Carol Maxwell hated these luncheons that the department forced on the wives from time to time. As if she had a single thing in common with the redneck, uneducated other halves of Atlanta’s finest. She took a sip from her appletini and smiled at Trish Barnes across the table. The stupid cow was sipping an iced tea as if it were nectar from the gods, looking as prim and dainty as a vicar’s wife.
Trish smiled at her and bobbed her head. Carol assumed the bobbed head thing was what people from West Virginia did when they greeted each other in the street. The woman wasn’t homely but she wore so much makeup—literally caked on her face—that not only did it tidily dispel the whole vicar’s wife look she had going on, it made her look years older than her age.
Trish was married to Keith Barnes, Dave Kazmaroff’s best friend. Not for the first time, Carol wondered what kind of secrets those two shared.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Carol looked up to see none other than Diane Burton standing next to her, a white wine spritzer in one manicured hand.
“Not at all,” Carol said, scooting her chair over to make room. Things had just gotten a little interesting. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she said forcing her face to look friendly to soften the words. It was all very well to get off a good zinger at a promising target but what was the point if it made the target clam up?
Diane sat down and let out a long breath as if just seating herself at the wives’ table had taken effort and courage.
Actually, Carol knew it had.
“I didn’t think I would, either.”
“You know the men never come to these things.”
“I know.”
“I say that because Jeff said he heard you’d been calling quite a lot.”
Diane took a sip of her wine. She was a beautiful woman, Carol noted. Blonde with fair features and full lips. Slim, too. Burton clearly had a thing for the cheerleader type.
“If even Jeff’s heard it, it must be all over the precinct by now,” Diane said.
“Aren’t you two divorced?”
Diane smiled and set her wine glass down. “You know we are, Carol,” she said. “I’m just not sure we should be.”
“Gosh, Diane, rumor has it the whole thing was your idea. Is that not true?”
Rumor my ass. Everyone knew Burton caught Diane in flagrante with their effing lawn boy. Kid couldn’t have been eighteen years old. When confronted, the silly woman insisted she was in love and demanded a divorce.
“I made a mistake.”
“Jack not returning your calls?” Carol forced herself to appear caring and interested.
“No. But I was thinking maybe you could help me.”
“Anything, Diane. What can I do?” Just don’t ask me to try to get him in the sack because, angel, I’ve tried for months. It’d be easier to get a water buffalo to serve afternoon tea.
“Could you talk to him for me? Tell him I was having emotional problems? I can give him the number of my therapist. Would you tell him that?”
Carol felt the pleasure of the exchange begin to wane. The stupid woman looked so hopeful and yet so desperate, it just wasn’t fun anymore. “Diane,” she said, signaling to the waiter to bring her another drink, “did it ever occur to you that there was a reason you were so unhappy that you…ended the marriage? Do you really think jumping back in is the answer? Is that what you’re therapist is saying?” Crackpots, all of them. Say whatever they need to say to keep you coming and writing checks.
“No, Carol, it wasn’t Jack. I had some issues I had to work out…is all.”
Okay, I’m not going to touch that one. Just nod sagely, Carol, and keep thy lips sealed.
“Will you talk to him for me, please?”
“Sure, Diane. If you really want me to.” The thought of ‘helping out’ poor Diane by climbing into bed with her ex brought a sudden smile to Carol’s lips. Maybe the indirect approach would work better with Jack anyway. She caught the waiter’s eye and pointed to Diane’s drained wine glass.
Life is so much more fun when you have an engaging project to fill your time, she thought, smiling in pleasant anticipation.
***
The call had come in at seven that morning. Burton knew it was coming, of course. From his desk he had a direct sightline to the elevators where he watched Maxwell disembark and lumber toward his office at the end of the hall. There weren’t many people in the office this early, a few finishing up the night shift is all.
Might as well get it over with. Maxwell wasn’t going to be any easier after his cup of coffee. And Jack had things to do today. He stood up, straightened his tie and wrestled into his blazer before walking to Maxwell’s office and rapping on the door. He entered before the man had a chance to tell him to come in.
