3rd Degree

Chapter 13

AN HOUR LATER Tracchio and I held a tense, very emo-tional news briefing on the steps of the Hall. Cindy was there, along with about half the city's news force.

Back in the office, Jacobi had run the name on the photo, August Spies, through the CCI database and the FBI. It came back zilch. No match on any name or group. Cappy was dig-ging up whatever he could on the missing au pair. We had a description from Lightower's sister, but no idea how to find her. She didn't even know the girl's last name.

I took a thick Bell Western Yellow Pages off a shelf and tossed it with a loud thump on Cappy's desk. “Here, start with N, for nannies.”

It was almost six o'clock on Sunday. We had a team down at X/L's offices, but the best we could get was a corporate public relations flack who said we could meet with them tomorrow at 8 A.M. Sundays were shit crime-solving days.

Jacobi and Cappy knocked on my door. “Why don't you go on home?” Cappy said. “We'll handle it from here.”

“I was just gonna buzz Charlie Clapper.” His CSU team was still picking through the scene.

“I mean it, Lindsay. We got you covered. You look like shit, anyway,” Jacobi said.

Suddenly I realized just how exhausted I was. It had been nine hours since the town house had blown. I was still in a sweatshirt and running gear. The grime of the blast was all over me.

“Hey, LT.” Cappy turned back. “Just one more thing. How did it go last night with Franklin Fratelli? Your big date?”

They were standing there, chewing on their grin like two oversize teenagers. “It didn't,” I said. “Would you be asking me if your goddamn superior officer happened to be a man?”

“Damn right, I'd be asking',” Cappy said. “And might I add, for my goddamn superior officer” - the big detective threw his bald head back - “you're looking mighty fine here in those tights. That Fratelli brother, he must be quite a fool.”

“Noted.” I smiled. It had taken me a long time to feel in charge of these guys. Both of them had double my time on the force. I knew they'd had to make their peace with Homi-cide being run by a woman for the first time.

“Something you want to add to that, Warren?” I asked.

“Nope.” He rocked on his heels. “Only, we doin' suits and ties tomorrow, or can I wear my tennis shorts and Nikes?”

I brushed past him, shaking my head. Then I heard my name one more time. “Lieutenant?”

I turned, piqued. “Warren?”

“You did good today.” He nodded. “The ones who matter know.”