Marie Ferrarella - Internal Affair

Staring at it, Patrick had to admit to himself that she was impressive. But he’d never admit this to her.

“Not bad,” he said again, “if the perp is running in a straight line and not firing back.”

He was doing it to annoy her, Maggi thought. He wasn’t the first man she’d had to prove herself to, and losing her temper wasn’t part of the deal. She loaded a fresh clip into her weapon.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait for the right occasion,” she told him calmly.

“I guess. We done here?”

She squared her shoulders, feeling a slow boil begin. She could have gone on firing, but obviously it didn’t prove anything to this lug. “We’re done.”

“Good.” Patrick took off his earphones and walked back to the front desk.

He was a hard man, Maggi thought, but then she already knew that. And she also knew that she’d made her point. Taking a deep breath, she hurried back to the front desk and handed in the remainder of the box of ammunition to Baker, as well as the earphones.

Baker looked surprised that she had cut her time so short.

“Fun time’s over, Baker,” she explained. “We’ve got to get back to the station.”

The officer put the earphones away. “See you around, Annie Oakley,” he chuckled.

Patrick stood at the door, waiting for her. “He knows you.”

She walked out first. “We’ve talked.”

He had a feeling she talked to everyone and everything, living or not. “So, how long have you had this supervision?”

It was a backhanded compliment. Nevertheless, she accepted it gladly. She barely suppressed the smile that rose to her lips, but Maggi knew he’d think she was preening. She walked briskly beside him to the car.

“I don’t. What I had was a father who was on the job for twenty-two years. He put a gun in my hand when I was old enough to hold one and took me out to the firing range.” She still remembered the first time. The weapon had weighed a ton, but she’d been far too proud to say anything.

“Some people would frown on that.” He passed no judgments himself. People were free to live their lives any way they saw fit, as long as it didn’t impinge on others. Or him.

“Yeah, well, my father wasn’t exactly your average guy. He wanted me to have a healthy respect for guns and to know what one could or couldn’t do.”

Patrick heard the pride in her voice, and the affection. It was the same tone he heard in his cousins’ voices when they talked about their fathers. He wondered what that was like, having a father you were close to, you were proud of. It seemed like such a foreign concept to him.

“A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing,” he pointed out.

Her father had taught her how to take a gun apart first, piece by piece, and then clean it before reassembling it. She’d had to wait a long time before he allowed her to handle cartridges.

“Maybe, but enough of it sets you free,” she countered.

“Whatever.” Getting into the car, he waited until she buckled up. “So, how does your father feel about you being on the police force?”

“He worries.” Maggi slid the metal tongue into the groove, snapping the belt into place. “He’s a father first, a police officer second. But he’s proud of me.” She knew that without asking. It made her determined never to let him down. “He’s the reason I joined up.” She thought of the upbringing she’d had. Blue uniforms populated her everyday world. “I never knew anything else.”

Starting the car, he backed out of his space. “What’s your mother got to say about it?”

Maggi kept her face forward. “Nothing. She died when I was nine. He and his buddies raised me.”

Her profile had gotten a little rigid. He’d hit a nerve, he thought. Miss Sunshine had a cloud on her horizon. Interesting. “His buddies?”

Maggi nodded. Her profile was relaxed again and she was as animated as before. Just his luck. “The other police officers. I was their mascot.”

He laughed to himself, taking a hard right. “That would explain it.”

Maggi found she had to brace herself to keep from leaning toward the window. “Explain what?”

“The cocky attitude.”

“I don’t have a cocky attitude,” she informed him. “I just know what I’m capable of and, since you’re my partner, I wanted you to know, too,” she added quickly before he could accuse her of showing off.

“You shouldn’t have put yourself out.”

Turning her head, she caught him sparing her a glance. She couldn’t fathom what was in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re not going to be my partner for that long.”

Guess again, Cavanaugh. “You know something I don’t?”

Arriving at the station, he pulled into his spot and stopped the car. Sure shot or not, someone who looked like her didn’t belong out in the field. It was like waving a red flag in front of every nut case in the area who wanted to get his rocks off. The sooner she wasn’t his responsibility, the better.

Patrick got out, slamming the door. “Yeah, I know how long people in your position last, on the average.” He took the front stairs to the entrance quickly, then paused at the door. She was right behind him.

Maggi grinned up at him as she walked through the door he held open for her. “Haven’t you noticed, Cavanaugh? I’m not average.”

Yeah, he thought as he followed her inside the building, that’s just the trouble, I’ve noticed.

“Definitely died before she went into the water,” the medical examiner, Dr. Stanley Ochoa, informed them with the slightly monotonous voice of a man who had been at his job too long.

Maggi couldn’t help looking at the young woman on the table, stripped of her dignity and her clothes, every secret exposed except her identity and why she’d died.

Poor baby, you look like a kid. Maggi raised her eyes to the M.E. “And we know this how?”

Instead of answering immediately, Ochoa turned to Patrick. A hint of amusement flickered beneath his drooping mustache. “Eager little thing, isn’t she?”

“And, oddly enough, not deaf or invisible,” Maggi cheerfully informed the M.E. as she placed herself between the two men, both of whom towered over her. She missed the glimmer of a smile on Patrick’s face. “Now, how do you know she didn’t drown?”

“Simple. No water in the lungs. She wasn’t breathing when she went over the side.”

“Because she was already dead. Makes sense.” Maggi looked at the gash on the woman’s forehead. It looked as if there’d been a line of blood at one point. If she’d bled, that meant she’d still been alive when she’d sustained the blow. “That bump on her head—did she get it hitting her forehead against the steering wheel when she went over the railing?”

Ochoa dismissed the guess. “Might have, but at first glance it looks deeper than something she could have sustained from that kind of impact.”

Patrick’s face was expressionless. “The air bag was deployed.”

Maggi bit the inside of her lip. She’d forgotten that detail and knew it made her look bad in his eyes. She regarded the victim again. “Could the air bag have suffocated her? She’s a small woman.”

Again the M.E. shook his head. “No, suffocation has different signs. This was a blunt force trauma to the head. Something heavy.”

Because Cavanaugh wasn’t saying anything, Maggi summarized what they’d just ascertained. “So someone killed her, then put her into the sports car and drove her into the river to make it look like an accident.”

Ochoa nodded. The overhead light shone brightly on his forehead, accentuating his receding hairline. “Looks like.”

Patrick had been regarding the victim in silence, as if he was conducting his own séance with her. He raised his eyes to look at the overweight medical examiner. “Anything else?”