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But no fun there if she’s ill.
Guess that glow was a fever.
Hope it’s not me she’s sick of.
Could be from sheer exhaustion.
Then he thumbed the reply: I’M REALLY SORRY, BABY. CAN I BRING YOU ANYTHING? ASPIRIN? CHICKEN SOUP? HOW ABOUT ETERNAL HA
PPINESS? SEE YOU SOON . . .
He hit SEND. Then he put the phone back in his pants pocket.
[TWO]
A minute later, the main door to the ECC suddenly began to swing open. Payne, Harris, and Rapier could hear the soft humming sound of an electric motor on the other side. Then in the doorway appeared a black male in his late teens. He was in a wheelchair, but it was a highly maneuver-able power chair. He controlled its speed and direction with a joystick on the right armrest.
He fluidly rolled inside the ECC.
“Well, hell,” Matt Payne said, “look who’s still on the right side of the law. How are you, Andy?”
“Great, Marshal,” Andy Radcliffe said with a smile.
Radcliffe, with gentle black eyes and a round, kind face, had a full head of dark hair trimmed to his scalp. His jeans and slightly oversize cotton dress shirt were neatly pressed. His navy blazer was somewhat worn.
Payne admired the intern, not only because he was a sophomore at La Salle doing a double major in computer science and criminal justice, and planning to get on with the department. He was also genuinely impressed with Andy’s attitude after the teen had been robbed three years before in North Philly—then paralyzed when the robbers viciously stabbed him in the back.
Radcliffe looked at Rapier.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked. He pointed at Payne’s mug. “More java, Marshal?”
And there’s that positive attitude, Payne thought. Willing to fetch coffee, anything.
“We’re reviewing some cases,” Payne said. “Never hurts to have a fresh set of eyes and ears. Make yourself comfortable. At the miserable rate we’re going, we’ll be here some time.”
Radcliffe nodded. “Yessir.”
“Okay, Kerry, let’s move on to Reggie Jones—”
“Can I first read this one on Cheatham?” Radcliffe asked. “Wait. I’ll pull it all up on the laptop. You guys go ahead.”
Payne looked at him and thought, And he’s got confidence. Just walks in as if he’s been doing it for years.
The motor of Andy’s power chair hummed as he went over to the end of the conference table, close to Rapier, and pulled out a laptop from a sleeve behind his chair. He plugged the box into the department’s communications system and started pounding its keyboard.
Payne and Harris exchanged glances, then looked back to the main monitor. The fat baby face of Reginald Jones was looking down on them.
Radcliffe looked up from his laptop and saw Rapier’s custom-made .45 pointer on-screen.
He snorted. “That’s some sweet cursor, Kerry.”
“Watch this,” Rapier said. He typed a command on his keyboard, then put the cursor over REGINALD “REGGIE” JONES Case No.: 2010-81-039 613-Pop-n-Drop and clicked.
The overhead speakers then filled with the report of a gunshot, and a puff of smoke blew from the muzzle of the pistol pointer.
“Now, that,” Radcliffe said, shaking his head, “might be a bit too much.”
“Finally!” Payne said. “A clear voice of reason is heard on the task force.”
