J. Jance - A more perfect union
Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «J. Jance - A more perfect union» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Жанр: Триллер, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.
- Название:A more perfect union
- Автор:
- Жанр:
- Год:неизвестен
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:5 / 5. Голосов: 1
-
Избранное:Добавить в избранное
- Отзывы:
-
Ваша оценка:
- 100
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
A more perfect union: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «A more perfect union»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.
A more perfect union — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком
Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «A more perfect union», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.
Интервал:
Закладка:
"I talked to her brother."
"The retard? The one who's in the hospital?"
"Is that what Kramer told you about Jimmy Rising, that he's a retard?"
"Developmentally disabled. You like that better?"
"Look, Watty, whatever's wrong with him, Jimmy Rising is one hell of a nice guy. He would have told Kramer and Manny just what he told me if they had bothered to listen. They ran right over him, ignored him, treated him like shit."
"And you didn't?"
"That's right."
Watty leaned back on the couch and looked at me, his arms folded over his chest. I had worked with Sergeant Watkins for a long time, but I had never seen him so thoroughly steamed.
"You're out to lunch on this one, Beau. This case, accident or not, is none of your goddamned business."
"So I'll leave it alone," I said.
"You'd by God better!"
"What about the woman who fell off the building?"
"What about her?"
"Is that classified as an accident, too?"
"Are you saying the two deaths are related?"
"Can you prove they're not?"
After this exchange we sat there for several long moments with neither one of us speaking. Finally, abruptly, Watty stood up to go.
"I came over here to tell you to mind your own business, Beau. It's not an official warning. Kramer hasn't filed a grievance yet. If he does, then it will have to be official, go across desks, through channels, and end up in your file. But just because it isn't official yet, don't get the idea that you're home free. You're not.
"I've known you for years, Beau. This isn't like you. I know you're a good cop. I can't believe you'd pull such a dumb-ass trick. With you down there by yourself, if that crazy broad in Pe Ell had blown you away, it wouldn't have done anybody a damn bit of good.
"I don't usually pay much attention to departmental gossip. Neither do you, but I think it's time you did. This is a hell of a nice place you have here. That 928 you drive is a sweet little piece of machinery. I happen to know where all of it came from, but you're getting a whole lot of notoriety both inside and outside the department. People are starting to talk about the playboy cop. When you go around pulling fool stunts like this, it sure as hell adds fuel to the fire."
I must have winced when he said it. The words "playboy cop" had hurt badly enough when I heard them from Paul Kramer. Coming from Watty, from someone I've worked with for years, someone I respect, they cut clear to the bone.
He didn't miss my reaction. "So you have heard it then," Watty said.
I nodded.
"Being a cop isn't something you do when you feel like it. It isn't something you do now and then just to keep your hand in. It's not a goddamned part-time job. It's something you do because you have to, because it's in your blood. But you do it by the rules. If you're tired of those rules, if you're tired of taking orders and being on the team, then quit. Get the hell out.
"Your net worth doesn't mean a damn thing to me, Beaumont. It doesn't make you sergeant. I'm still calling the shots. I assign the cases, and my people answer to me. I don't need any goddamned Lone Ranger on my squad. I won't tolerate it, and if you've got a problem with that, then maybe you'd better make this vacation permanent or put in for a transfer. You got that?"
"I've got it," I said.
I followed Watty to the door. He opened it and stepped into the hallway, then he turned back. "If I were you, I'd have someone take a look at that nose. It looks broken to me."
I watched him go. Watty had just climbed all over my frame, but he still worried about my goddamned broken nose. That hurt almost as much as the ass-chewing.
Ralph Ames came out of the guest room with an empty coffee cup in one hand and a fistful of papers in the other. He had told me that as long as he was in Seattle he could just as well do some work for the Belltown Terrace real-estate syndicate and save himself another trip later.
"How was it?" he asked, refilling his cup.
"Pretty rough," I said. "Watty told me to shape up or ship out. Either get back on the team or get the hell off it altogether. From the sound of it, he doesn't much care which way it goes."
"I see," Ames said and let it go at that. He took the fresh cup of coffee and disappeared into the guest room, leaving me to stew in my own juices.
There was plenty of stewing to do. Over the years, I've been in varying degrees of hot water on occasion, but that's not unusual among detectives. As a breed we're the ones who ask the questions, who ferret out information people often don't want us to have. It's a world that attracts pragmatists-self-starters with strong streaks of independence.
I had been reprimanded before, called on the carpet and brought back to heel, but never anything like this. Watty's words had gutted me, hit all my professional cop buttons, and left me empty, with nothing to say in my own defense because I knew damn good and well he was right. I had been out of line, off the charts.
Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I took it out on the balcony and stood looking down at the street far below, hoping the sound of morning commuter traffic hurrying down Second Avenue would help lessen the sting of Watty's departing words, but it didn't. Nothing could. Because for everything Watty had said, I could add three more burning indictments of my own.
Of course I should have gone to Manny Davis and Paul Kramer and told them what I had found out, what I suspected. Of course I shouldn't have driven to Pe Ell to question Linda Decker alone. Going without a backup was stupid. Inexcusable.
The personality conflict between Kramer and me was like a couple of little boys duking it out on a playground, fighting over who ruled a small square of gravel turf or who got the biggest swing. But I had let that little-boy game overshadow my professional judgment.
Professional? Who the hell was I to call myself a professional?
The phone rang, interrupting the self-flagellation. I was sure it was Kramer, and I started rehearsing my apology as I went to pick up the receiver. Instead it was Peters, calling from the hospital.
"So you made it back all right after all." He sounded relieved.
"Yeah," I said. "I should have called you last night, but it was too late. Sorry."
"Don't worry about that. How are things?"
"Watty was just here and reamed me out good. I deserved it."
"One thing to be thankful for, though. At least the papers didn't name names this morning. They called you an ‘unidentified off-duty Seattle Police officer.'"
"So it's in the paper today?"
"Front and center."
"Great. Did the article say anything about Linda Decker's brother?"
"The one who got burned? Only that he's in the burn unit down here at Harborview. Critical condition. Intensive care. You know what that's like."
"One step away from the Spanish Inquisition."
Peters laughed ruefully. "Something like that," he said. "I assume Watty told you hands off?"
"In a manner of speaking," I allowed.
Peters knew me well enough to sense that what I said was only the tip of the iceberg, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he went on to something else. "Has Maxine gotten hold of you to arrange a schedule for Bumbershoot?" he asked.
I had forgotten all about the outing I had promised Peters' girls. "No," I said guiltily. "She hasn't caught up with me. I've been a moving target."
"Maxine called here yesterday and said that she heard that kids get in free on Friday. She wondered if it would be possible for you to take them then. She's got a doctor's appointment in the early afternoon. Otherwise, she'll have to locate another sitter."
"Tell her that'll be fine. By tomorrow afternoon, I'm sure time will be hanging heavy on my hands. Tell her to send them up here about eleven. We'll eat lunch over at Seattle Center."
Читать дальшеИнтервал:
Закладка:
Похожие книги на «A more perfect union»
Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «A more perfect union» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.
Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «A more perfect union» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.