Cold Blooded (Dennis McQueen 02)

by Randisi, Robert J.

  “You missed something.”

  “What?”

  “Keep reading,” Jessup said. “You’re a detective—detect.”

  McQueen shrugged and went back to the folder. He scanned the pages again, and then saw it, the “F” under sex.

  “A woman,” he said.

  “Yes,” Jessup said. “She’ll be the first woman ever in this squad. Will you have a problem with that?”

  McQueen closed the folder and kept it on his lap. “It’s the twenty-first century, Loo,” McQueen said.

  “Does that mean yes or no?”

  McQueen had twenty-five years on the job, which meant he’d worked with guys who had come into the department during the late 1950s and early 1960s, when the department was totally different. But women had been in the department a long time, and the first woman had made it into a homicide squad over twenty years ago. Still, there were men in the department who hung onto the belief that this was a man’s job, and women still had to put up with some crap.

  “I won’t give any problems, boss.”

  “But you think somebody will?”

  “We’ve got good detectives in this squad, Loo,” McQueen said, “but a couple of them can be assholes. They’ll put her to the test.”

  “Well,” Jessup said, “maybe she’ll win them over.”

  “Any idea what she looks like?”

  “You think that matters?”

  McQueen looked at the personnel file again. Five-six, red hair, a hundred and thirty pounds.

  “In a perfect world it wouldn’t matter, Loo,” he said, “but if this girl is hot it could add to the problem.”

  “Well, right now there’s no problem to add to, Dennis,” Jessup said. “We’re gettin’ a new detective in the squad, and that’s that. Let’s just wait and see if a problem materializes, and not go lookin’ for one.”

  “I agree.”

  “Okay, then there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you to work with her.”

  “Right away?”

  “Yep, put her on this case with you.”

  “The Coney Island thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But she wasn’t there, Loo.”

  “You were, and you’re the primary,” Jessup answered. “Just let her assist you.”

  “What about Ray?”

  “Put Velez with Cataldo,” Jessup said. “He needs a partner now that Jackson’s gone.”

  “After she works this case with you, and gets some experience, you can put her with Frankie and take Velez back.”

  “I’ll let her work with me,” McQueen said, “but I’m not sure Frank Cataldo is the right partner for her.”

  “Frankie’s a good man.”

  “He’s a good detective, that’s for sure,” McQueen said, “but—”

  “Then it’s settled.” Jessup pulled his chair forward and sat up straight. His body language was unmistakably dismissive.

  “Okay, then,” McQueen said. He stood up and maintained his hold on Detective Bailey Sommers’s personnel file. “I’ll just take this with me.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dennis.”

  “Yeah, boss. Good night.”

  McQueen went right to his desk and dropped the folder on it so he could address it first thing in the morning. While his partner would arrive for his ten-to-six tour, McQueen, as a sergeant and second in command in the squad, would arrive earlier than that without seeking any overtime pay. It was one of the benefits, or alternate benefits, of being a “boss”—even a second-in-command one.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the arrival of Detective Bailey Sommers, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was a woman. He just never looked forward to breaking new people in, especially when he was starting work on a new case. He would have preferred to assign her to one of the other detectives in the squad and let them break her in. Now he was going to have to do both at the same time.

  Seated at a corner desk were Detectives Diver and Dolan, the Double D boys of the squad. They had been working together for three years, and told anyone who would listen that this was the best partnership either had ever had in their years in the department—and both had been on the job for more than fifteen years. McQueen felt the same way about his partnership with Velez, but that was going to have to be put aside, at least for a short while.

  He waved good night to the Double Ds, and left the building.

  Chapter 5

  Detective Second Grade Bailey Sommers exited the subway on the corner of Church Avenue and Rogers Avenue in front of a Carvel Ice Cream store. She paused and looked around, spotted a donut shop, a newspaper stand, a restaurant, a luncheonette and an OTB parlor, among other things. A Manhattanite all her life, Brooklyn was a new experience for her. She’d had a couple cases that had taken her there before, but not for any extended period of time. Working in Brooklyn was definitely going to be something new, but it was the only place there had been an opening in a homicide squad.

  Her directions told her the precinct was two blocks away, on Snyder Avenue. She passed a Chinese takeout along the way—a particular favorite of hers—but would soon hear the story about the half a mouse that had been found in a can of soda there.

  When she turned into Snyder Avenue she saw the precinct building, a three-story, thirty-year-old structure which, at that time of the morning, was taking in and belching out blue-and-white cars and cops in uniform and plain clothes. She was doing a nine-to-five tour of duty that day rather than a ten-to-six, because she was doing to undergo orientation. More than punctual throughout her life, though, she was arriving before eight A.M., which was why she was encountering some traffic.

  She entered the precinct lobby with a garment bag slung over her shoulder. It was the way most cops arrived at a new command. She had her uniform in there, and another change of clothes. When she presented herself at the front desk, the sergeant there looked at her expectantly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Detective Sommers reporting.”

