Doyle ran a hand through his hair a few times.“It’s little things.Like, during Niederman’s case, the clues pointed us toward St.Jude’s Church—the same church where you got married.”
“The events surrounding that case could have easily—”
“Yeah, but they didn’t,” Doyle interrupted.“We found those clues just as the sender wanted us to find them.And what about Wagner and Costa trying to get me to walk through that apartment door first?”
“These two examples are night and day, Ira.Your safety is not a ‘little thing.’”
Doyle frowned.He rubbed the stubble on his jaw for a long moment, like he could tell this was territory that’d lead to discourse, before saying cautiously, “Your memory is your greatest asset and he seems to know it.Worth is poking and prodding, looking for any weak spots.If he can throw you off-kilter just enough that you make a mistake, he’ll have bested the NYPD’s greatest detective.My gut says there’s no way in hell the guy who murdered Costa this morning isn’t the same Anthony Vargas from your patrol days, which… considering it wasn’t even your case back then?”
“I was there for crowd control,” Larkin answered somberly.
“Going forward,” Doyle said.“We need to questioneverything.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It was 7:48 a.m.and the second-floor bullpen of Precinct 19 was now alive with the competing personalities of the Cold Case Squad.Larkin and Doyle reached the landing and took a moment to survey the familiar chaos: Byron Ulmer with his shaved head and villain goatee, a certifiable linebacker in a suit, paced back and forth behind his desk—as far as the phone cord would allow him, anyway—while arguing with the poor sap on the other end of the call.Aiko Miyamoto, a punk personality in a sales rack special, tall and rail-thin, with a bob of shiny black hair, lingered at Jim Porter’s desk while holding a flat, green-and-white box in both hands.And Porter—one of the squad’s veteran detectives—short and stocky, middle-aged, with a receding hairline, leaned far back in his desk chair as Miyamoto shouted at him.
“James David Porter, the cake batter isn’t for you!”
“Grim ain’t even here!”
“Yes, I am.”
Porter jostled in his chair and abruptly spun toward Larkin.
“Thank God,” Miyamoto muttered.She wriggled open the box top and revealed half a dozen fresh Krispy Kreme donuts.“I’ve been fending this animal off for the last ten minutes.Take your cake batter.”
“Thank you,” Larkin said, but started for his desk instead.“I’ll eat it later.”He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over his chair before realizing both Miyamoto and Porter were staring at him.“What.”
“You’ll eat a donutlater?”Porter repeated.
Miyamoto closed the box and shot Doyle an accusatory look.“You fed him, didn’t you?”
“Ain’t you a peach,” Porter added with a sly smirk.
Miyamoto stalked off to the breakroom without another word.
Larkin picked up the receiver of his desk phone and dialed voicemail to listen to his missed messages.
Doyle pulled the strap of his portfolio bag over his head, saying to Porter, “I didn’t realize runny eggs would put me on a watch list.”
Porter snorted.He leaned back in his chair again, picked up his coffee mug, and asked, “Where’d you guys go?”
“Good Enough,” Doyle said as he propped his bag against Larkin’s desk.“Down in Alphabet City.”
“Hmm.Great coffee,” Porter said by way of approval.To Larkin, he added, “It’s a good thing I ain’t into men or you’d have some competition.”
Larkin furrowed his brow in response.He leaned to one side and hit a button for the next message.
Doyle slid his hands into his pockets and countered good-naturedly, “I’ve always been weak for blonds, Jim.But thank you.”
“You can afford to be choosy.I bet guys line up around the block for you.”
“You think?”
“With an ass that Delta would consider checked luggage?C’mon.”
Doyle turned back to Larkin with a huge smile.
