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“He’s not here either. Can I do something for you?”
“Would you give whichever of them comes in first this envelope, please?”
She handed it to him.
“Sure.” He weighed it in his hands. “What is it?”
“It’s from Sergeant Payne,” Olivia said.
Hobbs looked at her, waiting for her to go on. After a moment’s hesitation, she did.
“It’s photographs of the victim in the Independence Street job.”
Sergeant Hobbs immediately tore the envelope open and looked at the eight photographs.
“Where the hell did Payne get these?” Hobbs asked.
“The doer forgot his digital camera at the scene. Sergeant Payne downloaded the images to his laptop, and Special Victims printed them for us.”
“Next question: Who are you, Detective? How did you get them?”
“My name is Lassiter,” Olivia said. “Northwest. I’ve been detailed to Homicide. Sergeant Payne told me to bring them here.”
“Detailed? By who?”
“Chief Lowenstein,” Olivia said.
“Well, so long as you’re with us, Detective, you’re certainly going to bring a little class to the premises,” Hobbs said. “Where’s the camera?”
“Detective D’Amata has it,” Olivia said.
“Okay. As soon as either the boss or the Black Buddha comes in, I’ll see they get these. They may want to talk to you…”
“I’ll give you my cell phone number,” she said, and did.
“Where will you be?”
“I’m going to take the victim’s mother’s statement,” she said.
“Sergeant Payne told you to?”
“Yes, he did.”
He looked at her a moment, then said, “Welcome, welcome. Would you be offended if I said you’re the best-looking detective to come in here in my memory?”
“Not at all,” Olivia said, and smiled at him. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Hobbs said. “See you around.”
In the best of all possible worlds, Olivia thought, as she left Homicide and the Roundhouse and got in her unmarked car, the encounter between herself and Sergeant Hobbs of Homicide would have been entirely professional and gender-neutral.
But the Philadelphia police department was not the best of all possible worlds, and Sergeant Hobbs had made it clear that he found her to be an attractive member of the female gender.
So what was wrong with that?
He wondered who the hell I was, which was natural, and he really wondered, which was even more natural, who had detailed me, even temporarily, to Homicide. Once I told him Lowenstein, that was the end of it.
It really couldn’t have gone any better.
