20

After arriving at the precinct, Rodgers, Quinto, and I headed to the top floor, skirted the tightly packed morass of desks and dividers in the middle, and headed for the only real office on the floor, squirreled away in a corner and out of the way. Unlike the Captain’s on the main floor, this one wasn’t fitted with a barrage of windows, rather just one. Its blinds were drawn.

I knocked on the door. After a few seconds, I heard a voice. “Come in.”

I cranked on the knob and let myself into Jameson Hunt’s office. Technically, Hunt wasn’t a detective, at least not a capital ‘D’ Detective under the jurisdiction of the NWPD. The internal affairs unit operated under a jurisdiction independent of ours, one that encompassed police, fire, and corrections and ultimately answered to the chiefs of each of those departments and to a board of civilian deputy commissioners appointed by the mayor. Only the military branches had a separate set of internal investigators, which I’d discovered several months ago after an encounter with one Agent Blue.

Hunt sat behind his desk, pen in hand. He was a square-shaped man, with broad shoulders, a straight up and down neck, and a jaw with three distinct sides. His flattop only added to his boxy nature, and the horseshoe mustache he wore, shaved with right angles, seemed like a bad joke. Maybe the man had a secret, unresolved love for cubism.

He flicked his cool blue-grey eyes up only long enough to identify us before turning them back to his page. “Daggers. Quinto. Rodgers. What can I do for you?”

Hunt didn’t fraternize with the guys at the precinct—I’m pretty sure if he did it would be grounds for his expulsion—but he still knew everyone in the building by name. By contrast, I’d been around for over a decade and still didn’t recognize half the officers I bumped into. Then again, I wasn’t a cold lump of inhuman flesh masquerading as a person.

“We’ve got a serious problem, Hunt,” I said.

“Correction. You’ve got a serious problem.”

“Excuse me?”

He refused to look up from his page, scribbling away. “Or so I assume. But you have to understand that your problems are not my problems. We’re under different chains of command, or did you forget?”

The anger brewed inside me, restless and hot. Any other day I could deal with Hunt’s raging indifference, but today?

“I’m not in the mood for this, Hunt. Are you even aware of what’s going on outside?”

“Should I be?”

“It’s your damn precinct. You tell me.”

“Again, different chains of command. I shouldn’t have to keep explaining this.”

The anger continued to brew, bubbling inside me like a pot over a stove ready to spill. “Are you even going to look at me?”

Scribble, scribble. “I’m perfectly capable of multitasking.”

Quinto’s deep, stern voice cut the air. “Hunt…”

The man finally looked up. He sighed and set his pen to the side. “I’m listening.”

I took a deep breath, forcing down the emotions inside. “Are you aware of what’s gone on since last night?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Come on, Hunt,” said Rodgers, his tone no more pleasant than mine or Quinto’s. “Daggers got attacked. Two thugs tried to kill him. Now Detective Steele’s missing. You can’t tell me you managed to avoid mention of either of those things?”

Hunt crossed his arms. “It’s my job to maintain a level of impartiality between my investigations and yours. So no, I didn’t.” He glanced at me. “Sorry to hear about it.”

“Sorry to hear…?” My teeth squeaked as they ground together. I’d nearly been murdered, Steele was missing, and that was the best he could do?

“Look,” said Hunt. “Is there a reason you’re in my office?”

Quinto must’ve noticed the look on my face, because he answered quickly. “Potential corruption at multiple prisons, one municipal and one federal. We were at Coldgate earlier today on one of Daggers’ hunches, following a dangerous prisoner by the name of Bonesaw. We have reason to believe he escaped with the help of prison personnel both at Coldgate and Stinking Baths.”

Hunt’s gaze narrowed. “You have any proof?”

Quinto gave me a nod. “Daggers.”

I ripped the letters from my jacket and tossed them on the desk. “Bonesaw faked his transfer paperwork, or at least the letter confirming his delivery to Stinking Baths.”

“Thanks. I’ll look into it.” Hunt picked up his pen and nodded, as if to shoo us.

“Excuse me?” I said.

He glanced up again. “I said I’ll look into it.”

I took a step forward, feeling the frothing anger creeping up my throat. “Maybe you don’t understand what’s going on, Hunt. Bonesaw is out of prison. Chances are he’s the one who sent people after me. I almost died. Now my partner is missing. You think that’s a coincidence?”

“I have no idea,” Hunt said, “but it’s also not my place to investigate it. As I’ve made clear several times, my role is internal affairs, which is why I will be looking into these corruption allegations you’ve brought before me in good time.”

