The Apostrophe Thief Read Free Page A

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    â€œI called first. Marian, why did you have to go after him? Of all the cops there are in this city, why did it have to be you ?” Her voice broke. “You could have been killed.”
    Aw. “Hey, Kel, listen. It’s over. Put it out of your mind.”
    â€œEasier said than done.” A sound something like a snuffle came over the line. “Can you get free for lunch? Or dinner?”
    â€œDinner. What time do you have to be at the theater?”
    â€œNo performance tonight—Monday, remember? The director’s called us in this afternoon to smooth out a few rough spots, but we should be finished by six. Seven at the latest. How about seven-thirty at Sonderman’s?”
    â€œI’ll be there. And Kelly, don’t feel bad. There’s no need, I promise you. Hold on a sec.” Her thorn-in-the-side partner had come up to her desk and was grinning evilly at her. “What, Foley?”
    â€œShooflies want you. In the lieutenant’s office.”
    Marian’s stomach knotted; she wasn’t as ready for this as she thought. “Gotta go, Kelly. See you at seven-thirty.”
    When she’d hung up, Marian took a moment to compose herself. She hoped Holland appreciated what she was going through to keep his neck off the block. Hold it … not fair. It had been her idea to take the responsibility for the shooting; Holland had been ready to face the music when she stepped in, diverting official attention from him toward herself. It was your choice; now get yourself together .
    Temporarily kicked out of his own quarters, Lieutenant Baxter was busying himself at a file cabinet and sneaking looks at her out of the corner of his eye. Marian stood up and walked purposively toward Baxter’s office, steeling herself for her confrontation with Internal Affairs.

2
    Her interrogation by Internal Affairs was indeed high-sweat, but not the devastating ordeal she’d expected. It was a given that cops had the right to kill to save their own lives; the two men from IA were interested only in nailing down the fact of self-defense. Marian was one of their own and if she had indeed been threatened, no censure would result.
    The two IA men, named Connelly and Reed, had her go over her account of the previous night’s events again and again, giving her every opportunity to contradict herself or slip up in some other way. They asked questions, they wanted details of things she hadn’t even noticed, they made her relive the scene minute by painful minute. But Marian stuck to her story, which was truthful except for that one minor matter of who actually did the shooting.
    There was one sticky moment. Marian told them she’d been acting independently, that Captain DiFalco had, in fact, pulled her off the case. “He thought he had it solved, you see,” she explained. It was only when she’d proved him wrong that he stepped forward and claimed Marian had been following his orders all along.
    The Internal Affairs men were interested, in an unofficial way; Connelly even appeared amused. “DiFalco lied?”
    â€œHe lied.” No elaboration necessary.
    Connelly barked a laugh. “Doesn’t surprise me. DiFalco could get something for himself out of an earthquake.”
    But Reed didn’t find it amusing. “Sergeant, did somebody hear him order you off the case? Was anyone else around?”
    Marian thought back. “No, we were alone.”
    â€œAny paperwork? Anything in writing to show he pulled you off?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œThen it’s the word of a sergeant against the word of a captain?” Reed spread his hands. “Not good, Larch, not good. Better be careful what you say.”
    Marian felt like a fool. In anticipating the pleasure of exposing DiFalco, she’d never considered the possibility that she might not be believed. Reed was right; the word of a captain would be taken over that of one of his