I had taught my two morning classes, including the Modern Lit class. There was no sign of Ms. Podowsky and there hadn’t been since I had run into her at the bookstore. I wondered if she had dropped the class. But for now, I had more pressing matters to attend to so I didn’t drop by the registrar’s office to find out.
I pulled my car up to the front of the building into one of those diagonal spots that I always had trouble backing out of. I figured if Crawford was there, he could help me back out without smashing into anything, such as a person.
I had never been to the precinct before and I was more than a little curious about where Crawford worked. I had been in another precinct earlier that year and it was horrendous; I couldn’t imagine going to work in a place like that every day. The Fiftieth was a little bit better—a teensy bit, maybe?—and I took heart that he worked there instead of in a more dicey neighborhood.
It was an atypical fall day in New York when I arrived at the precinct, located a mile or so south of St. Thomas. Usually, the weather is slightly warm, sometimes with a chill in the air, and sunny. Today, the weather matched the precinct building to a tee—gray, dull, and dark. I went through the heavy metal doors and into the main area of the precinct.
I walked to the switchboard area where a very attractive female officer was manning the phones. Crawford had described his colleagues as fat, smelly, and definitely unattractive; Officer Gorman (as her name tag identified her) did not fall into any of those categories. And when she stood to greet me, I could see that not only was she not fat, she was built like a brick shithouse. And I don’t even know what that means.
“Hi,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?” Gorgeous and friendly. Great.
“Is Detective Crawford here?” I asked.
She smiled again, still friendly, but this time with a slight curl to her lips and an arch to one eyebrow. “Sure. Can I tell him who’s calling?”
I gave her my name and waited while she plugged a couple of numbers into the phone. “Detective Crawford? Ms. Bergeron to see you?” She waited a minute to hear his answer before hanging up, and then motioned that I should go up a flight of stairs to the squad room. I got a few feet away from the desk and heard her whisper, “You got it, Hot Pants.”
Detective Hot Pants was Max’s name for Crawford before she really knew him. I realized now that she had probably told Fred, and this little tidbit had made its way into the precinct vernacular. I wasn’t sure having a gorgeous fellow cop of Crawford’s knowing the name made me feel all that comfortable, but I tried to let it go.
Before I walked away, a ruddy-faced man wearing a short-sleeved shirt and equally short tie stopped next to me; he had been eavesdropping on Gorman’s phone call to Crawford, announcing my presence. He gave me the once-over, lingering a moment too long on my legs. Gorman took notice and cleared her throat.
“Can I help you, Moran?” she asked.
“Is this the lovely Dr. Bergeron?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I was surprised that he knew who I was since we had never met. I took it and allowed him to hold it a little longer than he should have. “Yes.”
He bowed at the waist. “Arthur Moran. I saw you on television.”
Good Lord. And they say the ratings for NHL games are at an all-time low. You’d never know that, judging by how many people had seen me on television.
He pulled me a few feet away from Gorman and dropped his voice. “I’ve been working with your boyfriend on your ex-husband’s case.” He let go of my hand and pulled up to his full five feet seven inches, pulling at the waistband of his Sansabelt pants.
“Thank you, Detective Moran. I appreciate your hard work on this. I’m sure Ray’s family does, too.”
“I’m very sorry about the circumstances of his death,” he said. “You know,” he said, pulling me close so that he could whisper in my ear, “this has Miceli written all over it.” He drew back and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Really?” I said. Since Crawford wasn’t giving me any information, I decided that pumping Moran for information was the next best thing. “Do you think it