Fare Play Read Free

Marian herself stepping in to help out when needed. The NYPD’s newest lieutenant was earning her paycheck.
    She’d been on the job only three weeks. But that was long enough to figure out which of her detectives resented taking orders from a woman and which were playing a waiting game. Most of them she had figured, that is; a couple she couldn’t quite pin down. The two female detectives in the bunch appeared honestly glad to see a woman in the lieutenant’s office; no problem there. And one of the men was a toady. Big smiles all the time, if you need any help let me know, my don’t you look nice today. Jerk.
    But they were all watching her, out of the corners of their eyes, waiting for her to make a mistake. Captain Murtaugh was watching too; he’d taken a chance, recommending her for promotion. If she screwed up, he’d look bad. Marian and the captain hadn’t known each other long, had worked on only one case together while she was still technically attached to a different precinct. All of Midtown South was new to her—the personnel, the beat, the snitches, the danger spots, the ongoing rackets, the “flavors” of the area, the smells. She had a lot to learn.
    Marian cleared her desk and put on her coat, pleased at getting away at a decent hour. She almost made it.
    â€œLieutenant Larch!” A young detective in shirtsleeves was talking on the phone and waving an arm at her.
    She crossed the squadroom to his desk as he finished talking and hung up. O’Toole, his name was.
    â€œThis just in, Lieutenant,” the detective said. “Passenger found dead on a crosstown bus. Caucasian male, in his seventies.”
    â€œHeart?”
    â€œBullet. Shot at close range. First officer says there’s no telling how long he’d been riding like that. Dead, I mean.” O’Toole cleared his throat. “Sergeant Campos isn’t here.”
    Neither was anyone else. Campos was O’Toole’s squad leader, the one who made the case assignments. At the moment the young detective was the only one in the squad-room.
    â€œLooks like you and me, O’Toole,” Marian said. “Saddle up.” So much for getting home early.
    O’Toole grabbed his suit jacket and coat and followed her out.

3
    The bus was sitting in the right-hand lane on West Thirty-fourth, directly in front of the West Side Jewish Center. Two uniformed officers were directing traffic around the obstacle, while another had the more demanding job of keeping a group of anxious, noisy people from pushing their way off the bus. The passengers were all crowded into the front half of the bus; the driver stood on the sidewalk beside the closed side door, talking to a fourth uniformed officer.
    â€œJesus!” said O’Toole. “How do you contain a crime scene like that?”
    Marian was wondering the same thing herself. She started toward the bluesuit questioning the bus driver, but he saw her coming and said, “Stay back, ma’am.”
    She held up her shield. “Lieutenant Larch. Are you the first officer on the scene?”
    His eyes widened a fraction: So this is our new lady lieutenant . “No, Lieutenant, Jackson’s first officer.” He indicated the bluesuit guarding the front exit of the bus. “What we gonna do about all these people?”
    â€œWe’re going to let them off two at a time. What’s your name, Officer?”
    â€œTorelli.” A pause. “Ma’am.”
    â€œWell, Torelli, I want you and Detective O’Toole here to take down the names and addresses of all the passengers and ask them if they saw anything.”
    â€œThey all say they didn’t see nothin’.”
    â€œAsk them again. If they have more than one form of ID, you can let them go. No ID or anything that smells fishy, hold them. For out-of-towners, get local addresses.”
    â€œI gotta call in,” the bus driver said in an aggrieved