Chapters (31)
- Praise for FAITHFUL PLACE
- About the Author
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
I sighed, leaned back in my chair and kneaded at the back of my neck. “Kid. If you don’t mind hearing one little piece of advice from someone who’s been doing this job a lot longer than you have, let me share this secret with you: with almost no exceptions, the simplest explanation is the right one. There’s no cover-up, there’s no big conspiracy, and the government has not planted a chip behind your ear. The only thing I found out, over the last couple of days, is that it’s time for you and me to let this case go.”
Stephen was staring at me like I had grown an extra head. “Hang on a minute here. What happened to us having a responsibility to the victims? What happened to ‘It’s just you and me, we’re all they’ve got’?”
I said, “It got pointless, kid. That’s what happened. Scorcher Kennedy’s right: he’s got a beauty of a case. If I were the DPP, I’d give him the go-ahead in a heartbeat. There’s no way in hell he’s going to ditch his whole theory and start from scratch even if the Angel Gabriel comes down from heaven to tell him he’s got it wrong, never mind because something a little funny shows up on Kevin’s phone records or because you and I think Imelda’s story smells icky. It doesn’t matter what happens between now and Tuesday: this case is over.”
“And you’re OK with that?”
“No, sunshine, I’m not. I’m not one little bit OK with it. But I’m a grown-up. If I’m going to throw myself in front of a bullet, it’s going to be for something where that might possibly make a difference. I don’t do lost causes, no matter how romantic, because they’re a waste. Just like it would be a waste for you to get reverted to uniform and booted to a backwoods desk job for the rest of your career because you got caught leaking useless info to me.”
The kid had a redhead’s temper: one fist was clenched on the table, and he looked like he was just about ready to plant it in my face. “That’s my decision. I’m a big boy; I’m well able to look after myself.”
I laughed. “Don’t fool yourself: I’m not trying to protect you. I would happily get you to keep putting your career on the line through 2012, never mind through next Tuesday, if I thought for one second it would do any good. But it wouldn’t.”