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Cerulean Sins :: Гамильтон Лорел
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I shook my head. "Jesus, O'Brien, is that all this is about? You want your name in the headlines?"
"I know that cracking a serial murder could make me a sergeant."
"If you want your name on this case, fine," I said, "but let's worry more about solving the case than who's going to get credit for it."
"Easy enough for you to say, Blake. Like you said, you don't have a career in law enforcement. Getting credit for this won't help you, but you'll still get the credit."
Zerbrowski pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. He touched the files on the edge of the table. He opened one just enough to pull out a photo. He half-slid, half-threw the picture across the table at O'Brien.
It was a splash of shape and color. Most of the color was red. I didn't look too hard at it. I'd seen the real deal, I didn't need a reminder.
O'Brien glanced down at the picture, then looked again. She frowned, and almost reached out for the photo, then stared harder. She concentrated on the image. I watched her try to make sense of what she was seeing, watched her mind rebel at making sense of it. I saw the moment she saw it, on her face, in the sudden paleness of her skin. She sat down slowly in the chair on her side of the table.
She seemed to have trouble looking away from the picture. "Are they all like this?" she asked in a voice gone thin.
"Yes," Zerbrowski said. His voice was soft, too, as if he had made his point and wouldn't rub it in.
She looked up at me, and it looked like a physical effort to pull her gaze away from that photo. "You'll be the darling of the media again," but her voice was soft, like it didn't matter.
"Probably," I said, "but it's not because I want to be."
"You're just so damned photogenic," her voice had held a hint of her earlier scorn, then she frowned and glanced down at the photo again. She seemed to hear what she'd just said, and with that awful, hideous photo sitting in front of her, it seemed the wrong thing to say.
"I didn't mean…" She rallied, and put back on her angry face, but it seemed more like a mask to hide behind now.
"Don't worry, O'Brien," Zerbrowski said, and he had his teasing voice back. I knew enough to dread what would come out of his mouth next, but she didn't. "We know what you meant. Anita is just so damned cute."
She gave a weak smile. "Something like that, yes," she said. The smile vanished as if it had never existed. She was all business again. O'Brien never seemed to get very far from business.
I shook my head. "Jesus, O'Brien, is that all this is about? You want your name in the headlines?"
"I know that cracking a serial murder could make me a sergeant."
"If you want your name on this case, fine," I said, "but let's worry more about solving the case than who's going to get credit for it."
"Easy enough for you to say, Blake. Like you said, you don't have a career in law enforcement. Getting credit for this won't help you, but you'll still get the credit."
Zerbrowski pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. He touched the files on the edge of the table. He opened one just enough to pull out a photo. He half-slid, half-threw the picture across the table at O'Brien.
It was a splash of shape and color. Most of the color was red. I didn't look too hard at it. I'd seen the real deal, I didn't need a reminder.
O'Brien glanced down at the picture, then looked again. She frowned, and almost reached out for the photo, then stared harder. She concentrated on the image. I watched her try to make sense of what she was seeing, watched her mind rebel at making sense of it. I saw the moment she saw it, on her face, in the sudden paleness of her skin. She sat down slowly in the chair on her side of the table.
She seemed to have trouble looking away from the picture. "Are they all like this?" she asked in a voice gone thin.
"Yes," Zerbrowski said. His voice was soft, too, as if he had made his point and wouldn't rub it in.
She looked up at me, and it looked like a physical effort to pull her gaze away from that photo. "You'll be the darling of the media again," but her voice was soft, like it didn't matter.
"Probably," I said, "but it's not because I want to be."
"You're just so damned photogenic," her voice had held a hint of her earlier scorn, then she frowned and glanced down at the photo again. She seemed to hear what she'd just said, and with that awful, hideous photo sitting in front of her, it seemed the wrong thing to say.
"I didn't mean…" She rallied, and put back on her angry face, but it seemed more like a mask to hide behind now.
"Don't worry, O'Brien," Zerbrowski said, and he had his teasing voice back. I knew enough to dread what would come out of his mouth next, but she didn't. "We know what you meant. Anita is just so damned cute."
She gave a weak smile. "Something like that, yes," she said. The smile vanished as if it had never existed. She was all business again. O'Brien never seemed to get very far from business.