Free Dead Reckoning by Linda Castillo Page B

with the bagged shotgun and set it on the table. “Why do they make me jump through hoops and not you?”
    “She wants my body.”
    “I’m serious,” she said.
    “I’m not kidding. If I didn’t like being groped by women so much, I would have filed—”
    “Matrone,” she cut in firmly.
    Frank cleared his throat and sobered. “You sure you want to know?”
    “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”
    “The cops don’t much care for you,” he said.
    Kate knew better than to let that get to her. She knew she wasn’t always a nice person. But over the years she’d learned that nice didn’t always get the job done. She didn’t come here to win personality points or make friends. Her job required her to get things done. In order to be effective, most of the time she had to be firm.
    He removed the lid from the box. “Not much here,” he said, pulling a large plastic bag from the box. “Looks like the M.E. hasn’t sent the clothing over yet.”
    “Clothing went to the Institute of Forensic Sciences lab.”
    “DNA?”
    “They’ve got semen.” She frowned. “The lab has had plenty of time. Give the M.E.’s office a call when you get back.” Kate plucked a small bag containing one shotgun shell from the box. “Latent prints have been done. We should have had the report already.” She made a mental note to call them when she got back to her office.
    Frank tugged a ladder-back wood chair from beneath the table and sat down. Kate sat opposite him and pulled a legal pad from her briefcase. “What makes you think the cops don’t like me?” she asked, plucking a pen from her appointment book.
    He looked over at her and smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about that.”
    “Of course not,” she lied. “I just . . . want to know why I can’t seem to get things done here.”
    He picked up the bag containing the shotgun shell and studied it as if it were the most fascinating piece of evidence he’d ever seen.
    She set down her pen. “Matrone.”
    “Kate, come on. I told you cops are jerks.”
    “Would you just clue me in, please?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    “I want to know.”
    “It will only piss you off. You really don’t want to know.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake, would you just tell—”
    “They call you Megabitch.”
    Kate struggled not to wince, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded. “Megabitch?”
    “You know, it’s a play on words. Megason. Megabitch.”
    “I get the connection,” she snapped.
    “Cops can be real assholes about stupid shit.”
    “Like calling an ADA Megabitch.”
    He managed to look contrite. “I told you it would piss you off.”
    “I’m not pissed off.”
    “Yeah, that’s why you’re yelling.”
    “I’m not yelling.” Realizing her voice had gone up a decibel or two, she took a deep breath. “Oh, good grief.”
    One side of his mouth curved. “See? You’re a sweetheart. The cops got it all wrong.”
    Kate knew it was stupid to let something like that get to her. She had thicker skin than that. Damn it, she knew she wouldn’t win any personality contests at Dallas PD. But she couldn’t believe the cops she worked with on an almost daily basis called her Megabitch behind her back. On a professional level, it was important for an ADA to have a good working relationship with the police department. On a personal level, knowing the cops made fun of her bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
    For several minutes they went through each piece of evidence. Kate listed each item on her legal pad, scribbling notes as she went. Three shotgun shells. One sawed-off shotgun. The six-pack of beer Bruton Ellis had carried to the counter. Kate made a conscious effort to concentrate on the case, but the nickname niggled at her like a stinging insect bite. Was she so driven that she didn’t notice that people didn’t like her?
    She came to a bag filled with what looked like shattered pieces of black plastic. “What’s this?” she