by Unknown
"I know, but thanks just the same."
"If you guys haven't got anything else to do," Hoke said, "why don't you do it somewhere else. I've got work to do, and people will be coming around all morning to congratulate you."
"Come on, Bill," Quevedo said. "I'll take you down to the cafeteria and buy you a second breakfast."
"Why not?" Henderson got up from the desk. "Can I bring you anything, Hoke? Coffee?"
"No, I don't think so. Ellita fixed a pot of Cuban coffee at home this morning."
After the two detectives left, Hoke closed the Gerald Hickey case, wrote a summary memo in longhand, and then placed the file next to the typewriter on Ellita's side of the desk. "Accidental OD." The folder, thickened now with additional papers, would go into the closed files. He wouldn't have to think about it again, Hoke thought, for at least four more years. And in four more years, he'd only have another four to go until retirement. And maybe, just maybe, Loretta Hickey wouldn't come back. After a few months, or a year, when he had saved some money, he might even be able to write to her and offer to buy the damned house in Green Lakes.
At 10 A.M., Hoke and Henderson knocked on Major Brownley's door. He beckoned them in, got to his feet, and came around the desk to shake hands with Henderson.
"Congratulations, Bill."
"Thank you, sir," Henderson said, towering over the major.
"Sit down, sit down," Brownley said. He went behind his desk and picked up his burning cigar from the piston ashtray. "Where's Officer Sanchez?"
"She's got a doctor's appointment," Hoke said as he sat down.
"Couldn't she make it for another time?"
"Female trouble. She had to see her gynecologist."
"Oh, that's different. Well, we don't need her anyway. You can fill her in, Hoke. You probably think I'm disappointed about the colonelcies being shot down, and I am-- a little. But I knew the money wasn't in the budget in the first place. Of course, the money wasn't in the budget for the commanders either, but the city manager just didn't want that much brass in the department. When he gets fired--and no manager lasts more than two or three years in Miami--the chief may get through to the next one. Anyway, even though I left the choice of the commander promotion up to Captain Slater, I approved of it because the final decision was mine. You outrank Henderson, Hoke, and I want to clear up any resentment you might have."
"I don't have any." Hoke sat back in his chair. "I'm happy doing what I'm doing, and I don't think you could find a better candidate in the division than Bill. After all, we worked together for more than three years."
"Okay, Hoke. Henderson will be Captain Slater's assistant, and Slater felt that he could work better with Bill than he could with you. It's that simple. And I agreed with him, because I think Bill can work with almost anybody."
"Slater isn't all that easy to get along with," Henderson said. "What's my job description?"
"I'm getting to that. You'll take Slater's desk out in the bullpen, and he'll take back his old office. That means that you'll have to furnish an office in Room 3 for Hoke and Sanchez. I'm leaving them on the cold cases, as a permanent assignment. So get them some filing cabinets, a typewriter, and a typing table. You can take the big double desk in there for yourself and replace it with Slater's smaller desk. You'll need the double desk because you're getting a secretary. You'll need one, because all of the paperwork in the division will go through you before you take it to Slater."
"Will I still report directly to you, or do I report to Captain Slater?" Hoke said.
"To me. But send copies of your weekly reports to Bill here. He'll have to know what's going on. Still, I want to give you as much leeway as possible. Another thing, Bill. When you get your secretary, make an inventory of everything in the division, supplies and all, because you'll have to sign for all the division property."
"Jesus Christ," Henderson said. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
"What's the matter?" Brownley said.
"That's a lot of paperwork."
"I know. That's what the rank calls for. You'll also be responsible for shift assignments, overtime, things like that. But Captain Slater'll fill you in on the specifics. It's a desk job, Bill, and you won't have to go out into the hot sun any longer. It might sound a little tough now, but you'll work into it all right. Besides, you'll have a secretary. What would you rather have, a male or a female?"
"Female. I don't want any gay secretary."
"A male secretary isn't necessarily gay, Bill. The way unemployment is in Miami right now, I could get you a male secretary with a degree in economics. The line-item pays ten thousand a year, with COLA increments every six months."
