But as I glanced over, something bizarre moved in front of my field of vision. Far off, across the squad room.

Chief Senza was escorting Lauten Hartley on a tour.

Lauten Hartley. The lawyer.

The same one who Remy and I had just talked about last night. The guy who I theorized had contributed to the worst day of my life.

Hartley ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair and placed a briefcase down in an empty office on the far side of the floor. The chief disappeared into a stairwell.

“What the hell?” I said, moving past Remy.

I hustled out of my office and across to the opposite stairs. Took them two at a time up to the next floor. Followed Senza into his office.

“Chief,” I said, “you got a second?”

“You already got something on your double?”

“No, not yet,” I said.

I pulled his door halfway closed as I entered. “Lauten Hartley.” I pointed down. Cocking my head.

I was still getting to know Senza, and he had this way of taking a deep breath while he nodded. Signaling that he was following you. “Sure,” he said. “So, Vicky Goff is leaving the police oversight board. You knew that, right?”

This was the civilian position. The lead position on the board.

“I heard whispers.”

“Well, the mayor’s been looking to replace her,” Senza said. “You remember Hartley from last year?”

“You kidding?” I said. “How could I forget? He worked pro bono to sue the department.”

Senza motioned for me to close his door all the way. Which I did.

“And the mayor’s got two thoughts on that, Marsh,” the chief said. “One, if Hartley sits on the board, he’s conflicted, so he can’t sue us again. Make your enemy your friend.”

“And two?”

“This is what the public wants these days, P.T. It’s the age of transparency. Honest reporting. Body cams. So the type of public servant who would work pro bono against a police department—just because he believed in a cause—that’s the type of guy the public wants running an oversight board.”

A cause? I squinted at Chief Senza.

The issue that we got sued over last December wasn’t a cause. Some degenerate’s sister was suing the department for her brother’s death. Her brother who shot Remy in the arm. Then held me underwater until I nearly blacked out. Somehow I found the energy to fight back. Which ended in his death, instead of mine.

I did my best to nod at the chief. But the reality was—politics eluded me. Not the simple practice of them. I’d learned long ago how to compliment people’s kids and wives. How to play nice at work. But the advanced stuff—the counterintuitive moves where you took one step back for six months to take two steps forward later—I guess I just lacked the discipline to sandbag myself and those around me for some theoretical future gain.

“You’re following me, P.T.?” the chief asked.

I hadn’t been listening for about thirty seconds.