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bob swayed. “I think you’re mixing me up with one of your other girlfriends.”
    Frank stopped a laugh. “That’s right. I have so many of them.”
    “You promise you won’t let me fall?”
    Making an X over her heart, Frank vowed, “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

CHAPTER 11
    The Ninth’s squad room echoed when Frank walked in, her cheeks still slightly numb from skating with Gail. The doc had been hopeless but Frank had fun holding her up. She looked at the clock on the wall.
    Almost five. Two at home.
    She called her captain. There was no answer on his cell, office or home phones and Frank wondered how her crew was supposed to get hold of him.
    “Asshole,” she whispered just before his machine picked up. “John, it’s Frank. Something’s come up and I’m going to be longer than I thought. I’ll know more tomorrow. Call you then.”
    She hung up and dialed Figueroa. She asked the desk sergeant if he’d seen Foubarelle around and he snorted. “On a Sunday? You gotta be shittin’ me.”
    “Anybody upstairs?”
    “Hold on. I’ll transfer you.”
    The phone rang and Darcy picked up. “Hey. You home?”
    “Not yet. Might be a while. How’s everything going?”
    “Fine. Quiet.”
    “What are you doing there on a Sunday afternoon?”
    “Catching up on sixty-days.”
    “I wish your work ethic would rub off on your colleagues.”
    Darcy grunted. “They have lives. When do you think you’ll be back?”
    “Don’t know. Three thousand miles from home, and believe it or not I’m working a homicide. I’ll tell you about it when I get back. How’s Gabby doing?”
    Darcy’s pause told her his daughter’s cystic fibrosis was flaring. “Marguerite had to take her to the hospital last night. She’s home now. I might take off tomorrow if nothing’s going on.”
    “Do that.”
    “Yeah. We’ll see. Don’t be too long out there. I don’t want to catch something and have Fubar all over me.”
    “I’ll do my best.” She hung up, missing her crew and her routine. She found a phone book and the number she was looking for. She dialed it on Silvester’s phone.
    “Alcoholics Anonymous. How can I help you?”
    “Yeah, I’m looking for a meeting tonight.” Frank gave the man she was talking to the Ninth’s address and the Crowne Plaza’s.
    “You got a couple to choose from. Any particular emphasis?”
    “Anything but a men’s stag.”
    “All right, get your pencil ready.”
    Frank wrote down half a dozen times and places. She hadn’t planned on going to a meeting in New York, but then again there were a lot of things she hadn’t planned on. She pocketed the list, thinking she’d need to find a cheaper hotel.
    Seeing as no one was around, Frank took a seat in front of Silvester’s computer. Because her computer skills barely exceeded turning the damned things on, Frank didn’t have any luck searching for information about her father’s case. She got up and rummaged through rows of gray file cabinets, snooping the old-fashioned way. Hearing loud voices she slipped a drawer shut and posed near the coffee machine.
    Hooting and hollering in the language of a successful collar, four detectives stomped into the homicide room. Silvester, long past her second wind and running on a third or fourth, was one of them. Calling one of the men “Lieutenant” she told him, “We got the little bastard. He was hiding under his grandmother’s bed. He crapped his pants when we pulled him out.”
    “Nice job, Annie. How about the kid? How we doing on that?”
    “We’ve got her nailed down to a mom-and-pop shop after she got out of school. There are a couple of mopes hanging around there that Vince and Billy are talkin’ to. After I get this mutt processed I’m going to go home and grab a couple hours sleep, get a fresh start in the morning, huh?”
    The LT nodded. “Yeah. Nice work. Vince and Billy gonna grab some shuteye, too?”
    “Vince and Billy, too.” Accepting the lieutenant’s amiable pat