Larkin finished with the voicemail and set the receiver back on the cradle before saying, “I’d prefer we not discuss during business hours what God gave my partner.”
Thankfully, before the conversation had the opportunity to go completely off the rails, Lieutenant Mike Connor appeared in the open doorway of his office and called, “Grim!”
“Yes, sir.”
Connor pointed at Doyle.“Monet.”
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
“Both of you get in here.”
“Are we in trouble?”Doyle whispered, following close behind Larkin.
“I think he’s missed you,” Larkin corrected.He ushered Doyle into the office first, shut the door, and turned as Connor shook Doyle’s hand.
“How’s life at 1PP?”Connor asked, taking a seat.A fifth-generation officer of the NYPD, Connor told anyone who’d listen about how he’d gotten his start as a patrolman, worked his way up the ladder, and was eventually promoted to lieutenant of the elite but woefully understaffed Cold Case Squad.He was a formidable Irishman, with a booming voice and build that rivaled doorframes.A smattering of freckles across his face and forearms was all that tempered his grizzly bear appearance.
“Never a dull moment,” Doyle confirmed, mirroring Connor and sitting across from him in one of the two chairs positioned before the desk.
“They keeping you busy?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’d say that having you uptown is a breath of fresh air—”
As Larkin approached, he really had to marvel at Doyle’s innate likeability.Not one, buttwomiddle-aged straight men had professed their undeniable affection for his partner that morning, and Doyle hadn’t even rolled back his shirtsleeves yet.
“—but seeing you here, and after O’Halloran requested Grim at Pier 34 last night, you’re probably not delivering a cookie bouquet, eh?”
Larkin took a seat, crossed his legs, and settled his hands in his lap.He said, “Miyamoto brought in donuts.”
Connor made a face andtsk’d.“’Course she did… when my doc told me Monday I need to start watching my sugar.”He made a “what can you do” gesture before asking Larkin, “So what happened?”
“A refrigerator got caught up in the pile fields,” Larkin began.“Inside was the dismembered remains of Matilde Wagner.”
Connor’s face took on a distinct red hue.“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m aware that my delivery is often stifled by my tone of voice, but I assure you, this is not a joke.We just returned from a meeting with the ME,” Larkin continued, motioning to Doyle.“Wagner was shot point-blank in the head and taken apart with what was likely a meat cleaver and possibly a bread knife.”
“And Sal Costa’s dead,” Doyle added.
“He’s what?”
“He was jumped at morning roll call,” Larkin explained.“Stabbed to death with a sharpened toothbrush by another inmate.”
“What theabsolute fuck.”
“O’Halloran called last night because of the message left at the crime scene,” Larkin said.“Written on the refrigerator door was ‘Pin me to Detective Larkin.’”And when Connor cocked his head to one side, he added, “Wagner had an antique brooch pierced through her tongue.”
“That explains you,” Connor said, sharp eyes cutting toward Doyle.
“Yes, sir.It’s mourning jewelry—hair jewelry.Larkin had the idea to return to the Wagners’ apartment—”
“Doyle did,” Larkin corrected.
Connor raised both hands and said, “You both had the same damn idea and the accolades will be split accordingly.Why’d you go back?”
Doyle said, “There was a question of provenance, I suppose, for the brooch.The thing about mourning jewelry is not only are they often found in a parure—”
