Officer Cruz, one of the star players of the department’s softball team, said, “I have a Detective Val Hackett from Brooklyn here to see you.”
Larkin turned in his chair before standing and looking over the banister to the ground floor.Sure enough, Hackett stood near the entrance, soaking up Precinct 19 as if he were a sponge, like his own station house wasn’t the same organized chaos of both uniformed and plain-clothed officers moving every which way, overlaid with the competing stinks of industrial cleaner, toner, and coffee, and sounds of half a dozen conversations being interrupted by ringing telephones.That’s when Hackett looked up, spotted Larkin, and waved enthusiastically.
Into the phone, Larkin said, “I see that.”
“Do you want me to send him up?”
“God, no.”
Cruz snorted.
“I’ll be right down.”Larkin hung up, put away Barbara’s file, and grabbed his suit coat.He drew his arms through the sleeves on his way downstairs.
Hackett met him halfway across the floor with an eager, “Good afternoon, Larkin.”
“Why’re you here.”
“Straight to the point—got it.”Hackett retrieved a folded warrant from his inner pocket and held it up like a treasure map.“Your lieutenant called last night and said to keep you involved with the Brooklyn murders, since they relate to a case you’re working?So, anyway, I got warrants for Joe Sinclair’s place of employment and his home.He was a reporter forOut in NYC.Do you read it?”
“It’s not in my usual rotation, no,” Larkin said dryly.
“Well, I stopped by their office this morning.His boss confirmed that Joe mostly worked from home, so he didn’t keep anything at work.”Hackett tucked the warrant back into his pocket.“I thought you might want to join me at his apartment, though.Psychology of place and all that.”
“I don’t know how he plays into our case, into a relationship with the sender, but hedoes.”
“I would, actually.”
“I’m on my way there now.The manager from the landlord’s office is supposed to meet me.”
Larkin checked his watch: 1:12 p.m.
“Is this not a good time?”Hackett asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Larkin sighed a little.“No, it’s fine.I have one hour and forty-eight minutes before an evidence pick up is ready downtown.”
Hackett was beaming—all sunshine and roses—as they stepped out of the precinct.“Joe’s place is on East Sixty-Second.It’s only a few blocks, if you fancy a stroll.”
“I just had my suit dry-cleaned,” Larkin answered, discreetly noting none of the surrounding vehicles were a blue Honda Civic, and he wasn’t sure if that gave him more anxiety than not.
Hackett was motioning to a black-and-white parked two spaces away on their left.“I borrowed a cruiser to come into the city.I will warn you, though… it smells a little like Friday night upchuck.”
March 10, 2011, Larkin had turned his overheads on, sounded the siren, and deftly wove through late-night traffic in the Grand Central area to catch up with an erratic driver.He followed the Toyota Prius as it had swerved left onto East Forty-Second and cruised down the uptown bus lane before narrowly missing a lamppost, jumping the sidewalk, and then crashing into one of the massive sidewalk pots that, in the summer, would be full of flowers.Larkin and his then-partner had gotten out of their vehicle, approached the Prius driver as he stumbled out from behind the wheel of his totaled car, and who then promptly projectile vomited all over the front of Larkin’s uniform.
The only difference was that it had been a Thursday night.
Nose wrinkled, Larkin said, “I’ll drive.”He led the way across the street to the parallel-parked Audi.Larkin tapped the key fob, the locks releasing with a beep, and opened the door.He slid behind the wheel as Hackett hurried around the back bumper and opened the passenger side.
“Wow.Thisis class,” he said as he took a seat.Hackett laughed in that little self-conscious way Larkin had made note of the day before as he drew his seat up a few clicks.“Did you have a giant riding shotgun?”
“Detective Doyle.”
“Oh.Ha.Yeah, he’s pretty tall, I guess.”
Larkin started the car, adjusted the AC, checked his mirrors, and pulled onto the street.“Which avenue.”
“Between Second and Third.”
At the end of the block, Larkin turned south onto Lexington.Afternoon sun bounced off apartment windows overlooking the avenue, washed-out storefront displays and signs, and refracted off the looming glass high-rises farther downtown.Larkin pulled the sun visor down.
