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been a cop for twenty-five years, Rainmondi. I know how a crime scene works. I spent many years as a detective.”
    â€œYes, sir. Your personnel jacket is full of awards. I read your bio when you were promoted, but . . .”
    â€œBut what, Detective?”
    This is where it could all go south. “Forgive me, sir, but you didn’t come up through homicide.”
    â€œWhat difference does that make? Never mind, step aside.”
    â€œI’m sorry, sir, but I can’t.”
    â€œNow I know why they call you the Ice Queen.” He lifted the barricade and started to duck beneath it.
    â€œHello, Chief.” The voice came from an ebony-skinned man about Carmen’s age who sported a shiny head and the build of a redwood tree. He wore a blue suit that must have cost a good two hundred bucks less than the one Claymore wore.
    â€œFinally, someone with a lick of sense. Your detective seems to think I’m too stupid to know how to treat a crime scene. You may want to think about having a disciplinary talk with her.”
    Captain Ulysses Darrel Simmons was Carmen’s immediate superior. He was a by-the-book man who spoke with a James Earl Jones voice. No one called him Ulysses. Ever. It was Darrel or Simmons or Captain. Uttering the “U” name could lead to the dirtiest duty in homicide.
    â€œShe’s doing her job, Chief. If she had let you in, I would have kicked her fanny all the way to the Mexican border.”
    â€œDon’t tell me I need to remind > you of my position—”
    â€œLet’s not go there, Chief. Every year, guys like me have to explain why some other cop contaminated a scene. I’m sure you know your way around an investigation, sir, but I drill the principles of scene discipline into my people. If they screw up, they pay for it big time.”
    â€œI told Rainmondi I could have her badge. I can have yours, too.”
    â€œWith all due respect, sir, I don’t think you can. If you want to follow that course of action, you are free to do so, but we can’t let you in. If it’s any comfort to you, I spend more time on this side of the barricade than on that side. At least until the detectives declare it clear.”
    â€œMaybe I should talk to the chief.” Claymore’s face had grown another shade of red.
    â€œCertainly, sir, but just so you know, I have kept him off scenes, too.”
    Claymore sighed loudly. “When will it be clear?”
    Captain Simmons made eye contact with Carmen.
    â€œIt’s gonna be a while, sir. Detective Tock and I have to finish our first examination. The techs are just getting started. Once they’re done, then you can look around.”
    Claymore opened his mouth to speak but closed it a moment later. Without a word, he turned and left.
    Carmen forced a smile. “So should I polish my resume?”
    â€œNah. He’s just trying on his big-boy pants. If he complains, the chief will smack him down a notch. Trust me, he knows how to do that.”
    Carmen had heard about Captain Simmons’s toe-to-toe with the chief. The rest of the details were kept between the two men.
    â€œThanks for bailing me out. I was pretty sure he would knock me down to make his point.”
    Simmons shook his head. “He’s a bit annoying at times, but he’s a good cop. He’s also a good politician. Knocking a fellow officer down would look bad. Besides, I’m not sure he could pull it off.” He looked into the yard. “Whatcha got?”
    â€œWhite male. Clothed. Bud found the man’s wallet. Name is David Cohen.”
    â€œCOD?”
    â€œUnofficially, cause of death is beating. He’s been worked big time. Of course, we’ll let the ME pin it down.”
    â€œWhose the civilian?” He nodded to the rabbi.
    â€œRabbi Joel Singer. The vic was his cantor. A cantor is—”
    â€œI know what a cantor is. What’s your take on him?”
    Carmen