Tracking Shot, Colin Campbell [moboreader TXT] 📗

It was a rhetorical question. McNulty didn’t answer. The crickets were drilling into his brain. Susan was hugging her knees. The stars twinkled in the night sky and moths bumped around the porch light. Harlan lowered his voice and it became friendly again.

“Your sister was five when she got her second chance.” He softened his gaze. “You were ten when you lost yours.” The tea was forgotten, the cookies an unwanted distraction. “The Chester Brook Orphanage deals with second chances. I don’t want this terrible thing to reflect badly on all our good work.”

McNulty’s eyes widened. It was beginning to dawn on him why Susan wanted him to meet the man who had arranged her adoption. He didn’t speak. He waited for the man to ask.

“You were a police officer. You know how this works.” Harlan had no option but to come out and say it. “I want to hire you to protect the integrity of the adoption agency.”

McNulty looked at his sister. Susan lowered her head. Harlan pressed on.

“The publicity could destroy us.”

McNulty turned to Harlan. “Not if you aren’t involved.”

Harlan shook his head. “You know better than that. If there’s any hint of impropriety…” He raised his eyebrows. “Scandal ruins lives. Whether or not there’s any truth in it. I want you to sift through the evidence and guide it away from scandal.”

McNulty looked at the “favorite uncle.” “People were killed,” he said.

The uncle returned the gaze. “Not because of the Chester Brook Orphanage.”

McNulty didn’t blink. “But at the Chester Brook Orphanage.”

Harlan’s shoulders sagged. His face aged ten years. “I know. That’s why I need your help.”

McNulty looked at the grey-haired man and then at his sister. Susan smiled but it couldn’t hide the hurt she was feeling. At asking this favor after only just reconnecting with her brother. McNulty sighed and stood up. He looked down at his sister and her mentor.

“I’m not for hire.”

SEVEN

Waltham PD called in extra staff the following day to take more complete witness statements. Off-duty police officers got overtime and a re-rostered day leave. Civilian personnel and office staff were diverted from their usual duties to take statements. The lead detective had saved McNulty for himself. That should have given the Yorkshireman a feeling of importance. Instead it had McNulty wondering what Jon Harris had up his sleeve.

Waltham Police Headquarters was an ugly grey concrete building on Lexington Street. It was next door to an almost identical grey concrete fire station. The only differences were the full-height roll-up overhead shutter doors and the red painted window frames at the fire station. A smaller office building was set back from the road between the police headquarters and the fire station, complete with a memorial garden and the obligatory flagpole. The flag was at half-mast. A sign in the flower border read:

AUSTIN D. RHODES

MUNICIPAL CENTER

Sunlight streamed through the plate-glass door as McNulty closed it behind him. He nodded at the detective and kept his tone respectful. “You must be in full on major incident mode.”

“Thanks for coming in,” Harris greeted McNulty at the reception counter. He looked as if he hadn’t had much sleep. He shrugged. “You were on the job. All hands to the pumps.”

McNulty asked what all cops ask, even ex-cops. “You got anybody for it yet?”

Harris did what all cops talking to the public do. “Let’s talk about that in my office.”

Leading McNulty to wonder again about what the detective had up his sleeve.

Forty-five minutes later, Harris had sketched out McNulty’s timeline with a page full of scribbled notes and several insightful questions. The Detectives Bureau was on the first floor, overlooking the rear parking lot. Second floor, McNulty reminded himself, falling into the English way of calling the entrance the ground floor. There were two mugs of coffee and a yellow legal pad on the desk. Something else that was different from the UK was getting witnesses to write their own statement.

Before Harris asked McNulty to begin, he tapped McNulty’s mug. “Refill?”

McNulty shook his head and looked out of the window. Half a dozen patrol cars were parked in the slanted spaces. A gas pump and car wash stood in the far corner near the maintenance workshop. Staff parking was along one side in the shade of a factory on Ames Street. Another marked unit pulled into the lot and parked next to the six already there, and the officers began to unload their equipment. End of tour. Watching cops go about their business reminded McNulty of what he was missing. He let out a sigh, which Harris noticed from his position at the coffee machine.

“Working in the movies doesn’t fill the gap, huh?”

McNulty snapped out of his reverie. “It pays the bills.” He waved at the parking lot. “But it’s not the same. No.”

Harris stirred three sugars into his coffee. “Going through doors with your partner.”

McNulty glanced at Harris. “Going through doors. Period.”

Harris sat at his desk, still stirring his coffee. “You went through the door. With a fire extinguisher.”

McNulty drummed his fingers on the legal pad. “Stupid thing to do.”

Harris kept level eyes on McNulty. “Instinct. Something you never lose.”

McNulty returned the stare. “Common sense. Something I never had.”

Harris stopped stirring. “And yet you know enough to be technical adviser on a movie set.”

McNulty stopped drumming. “It’s a Larry Unger movie set. Doesn’t have to be all that technical.”

“You make sure things look right though.”

“As right as I can. If it doesn’t interfere with the story.”

Harris took the spoon out and put it on a buff folder. “So how come they were filming at the orphanage instead of the courthouse?”

McNulty snorted a laugh. “You should know that. With all the security for a real judge, you think they’re gonna let us film inside?”

Harris leaned back in his chair. “Armed security.”

“Yes.”

“You had guns on set though.”

“Blank-firing.”

“But they look real enough. Like the courtroom set.”

McNulty shrugged. “Even Larry gets it right sometimes.”

Harris glanced at his notes then took a drink of