  “You new in the unit?” he assumed she was newly assigned to the Precinct Detective Unit.

  “Uh . . . the homicide unit.”

  He waved her off.

  “Then you don’t need to report to me. You’re not assigned to this command. Homicide is separate.”

  “Well . . . where are they?” she asked.

  “Second floor,” he replied, and promptly ignored her.

  She was about to ask how to get there but remembered passing the elevator on the way in.

  “Thanks, Sarge,” she said, and the man grunted. She passed a couple of uniforms on the way, who stopped and looked at her.

  “Maybe we’re gettin’ a looker in the PDU,” one of them said.

  “Be better than lookin’ at all them guys,” the other said.

  “Hatcher’s a chick.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” the other said.

  Sommers ignored them and headed for the elevator.

  McQueen had stopped for dinner at the Italian restaurant he lived above the night before. It had taken him a couple years after his divorce to actually stop living in basement apartments and find something decent but now, almost half a dozen years since the divorce, he was satisfied with where he was living. Maybe not completely satisfied with his life, yet, but after four years he was settled in his small apartment. And it was only one precinct over from where he worked, an easy drive.

  His transfer to the Brooklyn South Homicide Squad had been almost a lateral movement. His previous assignment had been with the 67 Squad, so he was still working in the same building. The only difference was that he didn’t have to report to the C.O. of the precinct. His immediate boss was his lieutenant, who in turn reported to the chief of detectives.

  Returning home the previous night after dinner he’d given the new case of the frozen body on Coney Island Beach a few moments of thought, but went to bed after deciding to put off any thought until after he got the
M.E. and crime scene reports. No point in treating it as homicide until he had to.

  The next morning he woke thinking about the new detective who had been assigned to the squad. He hoped that her hundred and thirty pounds was distributed in a lumpy fashion over her five-foot-six frame. The last thing they needed in the squad was a distraction.

  He got to work early so he could clear up some paperwork and see if the reports were in on the frozen guy. He also wanted to be there when Detective Sommers arrived. As it turned out he got there just about ten minutes before she walked in.

  He was relieved to see that she was wearing a parka, and her hair was pinned atop her head. Her face looked plain and she could have been lumpy beneath the parka. The night watch guys, Vadala and Silver, looked up as she entered.

  “Sergeant McQueen?” she asked, looking at the three men in turn.

  “That’s me,” he said.

  She turned her attention to him.

  “I was told to report directly to you,” she said. “Detective Bailey Sommers.”

  “We’ve been expecting you, Sommers,” McQueen said. “That’s Pat Vadala over there, and Billy Silver.”

  Both detectives waved, then collected their jackets from the backs of their chairs.

  “We were just going off,” Silver said. “Good luck on your first day.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Both men walked past her, and didn’t look back as they went out the door.

  “Come on over here,” McQueen said. “You got your ten card?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She approached his desk, put down her garment bag and dug her ten card out of her pocket. On the card was listed each of the firearms she owned, along with their serial numbers. It would be kept on file and she would not be allowed to carry any other weapons.

  As she came closer to hand him the card, McQueen saw that she was prettier up close. It was the lack of makeup that made her look plain. He turned his gaze from her to the card. Her service revolver and a 9mm Glock were the only guns on the card. His first instinct was to ask her if these were the only two guns she owned, but he decided not to. Most cops had another gun stashed somewhere.

  “The lieutenant will be in later,” McQueen said, putting the ten card down. “I’ll introduce you then.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll be partnered with me.”

  “With a sergeant?”

  “I catch cases around here,” McQueen said.

  “What about the partner you have now?”

  “He’ll be reassigned temporarily. We lost a man recently—he was reassigned, like you.”

  “Fine with me,” she said, with a shrug. “Is there some place I can stow my gear and get changed? Fix my face? Will I have a locker?”

  “I’ll show you where the lockers are,” he said. “For now it’ll be with the others, but we’ll have it moved so you have some privacy.”

  “Maybe the guys’ll want privacy.”

  “Everybody shows up already dressed, Detective,” McQueen said. “The lockers are really just for uniforms, coats in the winter—like now. We don’t have any showers up here. You want a shower you’ll have to take it at home, or go down to the precinct and use theirs. You have a problem with any of that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “If you’re gonna be changing your clothes today do it now. Day shift won’t be here for a few minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll show you where.”

  He took her out of the squad room and walked her down a hall to a makeshift locker room. Since they weren’t assigned to the precinct, the homicide detectives were not given lockers in the basement with the rest of the precinct personnel. McQueen had often thought that basing the squad here was something that had not been given very much thought.

  “There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he told her. “When you’re ready just come back into the squad room. I just caught a new case yesterday, and I’ll brief you on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And cut that out,” he said. “We’re gonna be working as partners for a while, so you don’t have to call me sir.”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  “Just call me Dennis, Detective,” he said, and left her to get herself ready for work.

