Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(45)

“Nothing I’ve heard. Denver Major Crimes says it looks pretty cut and dried. Guy was a few trees short of a forest, and something triggered him. God knows what. Maybe he just didn’t like Kane’s looks. Next thing you know . . .” He swallowed again. “We’re on Level 2 security, but nothing’s come across the wire.”

“What about links to similar crimes?”

“One tramp shoved another in a town in New Mexico. And another guy fell asleep on the tracks after his friend dragged his sleeping bag there. Just another day in the life of drunken hobos. On the other hand, the regular cops aren’t exactly sharing with us cinder dicks. Ask me, Major Crimes is a bunch of self-righteous assholes. Here”—he reached back around to his desk and picked up a printout—“is the Daily Intelligence Briefing. There’s some buzz along the eastern seaboard from the homeland guys. Talk of a threat.” Heinrich shrugged. “I don’t pay too much attention. Homeland Security would have us going up and down like yo-yos if we tracked too closely. Tracked. Get it? And anyway, don’t see any link with our guy.”

I scanned the printout. “And no one has suggested Kane’s death had anything to do with a bigger danger?”

Heinrich gave me a look like maybe I’d drunk too much of the terrorist-threat Kool-Aid.

“Nah. Like I said—” He cocked his head, and I could tell he was getting a stream of information through his Bluetooth. He murmured a confirmation, then pushed back his chair and stood.

“We got a trespasser,” he said. “Same schmuck keeps standing on the tracks down near Hogan’s Alley. I better get on it.”

I stood as well, and Clyde came to his feet, his eyes on me.

“I like the new look,” Heinrich said, heading for the door. “Always did prefer brunettes.”

I didn’t punch him. But it was a close thing.



Mauer still hadn’t returned, but the door to his office stood open, so Clyde and I went on in. My ass had barely hit the chair when I heard my boss’s voice.

“The hell you doing back?” he said by way of greeting as he breezed in.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

He went around his desk, smiled at Clyde, then shot a scowl at me. He looked as ferocious as a teddy bear with constipation.

“I gotta be honest with you, Parnell. I’m kinda pissed to see you here. Thought you’d be slamming tequila and baking on a beach about now. And what’s with the shiner?”

“Mexico City doesn’t have beaches.”

“Whatever. Why are you sitting in my office instead of letting some rich se?or buy you a nice dinner? And forget the shiner. What’s with the hair? Trying to blend with the locals? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Go ahead and have a seat.” He glared at me. “Oh, yeah, I see you already did.”

I smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes. When it came to his officers, Deputy Chief John Mauer was all bluff and no bite. Around the office he acted more like a den mother than a leader of men. We would have walked on live coals for him. About six months ago he’d suddenly dropped more than sixty pounds. Over the last two, I’d watched with relief as he regained a third of it. Whatever demons he’d been battling, he seemed to have bounced back.

“I want to work the Kane case,” I said.

“The thing about you, Parnell, is you beat around the bush too much.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a treat, which he tossed to Clyde. Clyde caught it in midair and waited hopefully.

“That’s all I got, maligator,” Mauer said.

Clyde huffed and sat.

Mauer scowled at me. “I’m gonna ignore what you said.”

“Sir, I heard about Kane while I was in Mexico, and I—”

“Do not tell me you came back because of the murder at Union Station.” He stabbed a finger at me. “You need to drop the Columbo act and play at being a railroad cop once in a while.”

“Who’s Columbo?”

“Jessica Fletcher, then.”

“I’m not big on pop culture.”

“I can tell. Just stop trying to solve every damn crime in the county. How’s the therapy going?”

“You aren’t supposed to ask.” I’d been in DPC-mandated therapy ever since the Hensley investigation went south and a lot of people died. A number of them at my hand. “Kane was a Marine. He was in Habbaniyah when I was.”

“I know he was a Marine. What the hell does it matter that you guys were in-country at the same time?”

“It’s—”

“And don’t give me any Semper Fi bullshit, Parnell,” he plowed on. “Denver’s finest is already on it. It’s not.” He pounded the desk. “Your.” And again. “Job.” A final slam.

I let him go on for a bit, grousing about people knowing their place and not sticking their necks out or their noses in. With Mauer, once the cork came out of the bottle, it was hard to fit it back in until it was damn ready to go. I waited until he wound down enough to take a breath, then stepped in.

“I went to Mexico because I’m trying to figure out something that happened in Iraq when I was there.”

“Parnell, you’re giving me whiplash. What the hell does Kane getting killed by some asshole bum have to do with Iraq?”