Chapter 19. I did not say anything on the way down to one police plaza. They had not sent

anyone worth talking to, and I make it a point to never waste a bond mot on a less than fully

deserving audience. The officer who had knocked on my door at 7.35 that morning had been

something of a delicate flower, and had been flummoxed at my lack of

urgency in completing the rest of my morning routine before taking the detour that he demanded.

But he had no warrant, nor legitimate reason to haul me out by my hair, so I made him cool his

heels by the door while I finished my toast and coffee. The coffee was

particularly important, both because I had not slept particularly well, and because another

day of no jack in the office meant another day of dangerously low caffeine levels for the girl

detective. This really couldn't continue. There was a wave of silence that passed through the squad room as we entered.

A squad room was like any other place that was positively awash in testosterone.

It took very little effort on my part to bring it to its knees,

and I was used to a degree of respectful admiration as I passed through the maze of desks.

But this was something different.

It was a kind of cold antipathy, a hostility to which I was unaccustomed.

I had no doubt that there was a good deal of misplaced physical urges mixed up in that unhealthy

cocktail, but the squad room had decided that my partner had shot a cop,

and the squad room was not inclined to find me adorable just now either.

It was not an experience that I particularly enjoyed, and I began to suspect that it was only

going to get worse.

In the fullness of time, I was escorted into the inner sanctum at robbery homicide,

where my host glared daggers at my blue-coated escort until he actually blushed and shuffled

...