Jamaica Plain (9780738736396) Read Online Free PDF Page A

finger at Grant. “And don’t let O’Rourke hear you say anything like that.”
    â€œThe desk sergeant?”
    The big guy nodded.
    â€œWhat’s all this ‘Fuck the English, I’m a Yorkshireman’ shit?”
    â€œHe mentioned that, huh?”
    â€œIn a rare moment of cooperation.”
    â€œGod’s own county, Yorkshire. A breed apart.”
    â€œJust like Texas, then?”
    Grant smiled. “Only without the Alamo.”
    â€œO’Rourke give you a hard time?”
    â€œModerate to hard.”
    â€œHe’s the station’s shit deflector.”
    Kincaid indicated a battered cash register on a separate desk. “Us? We’re a fast-food deflector squad. Last night again—McDonald’s just up the road from here. Local guy tries to steal the cash register through the take-out window while the staff are watching. Drops it outside and gets chased off. Runs the wrong way. Straight towards the station house.”
    Grant put his bag on a spare seat. “Local boys rule. Thought you had serious criminals in Boston.”
    The big guy fixed Grant with a serious glare. “Oh, we got a few. Most of our low-rent crooks are imported. Even got one from Yorkshire.”
    Grant smiled. “Freddy Sullivan?”
    â€œDickweed of the lowest order.”
    Grant nodded. “That he is. Got a dick like a weedy shallot, I heard.” He held out a hand. “Jim Grant.”
    The big guy shook it in a firm, dry fist. “Sam Kincaid.”
    The room was suddenly a friendlier place. Grant thought this holiday task should be quick and easy, and then he could enjoy the sights. He was about to ask about interview facilities when Kincaid threw a spanner in the works.
    â€œYou won’t be talking to Sullivan today, though.”
    Grant felt a shadow enter the room despite the sunshine through the windows. “How come?”
    â€œHe’s with the doctor. Started foaming at the mouth half an hour ago.”

four
    Grant shifted his bag to the floor and sat down. A siren started up outside as a patrol car sped off to some unseen emergency. A young detective at the far desk stood up and waggled an empty mug towards the others. “Coffee, anybody?”
    Kincaid glanced at Tyson Miller and then back at Grant. “One good thing about mentoring: endless coffee. You?”
    A brief thought flashed through Grant’s mind. Being training officer to Jamie Hope and covering the probationary constable’s back at Snake Pass. The right decision but not Grant’s finest hour. There had been the coffee-making benefits, though.
    â€œThanks. Milk and sugar?”
    Miller nodded. “You betcha.”
    Enthusiasm oozed out of Miller’s pores like sweat. Grant remembered being like that. He remembered Jamie Hope. Eager to please. Fast to learn. A good combination. He liked Miller already. He wasn’t sure about Kincaid yet. Grant spoke firmly. “Sullivan’s pulling a flanker. You know that, right?”
    Kincaid threw Grant a quizzical look. “Don’t know about a flanker, but he’s shining us on, sure.”
    â€œWhat’s he after?”
    â€œMy guess: release or hospital. He’s only here for you. Got picked up on a routine traffic stop. System showed him wanted in the UK. Probably figures if he’s sick, we’ll bail him rather than pay the medical.”
    â€œThings that tight?”
    â€œModern policing—budgets always tight. Cut back on overtime, can’t get vehicles back from the shop in less than two weeks, detectives dealing with pizza thieves to free up uniforms. Yeah, things are tight.”
    â€œI’ll save you some money, then. Let me talk to him.”
    â€œNo can do. Doc gets to see him first. Hospital or detention. Then he has to rule if Sullivan’s fit for interview. By then he’ll be on rest period. Rules we live and die by.”
    Grant huffed a laugh that had nothing to