Lock In (Lock In, #1)(5)

“Wow, really?” I said, before I could stop myself.

“I used the wrong word, didn’t I,” Davidson said, looking at me. “I can never remember if ‘clank’ or ‘threep’ is the word I’m not supposed to be using today.”

“Here’s a hint,” I said. “One comes from a beloved android character from one of the most popular films of all time. The other describes the sound of broken machinery. Guess which one we like better.”

“Got it,” Davidson said. “I thought you people were on strike today.”

“Jesus,” I said, annoyed.

“Touchy threep,” Davidson said, to Vann.

“Asshole cop,” Vann said, to Davidson. Davidson smiled. “This is Agent Chris Shane. My new partner.”

“No shit,” Davidson said, looking back at me. He clearly recognized the name.

“Surprise,” I said.

Vann waved at Davidson to get his attention back over to her. “You’ve got someone I want to talk to.”

“Yes, I do,” Davidson said. “Trinh told me you would be coming.”

“You’re not going to be as difficult as she’s been, I hope,” Vann said.

“Oh, you know I’m all about cooperation between law enforcement entities,” Davidson said. “And also you’ve never crossed me. Come on.” He motioned us forward, into the bowels of the station.

A few minutes later we were staring at Nicholas Bell through glass. He was in an interrogation room, silent, waiting.

“Doesn’t look like the guy to shove someone out of a window,” Davidson observed.

“It wasn’t a guy,” Vann said. “The guy was still in the room. It was a love seat.”

“Doesn’t look like the guy to shove a love seat out of a window, either,” Davidson said.

Vann pointed. “That’s an Integrator,” Vann said. “He spends a lot of time with other people in his head, and those people want to do a lot of different things. He’s in better shape than you think.”

“If you say so,” Davidson said. “You’d know better than I would.”

“Have you talked to him yet?” I asked.

“Detective Gonzales took a pass at him,” Davidson said. “He sat there and didn’t say a word, and did that for about twenty minutes.”

“Well, he has a right to remain silent,” I said.

“He hasn’t invoked that right yet,” Davidson said. “He hasn’t asked for a lawyer yet, either.”

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with your Officer Timmons zapping him into unconsciousness at the scene, now, would it?” Vann asked.

“I don’t have the full report from Timmons yet,” Davidson said.

“You’re a beacon of safe constitutional practices, Davidson.”

Davidson shrugged. “He’s been awake for a while. If he remembers he’s got rights, then fine. Until then, if you want to take a pass at him, he’s all yours.”

I looked over to Vann to see what she was going to do. “I think I’m going to pee,” she said. “And then I’m going to get a coffee.”

“Down the hall for both,” Davidson said. “You remember where.”

Vann nodded and left.

“Chris Shane, huh,” Davidson said to me, after she was gone.

“That’s me,” I said.

“I remember you when you were a kid,” Davidson said. “Well, not a kid, exactly. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” I said.

“How’s your dad? He going to run for senator or what?”

“He hasn’t decided yet,” I said. “That’s off the record.”

“I used to watch him play,” Davidson said.

“I’ll let him know,” I said.

“Been with her long?” Davidson motioned after Vann.

“First day as her partner. Second day on the job.”

“You’re a rookie?” Davidson asked. I nodded. “It’s hard to tell, because—” He motioned to my threep.

“I get that,” I said.

“It’s a nice threep,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry about the ‘clank’ thing.”

“It’s not a problem,” I said.

“I’d guess that you’d have less-than-flattering ways of describing us,” Davidson said.

“‘Dodgers,’” I said.

“What?”

“‘Dodgers,’” I repeated. “It’s short for ‘Dodger Dogs.’ It’s the hot dog they serve at Dodger Stadium in L.A.”

“I know what a Dodger Dog is,” Davidson said. “I don’t think I get how you get from us to them.”

“Two ways,” I said. “One, you guys are basically meat stuffed into skin. So are hot dogs. Two, hot dogs are mostly lips and *s, and so are you guys.”

“Nice,” Davidson said.

“You asked,” I said.

“Yeah, but why Dodger Dogs?” Davidson said. “This is a lifelong Nationals fan asking.”

“Got me,” I said. “Why ‘threep’? Why ‘clank’? Slang happens.”