Free Investigation by Dorothy Uhnak Page B

head and studied the upside-down headline for a moment, then unclenched his fingers and carefully touched the corner of his mouth. His diamond pinky ring caught a spark of light from his desk lamp and cut right into Tim’s eyes, but Tim never blinked.
    “Well, wadda ya say, Tim? We got some kind of nut running around Queens, sneaking into the bedrooms of sleeping children in the dead of night and stealing them away and murdering them? What the hell are we dealing with here, Tim?”
    That, of course, would be the worst possible situation to deal with: terror would spread into the heart and mind and home of every vulnerable citizen of the Good Borough, the Safe Borough, the Borough of Homes.
    Neary gave a quick, concise rundown of what he knew at this time, turning now and then for my comments. Jerry Kelleher nodded from time to time, as though not listening too closely but just waiting for us to finish. He picked up his silver-handled long-bladed letter opener and toyed with it, then dropped it on his desk. His eyes stayed on the opener for a moment, then he looked directly at Tim with his clear, wide watercolor-blue eyes.
    “There’s something I’m afraid I don’t quite understand in all of this, Tim. Maybe you can help to clarify it for me.” His tone wasn’t one of confusion; it was of accusation. “Tim, why the hell, why the living, breathing, fire-burning hell, are we stuck with this goddamn case in the first place? Why the hell can’t it be bucked to Homicide where it belongs?”
    “You’ve heard of budget cuts, I take it,” Tim said tightly. “And of layoffs; and of the department being seriously understaffed. And of the whole Detective Division being screwed up and dissipated by non-detective assignments? That’s where the fault lies, Jerry. There were no detectives at the 107th when the call originally came in, so it was bucked to my squad. And since members of my squad caught the case, it’s ours until completion.”
    All the time Tim was speaking, Jerry Kelleher stared at him with a slight, unpleasant smile turning up the corners of his big pink mouth. There was about thirty seconds of silence when Tim finished, which can be a very long period of silence in certain circumstances.
    “I’m speaking, Captain Neary, of practicalities, not technicalities,” Kelleher said softly. “I am aware of the fact that technically a case of this importance rests with the responding detectives and hence their squad. What I’m wondering is, why can’t some arrangement be made so that maybe Joe here,” he jutted his chin in my direction, but his eyes stayed on Tim, “could be assigned to the Homicide Squad for the duration of the investigation. Surely the two of you are tight enough with Chris Wise to work something out.”
    The funny thing is that such an arrangement could have been worked out and it would have taken the pressure off Neary as well as off Kelleher. But Tim, when his back is to the wall, goes for the jugular even though his own best suit is going to get all bloodied and ruined.
    “No way, Jerry,” he said tersely. “It’s against departmental rules.”
    “And we all of us, of course, operate solely and totally within the framework of ‘departmental rules,’ ” Kelleher said carefully.
    “I can only speak for myself, Jerry. I know that I do,” Tim shot at him.
    Kelleher was better at this kind of thing than Tim would ever be. He just smiled, nodded and said, “Well, then, so be it. Now, Tim, you haven’t really questioned the mother about all this, have you?”
    “We have a preliminary statement. It hasn’t even been signed yet. It was taken in my office this morning. Both parents gave us statements, but they haven’t told us anything significant yet.”
    One thick yellowish eyebrow shot up Kelleher’s forehead until it disappeared underneath the silky yellow lock of hair. He spread his large, soft pink-palmed hands over his desk.
    “Wouldn’t this be the ideal time to push them