“In good time?” I whipped my arm forward, slapping the pen from Hunt’s hand. “Do you think this is a gods-damned game, Hunt? My partner’s out there!”

“How dare you.” Hunt shot out of his seat, a scowl stretching his face. “You—”

I’m not sure when my hands shot forward, but the next thing I knew I was latched onto the front of Hunt’s shirt, and he was grappling me right back over his desk. Hunt grunted and cursed, and I realized I was screaming.

“Gods damnit, that’s my partner! Shay! She’s out there! Do you hear me!”

A shadow drenched me. Quinto enveloped me in his arms, ripping me off Hunt and bear-hugging me all the way to the back of the office. Hunt’s angry shouts trailed me. Rodgers swooped into the path between us as Quinto shouldered the door open.

He kicked it shut behind him as he released me outside Hunt’s office. His gray skin had adopted a distinctly crimson glow. “Holy hell, Daggers! What in the world is wrong with you?”

My face radiated heat, and my heart raced. I felt dizzy and short of breath. “Shay is gone, Quinto! We need to find her now. NOW. And that asshole in there… I mean, are you serious? What’s wrong with me?”

Quinto stepped into my personal space, looming over me despite my considerable height. “Daggers, we’re all aware of the situation. I may not understand what you’re going through right now, but I can take a guess. That’s still no excuse. You need to get a grip. Rodgers and I have been trying to let you run this show, but you’ve been sullen, distracted, and uncooperative ever since Steele went missing. We’re all on the same team here. Those letters may just be one avenue toward Bonesaw, but if you piss Hunt off and get us all reported, how it that going to help Steele? You think the Captain’s going to leave you on the case if she sees you like this? You want to help find Shay, right?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“No buts,” said Quinto. “Get a hold of yourself, now, or you won’t have to wait for Hunt to ask the Captain to suspend you. I’ll ask her myself.”

He shook his head and stepped back into Hunt’s office, closing the door behind him. Through the office walls, I could hear Hunt and Rodgers going at it verbally. Quinto added his voice to the fray, booming but reasonable, as was his method.

I stood there a moment, seething, my muscles twitching, my fists and jaw equally clenched. I wanted to burst back into Hunt’s office, to tackle him and rain punches into his face, at him, at Quinto, at anyone. It didn’t matter who, at this point. I needed to lash out. To vent the violent energy coursing through my veins and pounding through my head. I needed to hurt someone, preferably not one of my friends or any of my coworkers if I valued my career prospects.

Without thinking I turned and headed to the stairs, taking them three at a time. A few officers passed me in a blur, some of them probably nodding their heads or saying hello, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t hear them as I stormed to the basement, headed down the hall, and burst into the station’s modest gymnasium. My jacket flew to the floor as I made a beeline for the standing bag in the corner.

I cut loose with a roar as I slammed a fist into the bag’s leather exterior, a savage punch with the entire weight of my body behind it. First a right, then a left, each of them hard enough to send a ripple down the offending arm, then another and another. I hopped on the balls of my feet as I slammed my fists into the bag over and over, using my leg drive for maximum effect. The chain holding the bag screeched and squealed, the entire harness holding it up shaking, but I drowned out its complaints with my own. I grunted with each of my attacks. Sweat beaded on my brow and my breath quickened, but I kept on punching, kept going faster, harder. My grunts turned into yells as I envisioned Bonesaw’s face on the bag. I refocused on that spot, punching it over and over and over, beating his face into a battered pulp. A bloody mass that existed only in my head.

I’m not sure how long I kept it up. Maybe a minute, two at most, but it was enough. When I stepped back, it was with legs and arms shaking, chest burning, sweat pouring off my face, and breath rasping through my throat in ragged gasps. I bent over, holding my knees for support, but I wasn’t getting enough air doubled over, so I gave up and lay on my back, stretching my arms overhead as I closed my eyes.

Shay waited for me behind them, smiling at me through the back of my eyelids. She laughed, her eyes sparkling, and I half-expected her to chide me with some witty barb. She didn’t, though. She just stayed with me while I sucked air into my screaming lungs.

I’d find her. She was smart. She was strong. She was in trouble, but she’d make it. I had to believe that. There wasn’t any future where she wouldn’t break through. She’d punch her way through all comers, through Bonesaw’s belly back to the land of the living if she had to, just as I would. To get back to her.

“Detective Daggers?”