“Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said. “Might be none of my business, but I thought I saw you using that crime scene diagramming software. Figured I’d check for sure. Maybe offer some advice.”

Brewer glared at him. “You want advice, keep your fucking hands to yourself—”

“No harm intended.” Ricci held a low, level tone. “I was on the job once upon a time. Boston. Found out the hard way these computer sketches aren’t worth jack on the witness stand. You want to impress a jury, don’t lose your original hand sketch on that pad. Accurate’s good. Sometimes giving them a feel for what you saw can be better.”

Brewer stared at him in angry confusion. Ricci knew he wouldn’t believe his excuse for the grab. It didn’t matter. Nor did it matter that he’d incidentally happened to be telling the truth about the testifying part. He’d gotten his look at the screen image. Not a long one. But long enough.

“There a problem here?”

The voice was Erickson’s. Ricci half-turned and saw the detective standing behind him. He and Thibodeau had come over from the Honda.

Ricci left the explanation to Brewer. He doubted the cop would mention anything about the laptop, embarrass himself by admitting he’d been caught off guard.

As expected, pride won the day.

“No,” Brewer said. He was trying not to seem abashed. “The two of us were having some shop talk.”

Erickson gave his partner a long look, hands in the pockets of his raincoat, water dripping from his hair.

“Shop talk,” he repeated.

Brewer nodded inside the car.

“Ricci used to be a cop,” he said. “We were comparing notes about procedures. How they’ve changed and so forth.”

Erickson’s gaze dissected him another moment and then swung onto Ricci.

“Didn’t do much comparing with me before,” he said.

Ricci shrugged under his umbrella.

“We had other things to talk about,” he said.

Erickson was silent. Thibodeau was silent. Both of them were looking at Ricci and had separate reasons for being skeptical and displeased.

“Okay,” Erickson said at last. He gestured the Sword ops toward the road. “I think maybe it’s time I walk you two back to your car.”

Thibodeau hadn’t taken his eyes off Ricci.

“Guess it would be,” he said, and started traipsing down the gravel and mud drive in the rain.

“I get to find out what was going on between you and that other detective?” Thibodeau said.

“Sure,” Ricci said. “I aim to please.”

Thibodeau waited. They were back inside Ricci’s Jetta on the shoulder of the road, rain dashing against the roof and windshield.

“Erickson was holding out on us,” Ricci said. “I knew he wouldn’t give up whatever it was and played his partner on a hunch.”

Thibodeau looked across the seat at him.

“That hunch pay off?”