As a rule, Burton never sat down in Maxwell’s office. Even in the best of times, he didn’t like to make meetings last longer than they had to. And this wasn’t the best of times.
Not even close.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.
Deputy Chief William Maxwell leaned across the desk to tap his nameplate with a pencil. A large man, he’d spent so many years in lean, optimum physical shape in his life that he had real trouble accepting his new body image. The brawn that had stretched out between his shoulder blades now sagged below his belt. In a way, the extra bulk was just as intimidating behind a desk as it had been solid and well-cut on two feet.
“You see this, Burton?” he said, tapping the metal nameplate at the edge of his desk. “This is the line of demarcation where the bullshit stops. You understand?”
“Whatever you say, sir.”
Burton noticed there was only one framed photo on Maxwell’s desk. It was a formal portrait of his daughter—looked to be about ten years old. Burton knew the girl graduated from high school last year and that Maxwell and his first wife didn’t get along. Maybe the poor bastard wasn’t able to get a more recent picture of his own kid.
“You know I gotta suspend you, right?” Maxwell said, rifling through a folder on his desk. “Oh, there’ll be an IA investigation. Count on it. The bastard is suing the department.”
“I barely hit him.”
“He looked like you ran him over with his own SUV. Says you stole his dog on top of it.”
“How long is the suspension for?”
“Until the suit is dropped or IA finds you did not use undue force.” The deputy chief snatched up a folder and peered at it. “What did you stop him for? A tail light?”
“Yes sir,” Burton said. “He had a busted tail light.” And two broken ribs and one cracked jaw after Burton finished with him. Burton didn’t regret a single punch. Just remembering the look on that kid’s face as he held the whimpering dog ensured that.
“And the transfer’s on hold, too.”
A muscle in Burton’s jaw flinched but he forced himself to shrug. “Like it was ever seriously considered.”
“Why you two morons can’t sort this out between you during the thousands of hours you spend in each other’s company, I’ll never understand.”
Burton knew Maxwell wasn’t interested in trying to understand. He wasn’t about to break up his most successful partnership. “You can transfer me to another division,” Burton said. “SWAT, narcotics, sex crimes, I don’t care.”
“You’re a homicide detective.”
“I can be anything.”
“Right now it seems what you are is a candidate for anger management.”
“Let me transfer, or I’ll quit.”
“Son, you have fifteen years on the force. I oughta send you to the department shrink even for saying that. Only a lunatic would give up this close to a pension.”
Funny. That’s exactly how I feel. Like a fucking lunatic.
Maxwell continued, raising his voice. “I need a better reason to break up a partnership than just two guys don’t share the same eye shadow choices.”
“There is no partnership,” Jack said. “There never was.”
“Well, whatever it is,” Maxwell said, “it works and I need it to continue to work. Transfer request denied. Check your weapon in at Discipline Authority. You’re suspended until further notice.”
Burton turned to leave.
“And Jack?”
Burton stopped but didn’t turn.
“While you’re away, make a serious effort to get a grip, will you?”
The first person Burton saw when he opened the door to exit Maxwell’s office was Dave Kazmaroff, lounging on one of the desks outside. Waiting for him.
“You want away from me that bad, Jack, you’d flush your pension? There’s something wrong with you, man.”
Burton shoved past Kazmaroff to move toward his desk. He expected the suspension, in fact, he actually welcomed it. He wouldn’t say every day with Kazmaroff as his partner had been hell but it had come close.
Kazmaroff followed him. “You put that guy in the ER over a busted tail light? What are you now, Psycho Traffic Cop? What the hell, Jack?”
Burton felt the anger drain away as he pulled open his desk drawer and collected the items he’d need while he was at home. He patted his shirt pocket for his cell phone and glanced at his wristwatch.
Kazmaroff stood in front of Burton’s desk. “If you really want out that bad, I’ll talk to Maxwell for you.”
Burton looked up from his desk, startled. “Why would you do that?”
“Look, man, I don’t hate you. If you want out so bad...”
