okay with you?”
    “Sure, I don’t want to listen to that junk. I did my time in patrol; don’t need to be reminded of it.” He went back to his puzzle and Carly headed for her office.
    Radio traffic was a connection to the world Carly wanted to occupy, and listening to the chatter of fellow officers going about their job was a lifeline. This particular night the radio was busy; officers were flying from call to call, a typical Saturday night. Carly sighed and settled back in her chair.
    There was something special about working a beat car, connected to other coppers by the umbilical of the radio. In the early-morning hours, when civilian traffic dwindled, the streets belonged to the officers of the graveyard shift. Carly used to relish the hours between two and six, prowling alleys, answering calls, alone but not alone, playing cat and mouse with the bad guys. In general, the people out and about during those hours were up to no good, and the game was to catch them in the act, to be smarter, slicker, and quicker. She loved to win the game.
    Will there ever come a time when I feel like Sergeant Altman? Carly wondered as she doodled on a yellow pad. He’d spent twenty-five of his twenty-seven-year-long career in patrol. His move to juvenile was voluntary because he liked the normally slow pace.
    If a time like that does come, when I’m tired of being a beat cop, then I’ll transfer to an adult detective detail, she thought. I just wish they’d let me decide when that time is and not force me to sit on the shelf when I hate it.
    Her cell phone vibrated, but when she picked it up, no number showed on the screen. She answered, not even caring if it was a telemarketer.
    “Hello?”
    The line was quiet for a moment, so Carly repeated herself. She was about to hang up when a faint voice came through on a scratchy, weak cell phone connection.
    “Carly, is that you?”
    “Yeah, who’s this?” She struggled to recognize the voice.
    “It’s Jeff, Jeff Hanks.”
    Carly wondered if the thud of her jaw hitting the desktop was audible over the phone.
    “You still there?” he asked.
    “Y-yeah, I’m here. It’s . . . well,