Free Every Move She Makes by Robin Burcell Page A

reassigned to Homicide," he said, speaking at a normal level noxv. His abrupt change stunned me, but I tried not to let it show. "They're hounding the Press Officer for info on the drug ODS," he said, referring to the report the department intended to release on the rash of fatal overdoses Narcotics and Homicide were jointly investigating. "Apparently one of the last victims was a nephew of Councilman Yearwood. Get me something solid by tomorrow at four. I've got a press conference scheduled for then. You will not be in shouting distance of a microphone. Do I make myself clear?"
     
    "Yes."
     
    "And I want an update on the Slasher cases." His phone rang. He picked it up, thereby signaling the end of our conversation. Which was just as well. The Twin Palms Motel was one of the buildings owned by Paobni-the building where I had been shot. Scolari was supposed to have already canvassed it. He knew how I felt about that place. And now I had to take Zimmerman', The irony as well as the prospect of being partnered with someone who blamed me for losing his position wasn't the least bit amusing. Reluctantly I telephoned Z'm's office down in Property. He wasn't there, and I left a message on his voice mail for him to contact me. Hanging up the phone, I glanced at my case file. Twelve unsolved homicides, not including the drug ODS or the Slasher cases. Those were on Scolari's desk, since he'd been the primary investigator. I knew I'd have to read the reports again to see if I could turn up something Scolari had missed. I'd do that while I waited for Zimmerman to return my call. I found the reports stacked on Scolari's desk beneath the clutter left by the special homicide team, who'd rifled through everything, looking for something that might indicate Scolari had killed his wife. Scolari had worked Homicide for eight years. He'd been a cop for twenty-five. I couldn't imagine he'd be stupid enough to leave anything incriminatory behind. I glanced up at the poster taped on the file cabinet by his phone. Two vultures sat in a twisted, bare-limbed tree. The caption read, "Our day begins when yours ends." The Homicide detail's motto. Scolari loved working Homicide. Had it finally gotten to him? Had he finally snapped? My chair backed up to his. My desk was just as cluttered, even without help. Sinking into Scolari's chair, I cleared a space on his desk, started deciphering his notes on the drug cases.
    After an hour of straight reading, I had yet to turn up a clue on any of them, though not for lack of trying. There just weren't any witnesses to be found. I pulled out the first Slasher case, not looking forward to reviewing something that Scolari and I had been over several dozen times already. In frustration I stared at the phone, wondering why the hell Zimmerman was taking so long in getting back to me. Although I wasn't looking forward to going to the Twin Palms, I wanted to get it over with. Felix Shipley and Rocky Markowski strolled in, laughing. They were partners, their desks were on the opposite side of the room from mine and Scolari's. Markowski slapped Shipley's back. "Hell, wouldn't you do the same if you found out that your wife was ... " He saw me and stopped, his smile fading as he ran his fingers along his mustache.
    Another reminder that I would never be one of the guys. I returned to my work, ignoring them both, almost grateful when Reid wandered in.
     
    He dropped today's Chronicle on my desk. "You have guests?"
     
    I stared at the newspaper, then at him. "Excuse me?"
     
    "This is your paper. I came by to give it to you this morning, but you had someone over. I heard you talking." I didn't care for this side of Reid. Aside from my job getting in the way, his possessiveness was one of the major reasons our marriage ended as quickly as it did. Had I actually entertained the idea of spending an entire weekend in Napa with him? I bit my tongue for the simple reason that I was aware of just how many sets of ears now listened