"I'd rather have a woman."
"Okay. But when you advertise the position, remember that you can't specify that you would rather have a woman. You and Slater can work out the ad. Now we haven't got a written job description for you yet, but there's no hurry. None of the divisions know exactly what to do with this new rank. But I'll work on it with Captain Slater, and you can put any suggestions you have in writing and send them to me. Okay? I guess you'd better get going. You've got a lot to do."
"Yes, sir." Henderson got up, gave the major a halfhearted salute, and left the office. Hoke stood up, too.
"Just a minute, Hoke, I want to talk to you."
Hoke sat down again, and took out his cigarettes. He lit a Kool and put the match into the major's ashtray.
"I understand," the major said, "that Officer Sanchez is living with you now."
"She's renting a room from me in my new house in Green Lakes. But that doesn't mean she's -living- with me, if that's what you're implying. I've got my two daughters with me now, and she's been a big help to me with them."
"I didn't mean to imply anything."
"Yes you did, Major, but that's your hang-up, not mine. I know you're a deacon in your church and all, but there's no rule against us living together, even if we were. We're partners, and without any regular hours, so our arrangement will work out fine."
"Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I don't want any criticism. People like to talk, you know."
"Not as much as you think. At any rate, you'll have to talk to Ellita about this, not me. She told me already that she wanted to talk to you."
"All right. My door is always open. Tell her to come and see me. But meanwhile, I'm leaving you two on the cold cases for an indefinite period, not just the two months I originally planned. A time limit of any kind is too restricting, and sort of defeats the idea. What are you working on now?"
"The Dr. Raybold homicide. It's four years old, but it's our best bet. He was shot in his driveway at six-fifteen in the morning. We know the approximate time because the man on the paper route discovered the body when he threw the paper on the lawn, and the body was still warm. But nobody saw the shooting. Mrs. Raybold was still asleep, and didn't hear the shots. There were two of them, one in the head, and one through the heart. There were no clues at all, but six months later Mrs. Raybold married Dr. Sorenson, who was Raybold's partner in the clinic. This was a professional hit, and whoever did it probably knew that Raybold had an operation scheduled at St. Mary's Hospital at 7 A.M. He wasn't robbed, for example--"
"So you think Dr. Sorenson and Mrs. Raybold wrote the prescription?"
"Yeah, but there's more to it than that. If you want, I'll get the file and we'll go over it, but right now all I can say is that it's promising. There's nothing definite yet."
"Never mind. You know what you're doing. Just keep me up to date in the weekly reports. I'm not looking for any miracles. You've done a hell of a job so far, and the best thing I can do for you is stay out of your hair."
"Yes, sir." Hoke stood up. "Is there anything else, Major?"
"No--yes. You know Henderson better than I do. He didn't seem very enthusiastic about his promotion."
"He's happy enough, Willie. It's just a lot to absorb all at once, that's all. But no one would be thrilled, knowing he had to work with
Captain Slater every day."
"Maybe that's it." Brownley stood up. "Thanks for coming in, Hoke."
"Yes, sir." Hoke went back out to his office and opened the drawers to his desk. Now that he had to move, he decided to clean out all the accumulated junk first and throw it away before toting the rest of his things down to the interrogation room. Henderson, with all of the work he had to do, would be needing the big desk right away.
The phone rang a few minutes after eleven. Ellita Sanchez was on the phone. "I called earlier, Hoke, but I guess you were still in with Major Brownley. I just left the doctor's office. I got there at nine forty-five, but I didn't get in to see the doctor till ten-thirty. But the nurse took my urine specimen at ten, so I didn't have to hold the jar in my lap."
"What did the doctor say?"
"I'm fine. No problems. I don't have to see him again for six weeks."
"Good. You can come in then, and help on the move. We're moving permanently into Room 3. Tonight we'll take the girls out to dinner and celebrate."
"Celebrate what? Moving out of the office?"
"No. Bill Henderson got promoted. He made commander, the new rank the paper mentioned yesterday. Remember?"
"Bill made it? How come he got it instead of you?"
"Dumb luck. That's why we're celebrating. It could have been me."
The End