The memory of Lem’s“old man”smirked in his head. Younger, Cade corrected himself. It placated his offended vanity—for now. He stopped beside Marlow, crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned at the screen. Lance stared, half-blind and disinterested anyhow, past them.
“Fascinating glimpse into a corrupt public official’s past,” he said. “What does it have to do with Lance, perennially under-employed kitchen porter?”
“The scars.” Marlow traced the photographed scores out on his own cheek, from his eyebrow and down over his cheekbone to his jaw. “The friend that got cut up lost an eye, and Piper said he’d been left with stripes to remember his stupidity. It was his ‘shape up or ship out’ speech. He always said either do what needs to be done or stay out of it from the beginning. No second thoughts…”
He trailed off as he thought about that.
“For reference?” Cade said. “That’s a bit of a red flag.”
“I suppose, in retrospect,” Marlow admitted. “At the time, it just seemed like good advice. Hesitation can get you killed.”
“So could Piper.”
It was meant to be cruel. Marlow just laughed at the jab, a soft huff of humor, and pointed at the woman’s face.
“I know her face,” he said. “But I can’t placehowI know her face.”
“Maria Cafolla. She’s a Spanish teacher who also volunteers with convicts to teach them life skills. Piper ever show any problems with basic literacy, numeracy, or cooking a microwave dinner?” That got him a smirk from Marlow, but he otherwise ignored it. That was fair enough, Cade supposed. It had been petty. As low as he claimed his opinion of the SDPD was when they inconvenienced him, he doubted they’d promote someone to Night Shift that couldn’t do the basics of the job one way or another. “Her and Piper are penpals. He writes to her monthly, and she visits him once a year. Conjugal visits, apparently.”
Marlow went “huh” as he absorbed that and stared at Maria’s picture a moment longer, his eyes squinted as if that would help him place her. Apparently it didn’t work because he finally turned away from the screen.
“Sorry,” he said. “I could ask Bennett? Her and Piper had a thing for a while.”
Cade raised his eyebrow. That hadn’t turned up in the background. Jay Bennett dated women—mostly redheads, but she wasn’t prescriptive—and there’d been no suggestion she’d broken that streak for her boss. Marlow caught his surprise and misinterpreted the reason for it.
“If there’s anyone in Night Shift I can trust, it’s Bennett,” he said. “She’s the one that turned Piper in to IA after he shot me. Even if she had a change of heart, she knows Piper doesn’t give second chances.”
Marlow trusted her. Cade knew it wasn’t fair to let that put his back up; it didn’t take anything away from him. It felt like it did, though. It was meant to be the two of them against the corruption in the Night Shift, after all. What other reason did Cade have to talk to Marlow?
Cade winced to himself at that. What was this? He was calling himself on his own shit now? Okay, so when he’d run into Marlow, he’d just grabbed at the first excuse to keep him around that he could think of. It didn’t mean anything—nothing he was going to deal with right now, anyhow.
Still, Cade wasn’t sure if it was common sense or that prickle of jealousy behind what he said next.
“What if she didn’t ask him?” he said. “You said it yourself; Piper flew under the radar. He didn’t leave bear traps in the woods or dump corpses with no hands in front of the cops. Maybe whoever did this just took up where he left off, whether Piper left it or not.”
Marlow opened his mouth to argue, but only got as far as “She…” before he had to give up. He grimaced sourly and rubbed his hand over his face.
“Do you know what sucks?” he asked.
Cade did. It was being left to think you’d killed someone you cared about. He didn’t say that, though.
“What?”
“You’re still pissed at me,” Marlow said.
That… That was not what Cade expected. He’d workshopped a dozen versions of this conversation. Most of them ended badly. In a few, Marlow had apologized profusely and physically, and none of them had been that straightforward.
“I’m… not,” Cade lied. Poorly.
Marlow didn’t even bother to call him on it. He just raised a dark eyebrow pointedly and then shrugged.
“It’s up to you,” he said. “But if you want to talk about it, I’m—”
His radio crackled. “Dispatch to Charlie-forty. Charlie-forty, respond.”
Marlow swore under his breath in exasperation, pulled an apologetic face at Cade, and reached up to his shoulder to thumb the button.
“Charlie-forty,” he said, chin tucked down toward his chest. “What is it?”
