R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 03 - Reckoning Read Online Free PDF Page B

said.
    Burke was my partner for a lot of years. A father to me. He died of a heart attack, away from the job.
    “IS a good man. Always will be,” Rico said.
    “You want to keep breaking bad, Rico? I say it’s too fucking cold out here for this shit. I’d be happy to see you down at the gym, though, you feel like you want to go a few rounds.”
    “I used to try and get him to slim down,” Rico said. “Get healthier.”
    “So?”
    “So you were his partner.”
    “Get to the point.”
    “Just seems like someone should have had his back is all.”
    “I had his back every day, hoss. There’s a line here and you’ve just about stepped on it.”
    “Yeah? You pulling rank?”
    “I never pull rank. I walk the walk. You box? I find it a great way to settle bad blood without getting asses suspended. Like the lake next summer, that invite is for real.”
    “Easy guys,” Quaid said. “Gibbs. Take the detective over there and give him your report. Rico, shag your ass over to my car. We need to have words.”
    Gibbs and I walked over toward the victim.
    “You two arrived at the scene first?” I said.
    “Yep. Female taxi driver called it in. She was really shaken up when we got here.”
    “Anyone else around? Witnesses?”
    “No. Too early, I guess.”
    “You set up the barricade, taped off the crime scene?” I said.
    “Yeah, we called in backup to handle pedestrians and the crowd.”
    It was good work. I’d seen too many crime scenes compromised by lazy uniforms.
    “Good job,” I said. “This place is already hopping.”
    “Is there anything else, Detective?”
    He was curt, to the point. Professional but not wanting to concede anything else because of his partner. The blue line. I got it. And I liked him right away.
    “No, nothing else. Like I said, Gibbs, thanks for preserving the scene.”
    “Have a nice day,” he said, spun, and walked away.
    Rico’s words had stung me. He was an asshole but he was saying things my own conscience had whispered to me a hundred thousand times. Burke had been everything to me, especially on the job. I loved him. We try to help our loved ones but too often we’re the last ones capable of effecting change. In the end I’d chosen to be the best partner and friend I could while letting him make his own adult decisions on the rest. He liked his donuts, he liked his Philly cheesesteak, and he enjoyed an occasional pastry at Wholly Cannoli Café .
    I once heard on talk radio the guy say “I don’t care if giving up donuts adds two years to my life or not; sounds like two more years with no donuts.”
    That didn’t mean I gave myself a pass. Had I really believed it was going to kill him before he had a chance to enjoy a retirement and pension he’d earned fifty times over, I’d have put up a blockade between my best friend and bad food.
    But because I thought he might just be right, Rico didn’t get a pass either. That’s not the way men do things, or at least not my way. Respect begets respect. Disrespect, particularly when mentioning the deceased—the beloved deceased—got your ass handed to you. I prayed silently that Rico chose to take me up on my boxing invite and made a mental note to reach out to him on the subject in a few days if I didn’t hear from him first.
    Less than twenty minutes later Margaret Duchamp, CID boss, and her charges arrived. They canvassed the area, a for-real crack forensics team that was as good as any I’d heard about. The weather made no difference to them. It only changed the methodology. Duchamp was a bitch but they wouldn’t miss a fiber, not if they had to dig it from the Colorado snow with a pair of tweezers, thaw it, wait patiently for it to dry, and then go to work.
    I’d seen them do it and likely they’d be doing it now.
    There was nothing left for me to do here. I needed to go back to the warm precinct, drink some bitter, strong, hot coffee, start combing missing persons reports, and wait for the M.E.’s report. Once I