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Chapters (57)
  1. Welcome to the Game
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraphs
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Six months later . . .
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Back Cover

Batiste found himself getting dragged away from his own surveillance work more and more these days. The previous week, he and Scott had spent six hours dealing with a domestic abuse. Not what a narcotics detective sergeant should be doing but that was how things were since the chief of police broke up the narcotics headquarter units and sent all the narco detectives back to the precincts to try and do their jobs. The precincts struggled to hit a drug target house once every two weeks, let alone pursue a long-term conspiratorial case.

He needed to get out: to the bureau or the state police. The bureau had already turned him down once. Didn’t like his record: too gung ho, closed cases too early, got the guy low down and not the guy pulling the strings. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. McGrath was just the sort of investigation that could impress. And right now was the golden opportunity to bring it in because Batiste’s superior officer, Captain Schaeffer, was uncharacteristically playing ball. But that wouldn’t last long.

Six months ago, Captain Schaeffer’s teenage daughter had been fender meat. She’d been sexting her tutor at the time. There was an unspoken departmental wager as to which would happen first—the captain’s breakdown or early retirement. This little ticking clock prevented Batiste from tackling this case by the book: long-term surveillance and data mining, lots of workup, lots of leaning on contacts he’d made in other agencies for more tech to build up a full picture of McGrath’s op. Instead he had to follow his gut, cut corners, and hope for some sweeping spectacular.

And yet the crazy thing was that it was possible. It was possible because he had a secret up his sleeve. And no one except his partner and Schaeffer knew about it. But right now, Batiste’s gut was feeling very uneasy about the guy he was following, a guy who seemed to have come from nowhere, like McGrath had suddenly thrown a curveball. This guy didn’t match the face the DMV had as the car’s owner. He drove differently too. Batiste had never considered a Prius to be at all speedy but this one, well, it just seemed to slip through the traffic like it’d been oiled up on the outside.

Both cars turned east onto Glendale. Batiste struggled to stay back but keep the Prius in sight. The Prius pulled off the road into a lot. Batiste slowed, U-turned, and parked up.

Spencer got out and walked to the communal front door of Chris’s apartment block. Batiste took out his phone, zoomed the camera, and took a picture. A little grainy but with the address it was good enough to start making inquiries.

13

13

Rookie