Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) (7 page)

“I do.”

Elmorodil’s chair squeaked as he straightened, and I heard a slight puff of air escape his nostrils. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Detective.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because privates Chavez and Delvesdeep and Sergeant Holmes are army enlistees,” he said. “All three signed contracts committing them to service in defense of the country. Part of that commitment demands they adhere to the code of conduct to which I already referred, but more importantly, that contract stipulates they must follow our rules, regulations, and commands. Because they’re army, they should be here, under our supervision, and in our care. Unless, of course, you have evidence with which to charge them for a crime.” The man lifted an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“I can hold them in custody for twenty-four hours,” I said. “Breathe on them a little. See what slips.”

“That’s unethical,” said Blue. “And to be quite honest, I highly doubt it would get you anywhere. These aren’t frightened street urchins or doped-up junkies, Detective. These are soldiers. Trained to stay calm under pressure.”

I ground my teeth. Agent Blue knew too much for his own good—or at least for mine. He wasn’t about to bend under the weight of my abrasive personality or official sounding demands. He wouldn’t turn over the three GIs without some serious writs and warrants on my part, and even then he might fight it.

“What if they escape?” I asked.

“Daggers, this is a military base,” said Steele.

Blue extended a couple fingers in Shay’s direction, as if to say she’d made his case for him.

I sighed. “At least let us speak to them.”

“What questions do you wish to ask?” asked Blue.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I tend to work off the cuff in that regard. Let my brain determine what’s pertinent as the situation unfolds.”

Agent Blue clasped his hands together. “As I said, I’ll be happy to accommodate requests of that nature…assuming you can provide more concrete reasons for said requests.”

I grunted, hoping the steam boiling inside me hadn’t yet started to pour from my ears.

Shay cast a downturned lip and glance my way. “Let me again apologize for my partner, Agent Blue. He gets this way when he’s hungry. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us, and we’ll be sure to keep the communication routes open between us. Hopefully we’ll be able to piece this thing together in short order.”

“Wait.” I waggled a pinky finger in my ear. “Did I hear that right? We’re collaborating?”

“Yes,” said Steele as she stood. “We are.”

Her tone brooked no rebuke.

“Glad to hear it,” said Agent Blue, standing in response. “I look forward to working with you, Detective Steele.”

The army investigator smiled, and I swear I caught a hint of the same from Shay. I did my best not to growl.

11

We left the army base and headed back toward the precinct, though we took the scenic route by sweeping through Rucker Park on the way there. Many of the trees had already lost their leaves, so the walk wasn’t quite as striking as it might’ve been a couple weeks prior with the park’s canopy ablaze in reds, oranges, and yellows. Not that I cared. In the aftermath of my introduction to Agent Sweetcheeks, my mind had retreated into the dark hole it considered its safe place, taking with it the majority of my faculties.

Shay tried to engage me in conversation as we walked. I think I managed to respond to a grand total of thirteen inquiries with some form of a grunt, frown, or ‘Mmm-hmm’ before she noticed.

“In addition to her robe, did you accidentally slip on a pair of your wife’s underwear this morning, too?” she asked.

I’d been dragging my eyes along the park’s cobblestone path as we walked. I blinked and lifted them to meet Shay’s gaze. “Say what?”

“I’m saying you’re acting like your panties are in a bunch.”

“Hardy-har har,” I said.

We stood at the edge of an algae and lily pad-ridden pond, one surrounded by thick clusters of reeds and cattails. A lazy dragonfly alighted on the water’s surface, only to get summarily introduced to a goldfish’s gullet. Before me, the park’s vegetation abruptly stopped as it met the packed earth of a main thoroughfare. Had we already traversed the entire thing?

“Seriously,” said Steele. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Steele tilted her head and gave me a skeptical double eyebrow raise.

I grunted. Shay was almost as bad as my ex-wife Nicole in her ability to sniff out my bunkum and lies—and far more persistent in her search of a response. So I replied in the only way I knew how—by telling her the truth, but only a portion of it.

“It’s that self-professed Agent Blue,” I said. “I don’t like him one bit.”

“Self-professed?”
said Steele.

