The Poet (Samantha Jazz)

Once I’m at the station, I stop by the conference room before heading to the firing squad, where I find Chuck and everyone on our team but Lang and Jackson. I tilt my head toward the door and Chuck stands, looking remarkably good considering he’s probably slept about as well as I did on the floor of my giant attic. We pause in the hallway where I motion to the tray and his coffee.

“Thank you, Lord and Jazz,” he says, grabbing his cup. “I need this badly.”

I get rid of the tray and hold onto my cup and the captain’s.

Chuck sips from his and crinkles his nose. “Is this skinny? Are we on a diet and I didn’t know it?” He holds up a hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate the caffeine immensely. I do.”

“Extra fat next time. Promise. I save my calories for chocolate. I thought you might as well. You have more room for chocolate now.” I switch gears. “I’m about to go in and get destroyed by the captain. Do you have anything to save me in there?”

“I’m trying, Jazz. I really am. I’ve bombed on any reason Newman’s job or his wife’s had them go to conventions in New York City. If we had any educational or criminal law events, I could go wide and look for additional suspects as well that might link to us here, but I got nothing.”

“What about hobbies that might bring either to an annual convention?”

“I’m already looking into that angle. I’m also looking beyond the conventional angle to family or old friends with an annual get-together, things to that effect. That means going to the social media of anyone connected to them to try to piece it together. Because even if he didn’t fly to New York, he could have driven. And we won’t have warrants to look at his bank statements this early.”

“Right.” I sip my coffee. “Keep doing the great job you’re doing. Where is Jackson, by the way?”

“Picking up the security feed from your office, and he’s going to hit up anyone who had an angle on your place last night for camera feed.”

“You really are Superman. I’d tell you I’d get you a raise, but I probably should make sure I keep my job first.”

“That bad?” He eyes the extra cup in my hand. “Pretty bad.”

“Yep. More soon.” I point to my bag. “Can you take this?”

He grabs it eagerly and I move away from him, heading to the captain’s office, arriving with only a few minutes to spare according to the clock in the hallway just outside his office.

I toss my cup in a nearby trash can and then step inside his open door to find him sitting behind his desk. He’s not wearing a suit jacket, but his shirt is crisp and white. His tie a bright blue. His overall appearance is like a sword sharpened for war with me his target, but I’ve never let a battle send me running. I’m not going to start now.

Using my foot, I shut the door and cross to stand in front of his desk. “I brought you your favorite green tea.” I set his cup in front of him. He stares at it and then lifts a steely, quite brutal stare at me before he picks up the tea.

“Tea won’t save you.” It does tempt the taste buds, though. He gulps a big drink. “At least you got this right,” he mutters, setting his tea down while he stands, towering over me, which I’m sure is the whole idea. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demands, and I can almost imagine the wind blowing through my hair with the force of his bellow.

“I was—”

“Why didn’t you warn me? I woke up to the mayor shouting in my ear.”

“The man—”

“I know the man was back at your door. Chuck and Lang both told me. You should have told me. I should have gotten a call.”

My defenses bristle. “Is that where we are now, Captain? I have to report every step of my investigations?”

“Since you can’t follow a simple order, yes. I told you to call Newman Smith’s wife. I told you—”

“We needed to shake her up enough to get her to turn on him. She was scared, Captain. She knows he’s a problem.”

“A detective showing up at your door is scary,” he blasts back. “You think that wins her over?”

“He’s going to kill again and quickly. I don’t want that blood on my hands. Do you?”

“You’re pushing your luck, Detective. I asked Lang this question and I’ll ask you now. Can you connect Newman Smith to any of these cases?”

“I need a day or two.”

“I told you, work the case around Newman.”

Anger burns a hot spot in my chest and loosens my tongue. “Safe and slow for everyone but his next victim, right, Captain? Maybe the FBI needs to take over.”