“If you’re trying to make this about me…”
“It is about you, Jack. It’s always been about you. I was one hundred percent ready to pull alongside you. I think somewhere down deep you know that. When I saw it wasn’t going to happen, sure, I stuck a few burs under your saddle, I ain’t gonna lie. Someone hates me for no reason, I say screw ‘em.”
“Big speech, Dave.” Burton turned away, heading toward the coatrack in the hall leading toward the exit. It was early morning and most of the other detectives were beginning to file in.
“Tell me one part of it that isn’t the truth,” Kazmaroff said.
“How about we just didn’t mesh?” Burton said over his shoulder, feeling the weariness of the emotional sparring. “Not everybody’s a good match.”
“That is such bullshit,” Kazmaroff said heatedly. “You hated me from the start.”
“Hate is a pretty strong word.”
“And what the fuck did I ever do to you? I remind you of a frat brother who stole your girl back in college?”
Burton stood holding his jacket and shook his head. “Just saying shit like that is reason enough. I can’t explain it. Not even going to try.”
“You know what? You are gonna try. You think just by being an ass wipe you can get away with this crap.”
“What the hell you talking about? You said you were happy to be rid of me.”
“Yeah, well, I want closure first.”
“Oh, give me a break. Do you need to change your tampon first?”
Kazmaroff ignored him and held up a hand. “You and me—one night—and two bottles of Wild Turkey.”
“This is exactly the kind of asinine shit that drives me crazy about you. If we’re parting ways, what difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.”
“Why? Because you can’t stand knowing there’s one person in this world who doesn’t like you?”
“That’s right, Jack. Bingo. You nailed it. So is it a deal? You come out with me tonight and I’ll go straight to Maxwell and beg him to transfer you. One guys-night-out and you never have to swap theories or chase down leads or follow up clues with me ever again.”
“One night for an eternity of freedom from your self-absorbed yammering? I’m in.”
“I have a dinner date first but I should be done around ten. I’ll meet you at Johnny’s Hideaway at ten-thirty.”
“Won’t that put a dent in your after-dinner plans?”
“Thanks for the concern but I have it covered. We’re talking an all-nighter here, Jack. One that I fully expect will turn us from department adversaries into benign non-enemies. Might even make you change your mind about the transfer.”
“I can’t believe I’m bothering to do this.”
“Could be the start of something beautiful.”
Kazmaroff left the office, and somehow Burton felt a bit of the burden he’d carried all morning go with him. Was it just the idea that he’d finally be able to transfer out of the department, and into a new partnership with someone else, or was Kazmaroff himself partly the reason for the lift in his mood? Was it possible the guy might be bearable if Burton weren’t under the gun to be with him day after day? Maybe the things that drove him crazy about him during their daily round wouldn’t be noticeable if they no longer shared a daily round?
For the first time since he began working with the man, Burton realized Kaz hadn’t pissed him off too bad this morning. In fact, he’d been as close to likable as Burton ever remembered him being.
While that might not be enough for a long-term partnership it would probably work just fine for an all-night boozer with the guy.
Feeling more optimistic about his career than he had in a long time, Burton worked the rest of the day clearing up paperwork on his most recent case with Kazmaroff—and possibly his last—and went upstairs to Personnel to surrender his badge, and his weapon to the APD Discipline Authority before heading home to catch an early dinner and a nap before meeting Kazmaroff at Johnny’s. No sense opening himself up to endless jabs of ridicule by falling asleep or yawning before they ended their boys night out. He turned off the bedroom light and set his smart phone to ring at nine.
He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when the phone on his nightstand vibrated. It wasn’t the alarm, though, someone was calling. He snatched it up and peered into the screen. It was Maxwell.
“What’s up, sir?”
“You in bed? It’s not nine o’clock yet.”
“I was napping,” Burton said, sitting up and rubbing his face. “Is it a case?”
“Get in here,” Maxwell said. “It’s Kazmaroff. His sister found him in his apartment an hour ago.”
“Found him? What do you mean found—”
“His body, Jack. She found his dead body. Just get in here. Now.” The line disconnected. Jack sat staring at the phone in his hand until his eyes strayed to the chair in the room where he’d laid out his corduroy slacks and blazer for the evening at Johnny’s.