School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,31
facing the front podium where the chief briefed them every morning in preparation for their day.
Adele Fetzer, fiftyish, African American, with a smile of both cynicism and hope, noticed him first. She nodded to Jimmy, who was about the same age and had graying blond hair and a ruddy complexion. He looked up from his paperwork, and his eyes widened.
“Rivers?” he asked tentatively. “That’s your name, right?”
“Yessir,” Jackson said, and let some respect color his voice. He hadn’t been tight with Fetzer or Hardison, but neither of them had given him reason to believe they were crooked, or even mean. They’d worked different shifts than he had, and as far as he knew, they held no grudges.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Rivers?” Adele asked, head tilted. “Who used to be a cop.”
“I work for a defense attorney now,” he said, snagging a plastic chair from another table and swinging it around so he could straddle it and prop his arms on the back. “Cramer and Henderson. Don’t worry, you haven’t heard of us. But you will.”
“Dirty/pretty killer,” Hardison said without missing a beat.
“And the Sampson drug ring,” Fetzer added, both of them regarding him with no humor—but no enmity either. “You’ve been busy.”
Jackson nodded. “It’s been an eventful year,” he said. “And we were at the public defender’s office this morning”—he watched their eyes widen, so he knew he had them—“picking up a file for a young man named Tage Dobrevk.”
Ooh, he’d hit a nerve. Both of them leaned in, glancing at each other furtively.
“Was that what the shooting was all about?” Fetzer asked, voice hushed. “Because nobody is telling us dick!”
“They don’t know,” Jackson said. “We were there to pick up the file when we heard the guy shout the name of the lawyer who had it. We got there in time to hide her in the copy room while my colleague barricaded the guy in the stairwell. They took him down with Tasers, but he’s out cold. But they tried again. Did you guys hear about that?”
The confusion on their faces made his stomach hurt.
“Detective Kryzynski—you guys know him?”
Fetzer blinked. “Good guy,” she said.
“In the hospital,” Jackson told her brutally. “Because a kid with a switchblade was trying to break into our law office, and between him and the guy this morning, we figure….” He let them make eye contact, the way good partners did.
“They both wanted the same thing,” Fetzer reasoned. Then she frowned. “Is Kryzynski doing okay? We have not heard about that!”
“He’s actually by himself,” Jackson said. “I told him we’d get the guy, but we’re visiting later this evening. I….” He remembered waking up after two weeks in a medically induced coma to discover his hospital room had cards and stuffed animals from Jade and Kaden, but not a damned thing from his department because he’d been wearing a wire trying to bring down his corrupt partner. “I think it would mean something to him to know he had friends in the waiting room.”
Fetzer nodded seriously. “Mercy San Juan?”
“Med Center,” Jackson told her. “I can’t believe you guys don’t know.” He grimaced, and let some of his anger slide down his spine. “To be honest, the two flatfoots at the scene were….” He pursed his lips, and tried to remember he was being a nice guy. “They weren’t you guys,” he said after a moment. “We couldn’t get them to even call the forensics team, and we had prints on the doorknob.”
“So they don’t know who did it?” Hardison asked.
Jackson kept his expression neutral, but he arched one eyebrow.
Again, that partner eyeball communiqué. “You’re a PI, right?” Hardison asked when it was over.
“I am.”
“You’re a pretty good one, right?”
Jackson gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I get by.”
Fetzer snorted. “You’re a hot dog—we can see it. Do you know who did it?”
Jackson gave them a cat and canary smile. “Wanna see a picture?”
Their eyes lit up. “Oh, do we,” Fetzer said. “You’re not going to give us crap about it?”
“I’m not trying to defend the kid who knifed my friend,” Jackson told her, voice hard. “I’m trying to defend the kid who got charged for a murder I think this kid committed.”
Fetzer swore softly. “You are just a bag full of grenades today, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Augh! He’d pushed too hard. He knew it. He took a deep breath. “We’ve seen some connections between this guy and some other people in the community. For example, your murder vic, No Neck—”