dove into her dinner, just now realizing she had worked straight through lunch. She was better about forcing herself to eat during the day than she had been in her earliest days as a detective, but sometimes the workload kept her too busy to notice her rumbling stomach.
“No, it's...” Jill shook her head as she poked at a meatball. “I don't like the direction this case is taking.”
“You found a teenager with a bullet in his head,” Brian countered. “What's there to like?”
Taking another bite, Jill set down her fork and let her fingers gently trail over the label on her beer bottle. The condensation was just starting to form, chilled beads teasing her fingertips. Every time she replayed her conversation with Officer Carter in her head, Jill felt her anger rising to a boil again. Even if Carter wasn't guilty of murder, he was at the very least a smarmy little bastard who could stand to have his nose bashed in. Only problem was, if Jill did that, she would probably fracture his skull.
Tempting, but... no.
“I'm gonna say something,” Jill began, reaching across the table to rest her free hand atop her brother's, “and I need you not to freak.”
“Jill,” Brian said around another bite of pasta, “unless you've got a new superhero identity, I don't think anything you say will make me freak.”
“I think cops might be responsible for Devin Buckner's death.”
Brain set down his fork and grabbed his beer. “Except that.”
“It's just a theory,” Jill replied far too hastily. “But... traffic cams showed an unmarked white van skidding through the corner of Madison and Tyson, screaming to a halt, and four masked figures tossing Devin to the sidewalk and shooting him in the head.” She shook her head and downed half of what was left on her beer. “Autopsy shows several significant injuries that occurred in the minutes prior to his death. Colonel Downs showed us photos of a decommissioned tactical van that looks a lot like the van used in this crime. And... when I spoke with Officer Carter, he was...” She shook her head. “Uncooperative.”
“Carter,” Brian repeated with a frown. “Out of the Fourth?”
“Yep. That's the one. All testosterone and muscles.”
“His record's not as squeaky clean as the Bishop would have you believe,” Brian explained between bites. “He's got a buddy downtown who hides a lot of his warts.”
“So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are 'David Gregor,' I'm throwing this meatball at you.”
“No, this is purely an inside thing.” Brian polished off his first beer. “It's not just Carter, either. There are three others at that precinct in on his little ring.”
Jill rose from her seat to grab two more beers out of the fridge. “How am I just now hearing about this?”
“Because downtown doesn't want anyone knowing,” Brian said. “Remember how shocked the city was when our office didn't press charges in Mendoza's murder?”
“How could I forget?” Jill shook her head; the memory of the protests engulfing downtown were as vivid as if they had happened the day before. The last thing Jill wanted was a repeat of that. “I thought this city was gonna burn to the ground.”
“Someone in the Commissioner's office withheld evidence from us,” Brian explained. “It didn't matter how many times the DA wagged her finger for the cameras, we never got the cooperation we needed to get anything that stuck. So the people who killed Pedro Mendoza walked.”
“And kept their badges,” Jill muttered, twisting the cap off the second beer and chugging. “You said there were three others with Carter?”
“We've only been able to identify one of them,” Brian explained. “Officer Kayla Stevenson.”
Jill frowned. “Where do I know that name?”
“She roughed up a suspect in Interrogation a few years back. Broke his nose.” Brian took another bite of pasta. “Once the suspect was cleared, he turned around and sued the city. Judge awarded
“No, it's...” Jill shook her head as she poked at a meatball. “I don't like the direction this case is taking.”
“You found a teenager with a bullet in his head,” Brian countered. “What's there to like?”
Taking another bite, Jill set down her fork and let her fingers gently trail over the label on her beer bottle. The condensation was just starting to form, chilled beads teasing her fingertips. Every time she replayed her conversation with Officer Carter in her head, Jill felt her anger rising to a boil again. Even if Carter wasn't guilty of murder, he was at the very least a smarmy little bastard who could stand to have his nose bashed in. Only problem was, if Jill did that, she would probably fracture his skull.
Tempting, but... no.
“I'm gonna say something,” Jill began, reaching across the table to rest her free hand atop her brother's, “and I need you not to freak.”
“Jill,” Brian said around another bite of pasta, “unless you've got a new superhero identity, I don't think anything you say will make me freak.”
“I think cops might be responsible for Devin Buckner's death.”
Brain set down his fork and grabbed his beer. “Except that.”
“It's just a theory,” Jill replied far too hastily. “But... traffic cams showed an unmarked white van skidding through the corner of Madison and Tyson, screaming to a halt, and four masked figures tossing Devin to the sidewalk and shooting him in the head.” She shook her head and downed half of what was left on her beer. “Autopsy shows several significant injuries that occurred in the minutes prior to his death. Colonel Downs showed us photos of a decommissioned tactical van that looks a lot like the van used in this crime. And... when I spoke with Officer Carter, he was...” She shook her head. “Uncooperative.”
“Carter,” Brian repeated with a frown. “Out of the Fourth?”
“Yep. That's the one. All testosterone and muscles.”
“His record's not as squeaky clean as the Bishop would have you believe,” Brian explained between bites. “He's got a buddy downtown who hides a lot of his warts.”
“So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are 'David Gregor,' I'm throwing this meatball at you.”
“No, this is purely an inside thing.” Brian polished off his first beer. “It's not just Carter, either. There are three others at that precinct in on his little ring.”
Jill rose from her seat to grab two more beers out of the fridge. “How am I just now hearing about this?”
“Because downtown doesn't want anyone knowing,” Brian said. “Remember how shocked the city was when our office didn't press charges in Mendoza's murder?”
“How could I forget?” Jill shook her head; the memory of the protests engulfing downtown were as vivid as if they had happened the day before. The last thing Jill wanted was a repeat of that. “I thought this city was gonna burn to the ground.”
“Someone in the Commissioner's office withheld evidence from us,” Brian explained. “It didn't matter how many times the DA wagged her finger for the cameras, we never got the cooperation we needed to get anything that stuck. So the people who killed Pedro Mendoza walked.”
“And kept their badges,” Jill muttered, twisting the cap off the second beer and chugging. “You said there were three others with Carter?”
“We've only been able to identify one of them,” Brian explained. “Officer Kayla Stevenson.”
Jill frowned. “Where do I know that name?”
“She roughed up a suspect in Interrogation a few years back. Broke his nose.” Brian took another bite of pasta. “Once the suspect was cleared, he turned around and sued the city. Judge awarded
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