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“Tell Grose to tell Reeves to come out with him and the warrant,” Matt said, forgetting that he had promised himself to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.
He stole a quick glance at D’Amata, and saw nothing on his face to suggest he thought Matt had ordered the wrong thing. And he remembered what Quaire had said about his being expected to act like a sergeant.
“Why don’t we go have a quick look?” Matt said to D’Amata and Slayberg. “The search warrant’s on the way.”
He started to walk toward the stairs, and became aware that everybody started to follow him.
I’m not about to tell the district captain he can’t have a look at the scene, but that doesn’t apply to the lieutenant and certainly not to the smiling lady from Special Victims.
“It’s your job, Sergeant, but I would like a look.”
“After you, sir,” he said, waving Captain Smith ahead of him.
“Lieutenant, would you mind waiting until the Crime Lab people do their thing?” Matt asked.
“I just wanted a quick look, but you’re right,” Lieutenant Sawyer said.
“You understand,” Matt said to Detective Domenico.
The ice in your eyes, Detective Domenico, Sergeant Payne thought, would freeze the balls off a brass monkey. What’s your problem? You’re not even supposed to be here. This isn’t a rape, a child molestation, it’s a homicide.
The uniform in front of Cheryl Williamson’s door stepped aside when he saw Captain Smith and the others.
Once they got inside, Captain Smith touched Matt’s arm.
“I know Sex Crimes,” he said, using the old name for the Special Victims Unit, “doesn’t have anything to do with a homicide investigation, even when a sexual assault is involved. They just happened to be in my office talking to me about an unsolved rape when this job came out.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. And then he saw in Joe D’Amata’s eyes that he found this interesting. After a moment, so did Matt.
An unsolved rape and they just happened to be here at a homicide rape scene? Is there something else we’re not being told? I think I’ll have to send a team over to the Special Victims Unit to see what their files may have.
Without a word Joe D’Amata opened his leather-bound notepad, turned to the last page of the tablet, and scrawled a note for himself: Sex Crimes, unsolved rape in area, Lt. Sawyer, Det. Domenico, Ellis.
There was another female detective in the apartment, sitting on the couch beside a well-dressed, somewhat distraught-looking man.
She stood up when she saw them.
Sergeant Payne had an unprofessional thought: Now, that’s a very interesting member of the opposite sex.
“Captain, I’d rather not have anybody in there until we get the search warrant and the Crime Lab,” the very interesting member of the opposite sex said.
“The warrant’s on the way,” Matt said. “And we’re just going to stand in the door for a quick look.”
“Take a good long look,” the man on the couch said, as he stood up. “If you cops did what you’re supposed to do, my sister would probably still be alive.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, sir,” D’Amata said.
“You’re sorry? That does Cheryl a lot of fucking good.”
"Who are you?” Detective Olivia Lassiter asked, almost a challenge.
“Joe D’Amata, Homicide,” D’Amata said. “I’ve got the job. This is Harry Slayberg, and Sergeant Payne.”
D’Amata and Slayberg nodded at Detective Lassiter as they walked around Matt to the bedroom door.
“Who are you?” Matt asked.
“Lassiter, Northwest Detectives,” she said.
