The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme 7)

"Were there any other files checked out that came here?" He sat on the edge of his desk and stared down at her.

Sachs frowned.

He continued. "Any files from anywhere else?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Do you know what I do here?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What's my job at the One Five Eight?"

"Well, you're in charge of the precinct, I assume."

"You assume," he mocked. "I've known officers dead in the streets because they assumed. Shot down dead."

This was getting tedious. Sachs's eyes went cold and locked onto his. She had no trouble maintaining the gaze.

Jefferies hardly noticed. He snapped, "In addition to running the precinct--your brilliant deduction--I'm in charge of the manpower allocation committee for the entire department. I review thousands of files a year, I see what the trends are, determine what shifts we need to make in personnel to cover work load. I work hand in glove with the city and state to make sure we get what we need. You probably think that's a waste of time, don't you?"

"I don't--"

"Well, it's not, young lady. Those files are reviewed by me and they're returned. . . . Now, what's this particular report you're so goddamn interested in?"

Suddenly she didn't want him to know. This whole scene was off. Logically, if he had something to hide, it was unlikely that he'd behave like such a prick. But, on the other hand, he might be acting this way to divert suspicion. She thought back. She'd given the clerk only the file number, not the name Sarkowski. Most likely the scatterbrain wouldn't remember the lengthy digit.

Sachs said calmly, "I'd prefer not to say."

He blinked. "You--?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

Jefferies nodded. He seemed calm. Then he leaned forward and slammed his hand down on the desk again. "You fucking have to tell me. I want the case name and I want it now."

"No."

"I'll see you're suspended for insubordination."

"You do what you have to, Inspector."

"You will tell me the name of the file. And you will tell me now."

"No, I won't."

"I'll call your supervisor." His voice was cracking. He was getting hysterical. Sachs actually wondered if he'd physically hurt her.

"He doesn't know about it."

"You're all the same," Jefferies said, a searing voice. "You think you get a gold shield, you know everything there is to know about being a cop. You're a kid, you're just a kid--and a wiseass one. You come to my precinct, accuse me of stealing files--"

"I didn't--"

"Insubordination--you insult me, you interrupt me. You don't have any idea what it's like to be a cop."

Sachs gazed at him placidly. She'd slipped into a different place--her personal cyclone cellar. She knew that there might be disastrous implications from this confrontation but at the moment he couldn't touch her. "I'm leaving now."

"You're in deep trouble, young lady. I remember your shield. Five eight eight five. Think I didn't? I'll see you busted down to Warrants. How'd you like to shuffle paper all day long? You do not come into a man's precinct and insult him!"