The Cabinet of Curiosities (Pendergast #3)(84)

“Jesus Christ, O’Shaughnessy.” He wagged his head from side to side, jowls flapping like a beagle. “Jesus H. Christ.”

There was a silence.

“Gimme the report.”

O’Shaughnessy took a long breath. “No.”

“Whaddya mean, no?”

“I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to Special Agent Pendergast.”

The captain stared at O’Shaughnessy for at least a minute. “You gave it to that prick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I ask why?”

O’Shaughnessy did not answer immediately. Fact was, he didn’t want to get put off this case. He liked working with Pendergast. He liked it a lot. For the first time in years, he found himself lying awake at night, thinking about the case, trying to fit the pieces together, dreaming up new lines of investigation. Still, he wasn’t going to kiss ass. Let the showdown come.

“He requested it. For his investigation. You asked me to assist him, and that’s what I did.”

The jowls began to quiver. “O’Shaughnessy, I thought I made it clear that you were to seem to be helpful, not to be helpful.”

O’Shaughnessy tried to look puzzled. “I don’t think I quite understand you, sir.”

The captain rose from his chair with a roar. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

O’Shaughnessy stood his ground, feigning surprise now as well as puzzlement. “No, sir, I don’t.”

The jowls began to shake with rage. “O’Shaughnessy, you impudent little—” Custer broke off, swallowed, tried to get himself under control. Sweat had broken out above his thick, rubbery upper lip. He took a deep breath. “I’m putting you down for administrative leave.”

God damn it. “On what grounds?”

“Don’t give me that. You know why. Disobeying my direct orders, freelancing for that FBI agent, undermining the department—not to mention getting involved in that excavation down on Doyers Street.”

O’Shaughnessy knew well that the discovery had been a boon to Custer. It had temporarily taken the heat off the mayor, and the mayor had thanked Custer by putting him in charge of the investigation.

“I followed procedure, sir, in my liaison work with Special Agent Pendergast.”

“The hell you did. You’ve kept me in the dark every step of the way, despite these endless goddamn reports you keep filing which you know damn well I don’t have time to read. You went way around me to get that report. Christ, O’Shaughnessy, I’ve given you every opportunity here, and all you do is piss on me.”

“I’ll file a grievance with the union, sir. And I’d like to state for the record that, as a Catholic, I am deeply offended by your profanity involving the name of Our Savior.”

There was an astonished silence, and O’Shaughnessy saw that Custer was about to lose it completely. The captain spluttered, swallowed, clenched and unclenched his fists.

“As for the police union,” said Custer, in a strained, high voice, “bring’ em on. As for the other, don’t think you can out-Jesus me, you sanctimonious prick. I’m a churchgoing man myself. Now lay your shield and piece down here”—he thumped his desk—“and get your Irish ass out. Go home and boil some potatoes and cabbage. You’re on administrative leave pending the result of an Internal Affairs investigation. Another Internal Affairs investigation, I might add. And at the union hearing, I’m going to ask for your dismissal from the force. With your record, that won’t be too hard to justify.”

O’Shaughnessy knew this wasn’t an empty threat. He removed his gun and badge and dropped them one at a time on the table.

“Is that all, sir?” he asked, as coolly as possible.

With satisfaction, he saw Custer’s face blacken with rage yet again. “Is that all? Isn’t that enough? You better start pulling your résumé together, O’Shaughnessy. I know a McDonald’s up in the South Bronx that needs a rent-a-cop for the graveyard shift.”

As O’Shaughnessy left, he noticed that Noyes’s eyes—brimming with wet sycophantic satisfaction—followed him out the door.


He paused on the steps of the station house, momentarily blinded by the sunlight. He thought of the many times he’d trudged up and down these stairs, on yet another aimless patrol or pointless piece of bureaucratic busywork. It seemed a little odd that—despite his carefully groomed attitude of nonchalance—he felt more than a twinge of regret. Pendergast and the case would have to make do without him. Then he sighed, shrugged, and descended the steps. His career was over, and that was that.

To his surprise, a familiar car—a Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith—was idling silently at the curb. The door was opened by the invisible figure in the rear. O’Shaughnessy approached, leaned his head inside.

“I’ve been put on administrative leave,” he said to the occupant of the rear seat.

Pendergast, leaning back against the leather, nodded. “Over the report?”

“Yup. And that mistake I made five years ago didn’t help any.”

“How unfortunate. I apologize for my role in your misfortune. But get in, if you please. We don’t have much time.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”