  When he returned to the squad room he saw that the door to the lieutenant’s office was open. Since it was usually closed when the man wasn’t there, he wasn’t surprised to find his boss inside.

  “Mornin’, boss,” he said, sticking his head in.

  “Dennis,” Jessup said. “The new detective in yet?”

  “Nice and early.”

  “Good. Can I meet her?”

  “She’s getting settled,” McQueen said. “I’ll bring her in as soon as she’s ready.”

  “Fine. What’s happening with the frozen guy case?”

  “No reports on my desk,” McQueen said. “I’ll probably have to go down to the morgue, and to the crime lab, and get the results myself. Big surprise.”

  “Well, make sure you take Detective Sommers with you.”

  “She’ll be with me every step of the way.”

  “Have you told Velez about the change in assignment yet?” Jessup asked.

  “I’ll let him know when he comes in.”

  “You didn’t call him at home last night?”

  “This is business, Loo,” McQueen said. “Why ruin his night?”

  “Okay,” Jessup said. “Your call. Uh, what’s Sommers look like, by the way?”

  “Couldn’t really tell,” McQueen said. “She was wearing a parka, and no makeup. I’ll let you decide for yourself when I bring her in.”

  “Fine,” Jessup said. “Just bring her on in when she’s ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McQueen left the lieutenant’s office and went back to his desk. Detective Cataldo had arrived and was seated at his desk, and at that moment Ray Velez walked in.

  “Ray, Frankie,” he called out. “Can I talk to you guys for a minute?”

  Bailey Sommers checked herself in the mirror and thought she had done a decent job making herself presentable, under the circumstances. She was wearing a cream-colored sweater and black pants, had her holster clipped to her belt and had dabbed on a little makeup. The only thing she wasn’t happy with was her hair, but she didn’t have the time to try to do more with it, so she put it in a ponytail that didn’t quite hang to her shoulder blades.

  She squared her shoulders, checked herself in the mirror one last time and, satisfied that she looked businesslike, headed back to the squad room.

  “Do either of you have trouble with the new assignments?” McQueen asked.

  Cataldo shrugged and said, “I don’t much care who I partner with.”

  “No,” Velez said. “No problem.”

  “Good,” McQueen said. “Then let’s get to work.”

  Cataldo turned immediately and headed for his desk. Velez didn’t budge, leaned over and dropped his voice.

  “I have a problem.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t.”

  “I lied,” Velez said. “Come on, Dennis, I couldn’t say anything in front of him but . . . come on. Me and Frankie?”

  “I know he’s not the perfect partner, Ray,” McQueen said, “but it’s not for very long. Just work with me.”

  “Why don’t you work with Cataldo and give me the new guy?” Velez asked.

  “The lieutenant asked me to partner with Detective Sommers,” McQueen said. “In fact, it was an order.”

  “Fine.”

  And one other thing,” McQueen said, as Bailey Sommers entered the squad room again, “she’s not a guy.”

  Chapter 6

  When Detective Bailey Sommers reentered the squad room, McQueen sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Whatever she’d done to herself had changed her appearance drastically. She’d gone from plain and kind of stocky to the kind of woman who turned men’s heads. In her sweater and pants she looked shapel
y rather than stocky. The parka had done a lot to hide that. And with the addition of makeup her cheekbones suddenly became very noticeable, as did her full-lipped, sexy mouth and blue eyes. This was the kind of woman who’d had to endure all kinds of verbal abuse in the police department over the years, through no fault of her own. The job had changed, bringing more women into prominent jobs, and nobody was to blame, least of all them.

  He was going to have to keep a close eye on the squad for the next few weeks, to see if her addition was going to lead to any trouble—for her, or anyone else.

  “Sergeant—I mean, Dennis,” she said, approaching his desk. “I’m ready to go to work.”

  “The lieutenant would like to meet you, but first . . . Frank!”

  “Yeah, boss?” Cataldo looked up from his desk.

  “This is Detective Sommers,” McQueen said. “She’s just been assigned to the squad.”

  “Is that a fact?” Cataldo asked, looking her up and down. “Welcome.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, neutrally.

  “And this is Ray Velez,” McQueen said. “Usually my partner, he’s gonna work with Frank for a bit, while you work with me.”

  Sommers looked at Velez and said, “I hope that won’t cause any problems?”

  “Why should it cause any problems?” Velez asked.

  He put his hand out. “Welcome to the squad.”

  She shook his hand and said, “Thank you.”

  Velez looked at McQueen.

  “What about the Coney Island frozen guy?”

  “I caught that, so Bailey and I will follow that up.”

  “Bailey,” Velez said. He looked at Sommers again. “Odd name for a woman.”

  “It was my mother’s maiden name,” she said, with a shrug.

  “Yeah, well,” Velez said, “parents do some odd things to their kids with their names.”

  “Yes, they do,” she agreed.

  “Some day I’ll tell you my whole name,” Velez said, and walked over to Cataldo’s desk.

  Sommers looked at McQueen, who said, “It’s long . . . real long. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the boss.”