Free Reliquary by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child

fattest, laziest Precinct Captain in the city. A man who had reached his position by doing nothing and offending nobody. A year earlier, D’Agosta had been up for promotion to captain himself, thanks to a grateful mayor. Then there was the election, Mayor Harper was thrown out of office, and a new mayor rode into City Hall on promises of tax cuts and reduced spending. In the resulting fallout at One Police Plaza, Waxie got a captainship and a precinct, but D’Agosta was passed over. Some world.
    Hayward crossed one leg over the other. “Mole homicides aren’t like homicides on the surface. Most of the corpses we don’t even find. And when we do, the rats and dogs have usually found them long before. Many are John Does, can’t be ID’d even in good condition. And the other moles sure as hell won’t talk.”
    “And Jack Waxie just files everything away.”
    Hayward frowned again. “He doesn’t give a shit about those people.”
    D’Agosta looked at her for a minute, wondering why an old-school chauvinist like Waxie would have taken a five-foot-three female rouster onto his staff. Then his eyes lighted once again on her narrow waist, pale skin, and brown eyes, and he knew the answer. “Okay, Sergeant,” he said at last. “I’ll bite. You got locations?”
    “Locations is about all I’ve got.”
    D’Agosta’s cigar had gone out, and he fumbled through his drawer for another match. “So where were they found?” he asked.
    “Here and there.” Hayward dug a computer printout out of a pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the desk.
    D’Agosta glanced at the sheet as he lit up. “First one was found April 30, at 624 West Fifty-eighth Street.”
    “Boiler room in the basement. There’s an old access to a railway turnabout there, which is why it was TA jurisdiction.”
    D’Agosta nodded and glanced at the sheet. “Next one was found May 7 beneath the Columbus Circle IRT station. The third one was found May 20, RR Stem B4, track 22, milepost 1.2. Where the hell is that?”
    “Closed freight tunnel that used to connect to the West Side railyard. The moles break through the walls to get into some of those tunnels.”
    D’Agosta listened, enjoying his cigar. A year earlier, after hearing about the promised promotion, he’d switched from Garcia y Vegas to Dunhills. Though the promotion had never materialized, D’Agosta hadn’t been able to convince himself to switch back. He glanced again at Hayward, still looking back at him impassively. She wasn’t very good at respecting superior officers. But despite her small frame, she carried an air of natural self-confidence and authority. It had taken initiative, coming to him like this. Guts, too. For a moment he regretted starting off on the wrong foot with her.
    “This isn’t exactly departmental procedure, your coming to see me like this,” he said. “Still, I appreciate your taking the time.”
    Hayward nodded almost imperceptibly, as if acknowledging his compliment without accepting it.
    “I don’t want to bust in on Captain Waxie’s jurisdiction,” D’Agosta continued. “But I can’t pass this up, just in case there’s a connection. I guess you figured that out already. So what we’re going to do is, we’re going to forget you came to see me.”
    Hayward nodded again.
    “And I’m gonna call up Waxie like I got these reports on my own, and then we’ll do a little sight-seeing.”
    “He isn’t going to like that. The only sight he likes is the view out the precinct window.”
    “Oh, he’ll come along. It wouldn’t look too good if a lieutenant did his job for him while he sat there on his ass. Especially if this turns out to be big. A serial killer among the homeless--that could be politically explosive. So we’ll take a little stroll, just the three of us. No use getting the brass stirred up.”
    Immediately, Hayward frowned. “Not smart,” she said. “Lieutenant, it’s dangerous down there. It’s not our turf; it’s theirs. And