Read Online Cool in Tucson by Elizabeth Gunn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Gunn
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Dietz took five shots, two of them life-threatening, and lay a week in intensive care. Sarah learned they had the same blood type when she, like everybody in the department, volunteered a donation. He sent a note from the recovery ward thanking them all for that “good tough cop’s blood that pulled me through.”
Hard months of therapy and counseling followed before he was pronounced fit even for light duty. When he turned up at her elbow at a department party in mid-summer, for a second Sarah wasn’t sure who he was. He was thinner and gray-faced, walked with a slight limp and had a new part in his hair in addition to the old one. His eyes were like a TV screen when the power’s off, and his hand shook when he picked up his glass.
Because she’d worked with him and knew how able he’d been, Sarah couldn’t get his predicament out of her mind. She began to find excuses to e-mail him with a bit of gossip, a copy of a clipping or a question. Afraid a one-woman campaign of friendliness might get too obvious, she got Jimmy to phone him with a question, maneuvered Eisenstaat into passing along a news item. She was gratified when he began to initiate a few e-mails himself.
It was odd, how fast she became invested in his recovery, A couple of weeks ago she had caught a glimpse of him chatting easily in a restaurant with some other people in the Department, and felt her throat grow tight with pleasure at the sight. She told herself wryly that she had better be careful who she donated blood to if she was going to get this involved in the outcome.
Now he stood in front of her desk with his eyes crinkling a little at the corners and said, “My God, homicide finally got new chairs.”
“You haven’t seen them? Well, please,” she waved him to a seat.
He sat. “Oh, excellent. My tush endorses the choice.” They both laughed. The awful chairs in homicide division when she came on board had introduced Sarah to the reality that the bitching in homicide was every bit as colorful as any she had ever heard in auto theft.
His color was good again, his voice had regained the quiet crackle she remembered. He even smiled. He had not been much given to smiles while she worked with him—another improvement, she thought. Maybe we should all get shot now and then . She beamed back at him, delighted to see he was most of the way back.
He looked around, nodded to Eisenstaat, turned back and smiled some more. “Well…is the arrest record here, or—”
“Oh, here—” She passed it to him and he sat in front of her, reading. There was a deep line between his eyebrows now, but his hands, holding the paper, were perfectly steady. Square and capable looking…had somebody turned up the heat?
He looked up and shook his head. “On my way up here I tried to remember his name and couldn’t. And now that I see his picture I’m sure—I don’t know him.” He thought, scratching his chin. “You know a lot of people in narcotics division?”
“No. Except for you, hardly anybody.”
“And now I’m not there.” He didn’t say if he wanted to go back. “But…I think who you ought to talk to is Tony Delarosa. He’s been there for years and he works on everything, he’ll know if your victim’s been a player here. You’re after personal habits, friends, stuff like that?”
“Yeah, anything that gives me a place to start.”
“Tony’s your man, he’ll know. You want me to call him?”
“Would you?”
“Sure. Glad to.” He made notes in tiny, neat handwriting. “Have you had time to run him through NCIC yet? I’ll probably have time to run some searches tonight, would that help? See if he turns up in other parts of the country?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” He stood up. She scanned the notes on her desk but found nothing more she could possibly ask him.
He squinted down at her
Hard months of therapy and counseling followed before he was pronounced fit even for light duty. When he turned up at her elbow at a department party in mid-summer, for a second Sarah wasn’t sure who he was. He was thinner and gray-faced, walked with a slight limp and had a new part in his hair in addition to the old one. His eyes were like a TV screen when the power’s off, and his hand shook when he picked up his glass.
Because she’d worked with him and knew how able he’d been, Sarah couldn’t get his predicament out of her mind. She began to find excuses to e-mail him with a bit of gossip, a copy of a clipping or a question. Afraid a one-woman campaign of friendliness might get too obvious, she got Jimmy to phone him with a question, maneuvered Eisenstaat into passing along a news item. She was gratified when he began to initiate a few e-mails himself.
It was odd, how fast she became invested in his recovery, A couple of weeks ago she had caught a glimpse of him chatting easily in a restaurant with some other people in the Department, and felt her throat grow tight with pleasure at the sight. She told herself wryly that she had better be careful who she donated blood to if she was going to get this involved in the outcome.
Now he stood in front of her desk with his eyes crinkling a little at the corners and said, “My God, homicide finally got new chairs.”
“You haven’t seen them? Well, please,” she waved him to a seat.
He sat. “Oh, excellent. My tush endorses the choice.” They both laughed. The awful chairs in homicide division when she came on board had introduced Sarah to the reality that the bitching in homicide was every bit as colorful as any she had ever heard in auto theft.
His color was good again, his voice had regained the quiet crackle she remembered. He even smiled. He had not been much given to smiles while she worked with him—another improvement, she thought. Maybe we should all get shot now and then . She beamed back at him, delighted to see he was most of the way back.
He looked around, nodded to Eisenstaat, turned back and smiled some more. “Well…is the arrest record here, or—”
“Oh, here—” She passed it to him and he sat in front of her, reading. There was a deep line between his eyebrows now, but his hands, holding the paper, were perfectly steady. Square and capable looking…had somebody turned up the heat?
He looked up and shook his head. “On my way up here I tried to remember his name and couldn’t. And now that I see his picture I’m sure—I don’t know him.” He thought, scratching his chin. “You know a lot of people in narcotics division?”
“No. Except for you, hardly anybody.”
“And now I’m not there.” He didn’t say if he wanted to go back. “But…I think who you ought to talk to is Tony Delarosa. He’s been there for years and he works on everything, he’ll know if your victim’s been a player here. You’re after personal habits, friends, stuff like that?”
“Yeah, anything that gives me a place to start.”
“Tony’s your man, he’ll know. You want me to call him?”
“Would you?”
“Sure. Glad to.” He made notes in tiny, neat handwriting. “Have you had time to run him through NCIC yet? I’ll probably have time to run some searches tonight, would that help? See if he turns up in other parts of the country?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” He stood up. She scanned the notes on her desk but found nothing more she could possibly ask him.
He squinted down at her
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