Неизвестный - 6. Justice For All

“Right,” Dell said when Catherine paused.

“But when you have to be physical with her because of the roles you’re both playing, you become aroused.”

“Yes.”

“What is there about your body’s response in that situation that makes you worry?”

“I bet the lieutenant wouldn’t get turned on. I bet she’d be cool.

She’s always in control.”

“Everyone is different, Dellon,” Catherine said, carefully not thinking about her lover becoming aroused with another woman. She’d have to think about it later, especially the quick surge of jealous anger the idea provoked. “Our bodies are different, our physical triggers are different. That’s neither good nor bad. It’s just a fact.”

“So you don’t think I should feel guilty about it?”

“I think when you’re working, the most important thing is that you keep your mind clear. It’s important for your safety and Irina’s that you be totally focused on the situation. If you’re worried about what you’re feeling, put that aside temporarily.” Catherine squeezed Dellon’s arm.

“You can talk to me about it later, if you want to.”

“Sandy says she never got turned on when she was working,” Dell

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said in a low voice. “That always made me glad. I hate thinking about her touching anyone else. Having them touch her.”

“Sandy isn’t you, Dell. And what she was doing is very different than what you’re doing. There are some similarities, yes. The physical interaction with someone you don’t love—that’s the same. But there are so many differences, you can’t compare them.”

“I can tell she doesn’t like Mitch and Irina spending time together, but she’s trying to deal.”

“Are the two of you able to talk about it?”

“Some.” Dell sighed. “We’re working on it.”

“Good. That’s exactly what you need to do.” Catherine hesitated, wondering if she should talk to Rebecca, then pushed on. “If the two of you want to talk with me, you can call me.”

“Yeah?” Dell’s eyes brightened.

“Yes. There are no rules for what you’re doing, Dellon, and I think you’re doing a terrific job. Both you and Sandy.”

“Could you tell my lieutenant that?”

“Oh, I most definitely will.” Catherine stood. “Come see me next week, all right?”

“Okay, yeah. That would be good.” Dell rose and slid her hands in her pockets. Rocking back on her heels, she grinned. “I guess the lieutenant was right about me coming to see you. She’s pretty much always right.”

Catherine laughed. “Let’s not remind her of that.”

v

Watts rapped on the partially open door of the large utilitarian room with one wall of windows overlooking the docks at the Packer Avenue terminal of the Port of Philadelphia. A robust African-American woman in a spit-and-polish uniform looked up from behind a desk when he pushed the door open a few more inches.

Captain Carla Reiser smiled, her smooth mocha features relaxing, taking ten years off her already youthful face, and dropped the sheaf of papers she was studying onto the center of her desk. “Bill. Good to see you.”

“Yeah. You too.” Watts ambled a few feet into the room. “Busy?”

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“Half a dozen of my dock supervisors have been arrested and I’ve got feds crawling all over my port.” Carla shrugged. “Normal day.”

Watts laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Social visit?” Carla’s voice held just a hint of playfulness and Watts tried not to grin like an idiot. Carla headed security for the whole port, and she’d helped orchestrate the interception of the last shipment of girls from Eastern Europe. She was sharp and savvy and smart, and he couldn’t believe his luck that a woman like her even noticed he was alive.

“You remember Jason?” Watts asked.

“The blond computer cop, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Watts was foolishly pleased that she hadn’t commented on how good-looking Jason was. Everyone always referred to him as too handsome to be a man. Geez, it could give a guy a complex.

“He’s up at the IT center, poking around in your computers, trying to figure out who did what and how.”

“If he finds anything, I hope he lets me know.”

“What about the feds? Are they turning up anything?”

“Who knows. If they talk to you, then you’re doing a lot better than me.”

“That’s a no, then,” Watts grunted.

Carla gestured to the worn plaid sofa pushed against one wall. “Sit down. Coffee?”

“I’ll get it. I’m up.” Watts poured coffee from the Pyrex carafe into two oversized Styrofoam cups, added powdered creamer, stirred both with one of the wooden sticks from a nearby tray, and carried the cups back to the couch. Carla had settled into one corner, and he handed her the coffee. “Light, no sugar, right?”

“Very good.”

He felt himself coloring and hastily sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. “So are you catching any heat from the arrests, or shouldn’t I ask?”

“I’m the ranking officer in charge on-site. All my superiors man desks downtown.” Carla sipped her coffee, her eyes contemplative.

“They’re looking at me, but they haven’t put me on administrative leave. Yet.”

“That blows.”

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Carla laughed. “It surely does.” She shifted until her knee touched his and leaned forward. “I don’t believe for a minute that those six supervisors were anywhere near the top of the food chain. Whoever was running this operation had to have international connections and some way of moving human beings and God knows what else out of this port. I want them.”

“You’re gonna have to get in line,” Watts said softly. “These guys almost killed my lieutenant.”

“I heard you had casualties. Is she okay?”

“Back on the job,” Watts said.

“Tough.”

Watts nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Just clear Jason to look at anything he wants to, should anybody ask. If anyone balks at that, let us know, and we’ll look extra hard at them.” Watson set his cup on the scarred coffee table in front of the sofa. “Got any ideas where we ought to look?”

“I’ve got four warehouses and a hundred thirty loading docks at this terminal alone. We have thousands of containers offloading every month. Do we lose one for a few hours or a day because bills of lading were filled out incorrectly by someone who doesn’t even speak English ten thousand miles away? Yes. Does contraband come through inside the cars or barrels of cocoa beans or tons of clothing merchandise?

Undoubtedly.” She shook her head angrily. “But people? Human beings transported across the ocean in pitch-black unvented metal coffins? If I had any idea which of my officers helped, I’d drag their sorry carcasses to you myself.”

“I guess that’s why they call those girls slaves,” Watts said. Then he thought of what he had said, and to whom. “Well fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No need to apologize, Bill.” Carla collected their cups and threw them into the trash. Back at her desk, she scribbled something on the back of a business card and held it out to him. “Give this to Jason. It’s my direct number. Anything he needs, tell him to call me.”

“Thanks,” Watts said, pocketing the card. “Well, I have to get back to headquarters.”

Watts was almost to the door when Carla said, “Bill.”

He turned, aware he was holding his breath.

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Carla’s eyes sparkled as if she were about to laugh, and the lighthearted expression made her look welcoming and sexy at the same time. “How about dinner some night?”