The 6th Target (Women's Murder Club 6)

I went to my office, moved a huge basket of flowers from my desk. Glanced at the small card sticking up between the roses. There were a whole lot of X’s and O’s on the note from Joe, my wonderful guy.

I was still smiling when I pressed the blinking button on my phone, the chief’s voice all mellow, asking me to come upstairs to his office.

“Let me get the team,” I said, but he told me, “No, just come by yourself.”

I let Brenda know I’d be back in a few minutes and took the stairs to Tracchio’s walnut-paneled office on the fifth floor.

The chief stood up when I entered, reached his meaty hand across his desk, grasping mine, saying, “Boxer, bringing down that wackjob makes this a good day for the SFPD. I want to thank you again for your excellent work.”

I said, “Thanks, Chief. And thanks for backing me up.” I was readying to leave — but an embarrassed look came over the chief’s face, a look I hadn’t seen him wear before.

He gestured for me to sit down and he did the same, rolling his chair back and forth on the acrylic rug-protector a couple of times before locking his hands across his midsection.

“Lindsay, I’ve come to a conclusion that I’ve been fighting tooth and nail.”

He was going to give me more manpower?

A bigger overtime budget?

“I’ve watched firsthand how you worked this case, and I’m impressed at how much tenacity and determination you showed in the investigation.”

“Thanks —”

“And so I have to admit that you were right and I was wrong.”

Right about what?

My mind raced ahead of his words, trying to gain a half second on him — and failing.

“As you’ve told me,” Tracchio continued, “you belong on the street, not chained to a desk. And I get it now. I finally understand. Simply put, administrative work is a waste of your talent.”

I stared at the chief as he put a badge down on the desktop in front of me.

“Congratulations, Boxer, on your well-earned demotion to sergeant.”

Chapter 24

SUDDENLY I WAS DIZZY with disbelief.

I heard Tracchio speaking, but it was as if his desk had shot back through the wall and he was talking to me from somewhere over the freeway.

“You’ll have a dotted-line reporting relationship to me. Keep your current pay grade, of course . . .”

Inside my head, I was screaming, Demotion? You’re demoting me? Today?

I made a grab for the edge of his desk, needing to hold on. I saw Tracchio fall back into his chair, the expression on his face telling me that he was as stunned by my reaction as I was by his announcement.

“What is it, Boxer? Isn’t this what you wanted? You’ve been nagging me for months —”

“No, I mean, yes. I have. But I wasn’t expecting —”

“Come on, Boxer. What are you telling me? I spent all night clearing this up and down the line because you said it’s what you wanted.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. “Give me some time to get my head around this, okay, Tony?” I sputtered.

“I give up,” Tracchio said, picking up his stapler and banging it down on his desk. “I don’t understand you. I never will. I give up, Boxer!”

I don’t remember leaving the chief’s office, but I do remember a long walk to the stairway, a strained smile on my face as people called out their congratulations when I passed their desks.