Неизвестный - 3. In Pursuit Of Justice

“Sorry.”

“No. That’s all right.”

“I had just come out of the diner. I’d stopped for coffee. It was so damn cold. I heard noises coming from an alley, one of the blind ones with nothing but dumpsters and derelicts in them. The streetlights were all broken and it was dark. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I started down it as quietly as I could. I didn’t want to turn on my mag light, because I was afraid that would make me a target. I wasn’t even certain that I’d heard anything at all. I remember thinking it was probably going to be a big rat. I’d almost convinced myself that it was my imagination when I heard someone scream—or what I thought was a scream. It was just a short sharp sound and then it was quiet again.”

She looked at Catherine, and her eyes were bleak. “The facts are in the report.”

“Yes, I know.” Catherine leaned forward, her hands in front of her on the desk, her fingers loosely clasped, never taking her eyes off the young woman’s face. “It sounds very frightening.”

“I didn’t feel it then.”

“And now?”

“I remember.”

Catherine shivered, although she knew it didn’t show. It was a finger of ice trailing down her spine. She acknowledged it; then ignored it. This wasn’t about her, and in this room for these fifty minutes, her feelings didn’t matter. But unlike the young officer who struggled so valiantly to separate her feelings from her experience, Catherine’s work required that she let the emotion in, even if it stirred her own pain. She knew what it was to remember fear. It was a subtle enemy; it returned in the dark of night or when one was weary, to remind one of one’s weakness and vulnerability. Focusing, listening to the words beneath the silence, she asked, “But you kept going? You walked down the alley?”

“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now. “I could hear sounds of a struggle more clearly by then. I radioed for backup, and I drew my weapon. I was in the narrow space between two apartment buildings, and there was light from one of the windows high up. The fourth floor I think. Enough so I could see a little. I could make out a man and a smaller figure, a woman, I thought. He was holding her against the side of the buildings, and she was fighting him.”

“A robbery?”

“I didn’t know. It could have been anything—a domestic dispute, a robbery, a rape.”

It was hard to imagine anyone, man or woman, facing such uncertainty and danger on a daily basis. No amount of training or experience could possibly prepare one for that. What did it take, and what did it cost, to face that everyday? “You were still alone?”

Again, the hesitation, and this time she averted her gaze. “Yes. I hadn’t heard any response to my call for backup, so I assumed that no one was coming.”

“Is that usual?”

Her hands were fisted tightly around the ends of the leather chair arms. Her pupils were dilated, but she maintained her rigid posture. “It can happen. On a busy night, there might not be anyone in the immediate vicinity. Depending on the nature of the call, something like that might be low down on the list of priorities.”

Might be ? Catherine knew there had to be more to it, but this was not the time to explore that. Right now, this was about one young woman alone in the dark. “I see. So you confronted him by yourself?”

“Yes. By myself.”

“You back in the saddle?” Watts asked, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder as she poured a cup of coffee at the long narrow table in the rear of the squad room. “Sarge?”

“What are you doing, Watts?”

“What. You mean now?”

“Yeah.”

“Shuffling folders. Why?”

She sipped the coffee. Terrible. Bitter, thick, and suspiciously filmy. She sighed contentedly as another piece of her life slipped back into place. “Let’s go to the range.”

“And shoot?” His surprise showed in the sudden rise of his voice.

“Yes, Watts. To shoot. Jesus.”

As usual, she didn’t wait, and he found himself hurrying to keep up. Just like old times.

“What did the Cap say?” he ventured to ask as he lowered his butt into the contoured front seat of the Vette. Man, he’d missed that car. She was silent for so long, he risked a sidelong glance in her direction. “What did—”

“I heard you.” She spun the wheel, pressed hard on the peddle, and rocketed onto the on-ramp of the expressway that ran through the center of the city. The firing range was at the police training academy, which was now housed at One Police Plaza, a newly built complex of administrative offices and classrooms. Although it was inconvenient for working cops to drive there for their semi-annual qualification exercises, no one complained. It was worth the twenty minutes to have the brass tucked away in some out of the way place where they couldn’t interfere too much with the real work of policing. “He assigned me to a task force the feds are setting up to chase down kiddie porn peddlers and chicken hawks.”

“Huh.” Watts shifted in his seat and tried to find someplace to stick his knees. He didn’t see how the Sarge managed to fit behind the wheel, her being so tall. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing good.”

“What about me?”

Slowly, she turned her head and looked at him.

He stared back. “Us being partners and all.”

“We’re not…” She stopped herself, remembering that something in the man, something that rarely showed but that she sensed nonetheless, had made her trust Catherine’s life to him. He would never be Jeff, and it would never be the same. But then, what was? “I’m supposed to be the desk jockey. I’ll need legs.”

“Yeah sure. I can think of worse things than driving around talking to whores and pimps and perverts.” He fumbled in the inside pocket of his shapeless sport jacket for his cigarettes, then caught himself. She wouldn’t let him smoke in her ride. Shit.

“Look—I can get a uniform. I wouldn’t want you to actually have to work—“

“No way. I’m getting a hard-on just thinking about it.”

Rebecca’s hands tightened on the wheel, as she suddenly recalled all the reasons she couldn’t stand him. “Just forget it.”

“Hey,” Watts said quickly. “Joke. That was a joke. It takes a lot more than that to give—“

“I don’t need to know about that, Watts,” she assured him as she pulled into the lot behind One Police Plaza. “I’ll fill you in when I’ve met with the suits from DC. If there’s something I can use you on, I’ll let you know.”

“Good enough.” He sat back, glad to be out of the squad room, happy to contemplate some real work. Even if it was with a bunch of bureaucratic assholes who didn’t know dick about police work. The Sarge could handle them. He’d give her a week before she was back on the street. Frye a desk jockey. Sure. And I’ve got a ten-inch pecker.

Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she added, “I never thanked you for that night we nailed Blake. I counted on you to save Catherine’s life. You came through for me. I owe you.”

“Nah, you don’t. We both hit him.” He shrugged. “Besides, I couldn’t let him waste the doc. Guess I got a soft spot for dames. But you know, Sarge, you can’t let yourself take ‘em too seriously. You’re finished if you do.”

Rebecca smiled to herself, deciding not to be offended. “Catherine is special.”

“Oh, man,” Watts moaned, shaking his head in mock sadness. “You’re already a goner.” He cleared his throat. “But I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t make yourself a target like that too often. The investigation after that went down really busted my balls.”

She turned her head and regarded him unblinkingly. “You’re breaking my heart, Watts.”