“Yes,” I said. “Detective, sure. Investigator. Why not? Officer. Well, given his military rank, probably. But
agent?
It’s not like he’s out there protecting generals and elected officials from assassination attempts.”

“It’s a perfectly suitable word,” said Steele. “And I don’t know what your issues with him are. He seemed eminently professional.”

I tried not to snort.
Right. The manner in which he took your hand as he introduced himself was
nothing
if not professional.

“He’s going to be a pain in our backsides,” I said. “Mark my words. Lanky hadn’t even cooled to an acceptable temperature before he stuck his meddling fingers in our investigation.”

“It sounded like he had nothing to do with that,” said Steele. “The sergeant major acted on his own.”

“And you believed him?” I shook my head.

Shay rolled her eyes. “You know, I was mostly joking about you being cranky because of hunger pangs, but your attitude is convincing me otherwise.” She pointed across the street. “Want to try that place for lunch? I’ve heard good things. Inexpensive, high quality ingredients, and fast.”

I followed her finger to a sign that had an enormous steel frying pan attached to it, and to the right, the words ‘Speed Wok.’

“Stir fry?” I asked. “Really?”

“Why not?” said Steele. “And it’s not like you have any say in the matter. It’s my turn to choose.”

We crossed the road and stepped into the eatery, which had a different layout than any I’d seen before. The establishment contained no walls or partitions. It was just one big room filled with neatly arranged tables, and in the back, the kitchen, its hustle and bustle and noise and heat open for all to see and experience—not a bad idea in the cool winter months, but a questionable strategy come June.

Before us, a short line stretched to a counter manned by a gnome—of
course
it was a gnome—taking orders which he scribbled onto a notepad. As he finished each order, he yelled it to the kitchen staff, who repeated it three times in what I assumed was a ritual to help keep them from forgetting it. At the gnome’s side, a blackboard listed the menu in variegated colors of chalk.

I refused to let the restaurant’s flashy, new design deviate my stream of thought. “You see, the problem with stir fry is the name is so deceptive. I mean, it
sounds
great. The word ‘fry’ is right there in the title. But when you sit down to eat it, it’s just a bunch of noodles and vegetables and sauce.”

Shay narrowed her eyes as she peered at the chalkboard. “You’re confusing frying and deep-frying.”

“Well maybe next time we should try a deep stir fry joint,” I said. “Or would it be stir deep fry? Neither one sounds quite right…” I twisted my face in thought.

“Just get the tempura bowl…” said Steele.

I detected a hint of annoyance in her voice, so I closed my yapper and did as she suggested. After ordering, we shuffled along in the line toward the end of the kitchen, where after no more than a minute and a half, one of the apron-clad cooks set a couple bowls on the counter, rang a bell, and shouted out our order.

I gaped as I picked up my meal. Other than the noodles forming the entrée’s bed, everything in the tasteful blue and while filigreed bowl was coated in a crispy layer of fried batter.

“You’re welcome,” said Steele.

We found a table and shoveled food in our mouths, and as the fried meats and crunchy vegetables sent energy flowing through my stomach and into my extremities, I felt my mood improve. Perhaps Shay had been right and all I needed was a bite to eat. And perhaps I’d overreacted with regards to Elmo Blue. Not in the sense that he wouldn’t be a thorn in our sides—I was sure he’d be—but in the hidden meanings I’d uncovered in his behavior toward Shay. Perhaps he
was
simply being nice, and he hadn’t afforded me the same courtesy because I was an abrasive A-hole.

Steele made it clear through her devoted chewing efforts that she’d expended enough energy trying to engage me in discussion during our park foray, leaving the burden of conversation up to me. Hence, we ate in silence. After all, my mood hadn’t improved
that
much.

After lunch, we returned to the station. Clouds momentarily hid the sun, casting a shadow across the huge seal of justice that hung over the precinct’s iron-banded front double doors. I gazed at the soaring eagle holding a pair of scales in its claws and snorted.

Swords. Bah.
Even without the sun’s bright rays sparkling its edges, the seal put Agent Blue’s pale imitation to shame.

I held the door open for Shay and plowed my way into the cluster of beat-to-hell desks, stale coffee smell, and gloom we detectives lovingly referred to as ‘the pit.’ I passed Rodgers and Quinto’s desks—both empty—as I waltzed to my own, situated across from Shay’s. Mine, of course, was the better of the pair, not only because it sat in a thin sliver of light that weaseled its way from outside, though the windows in the Captain’s office, and over to my patch of real estate, but also because it held my trusty chair. Over years of toil and sloth, I’d worn a perfectly-shaped Jake Daggers butt groove into the seat, which was no small feat given the thing’s oaken construction.

Barely had I swung my body about and positioned it above the groove before I heard the Captain’s harsh voice.

“Daggers. Steele. There you are!”

I straightened as the old bulldog approached. The years had softened some of his muscle into flab, but not much, and they hadn’t quenched the heat of his bark in the least. The old guy had honed his vocal abilities during his stint in the marines, and as far as I was aware, the only opponent that had ever silenced him was laryngitis. What remained of his hair had recently been buzzed, and his jowls—the only part of his face that
didn’t
look as if it was carved from granite—pulled as he frowned.

“I think this a new record, even for you, Daggers,” he said. “What is it? After noon?”

“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I’ve been on the job since I woke up. And no, before you ask, that was not fifteen minutes ago. It was early this morning, when Quinto and Steele brought the joys of this profession straight to my door.”

“I know,” said the Captain. “That was a joke.”

Really?
The Captain’s lips didn’t show even the slightest hint of an upward curl. He could’ve fooled me—but maybe therein lay the joke.

“Do you have an update for us, sir?” asked Steele.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d have one for me,” he said. “Detective Quinto came back about half an hour ago and said you encountered some unexpected
resistance
in the form of one of our government’s other law enforcement agencies.”

I snorted. “You could say that.”

The Captain lifted an eyebrow in my direction. Apparently he’d finally learned that trick from either Steele or me, though it lessened his face’s illusion of immobility.

“The suspects in the case—or persons of interest, rather,” said Steele, “are all army servicemen and women. A team came and returned them to the New Welwic Main base. Now they’re in the care of the military police and under investigation by an Agent Elmorodil Blue, a member of the Army Criminal Investigative Command.”

While Steele explained the situation to the Captain, I dug my thermos—now empty—out of my pocket and placed it on my desk. The pocket flopped open, like the mouth of a dead fish. Hopefully I hadn’t stretched it beyond the limits of elasticity. I still planned on getting another twenty good years out of my jacket.

“Yeah,” I said, still eyeing the deformation in my coat. “And this Agent Blue is a real piece of work. It’s going to be a
blast
prying information out of him.”

Steele blinked and gave me a dissenting glance.

The Captain noticed. “Has he been like this all day?”

“How did you guess?” said Steele.

The bulldog groaned and rolled his eyes in the surliest way possible. “Listen up, Daggers, as I’m only going to say this once. I’ve no doubt you harbor a high level of distaste for this Blue individual, because you don’t like much of anyone. Guess what? I don’t care. Your job is to follow the rules, work with other government agencies where necessary, and to solve the crimes that are thrust in front of your crooked nose.”

“Crooked?”

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m not done. The point is, I expect you to get to the bottom of this, despite whatever hurdles are in your way, and I expect you to do it with a smile on your face. Detective Steele? Inform me if he becomes a problem—by which I mean a greater one than he normally is. Understood?”

The Captain waggled his finger between the two of us. Steele nodded. I grudgingly did the same.

“Good. Now, seeing as you’ve already eaten—” The bulldog indicated a spot of sauce on my jacket that had somehow eluded my attention. “—I’d suggest you get to work. From everything Quinto told me, this shouldn’t be that hard of a case to unravel.”

The Captain turned and headed back toward his office, but he paused halfway there. “Oh, and one more thing. I was informed late last night that Detective Rodgers suffered a death in his family.”

“What?”
said Steele. “Who?”

“Not his wife or kids,” said the Captain. “Extended family. He’ll be out of town for a few days as he deals with the aftermath. But it means the two of you and Quinto will have to shoulder the load until he returns. I figured you should know. If nothing else, perhaps that knowledge will
encourage
you to strive for increased efficiency.”