Extracurricular Activities by Maggie Barbieri Read Free Book Online Page A

deputy mayor’s great-aunt had been mugged and taken for a thousand dollars, and therefore, every available cop in the Fiftieth Precinct was now looking for this asshole. Champy, because of his high clearing rates for homicides, had been left on the case of the hands and feet, as Crawford had dubbed it in an effort to distance himself from the troubling detail that the victim was Alison’s ex, something that put him in a foul mood.
    Despite the fact that Crawford and Champy were only in possession of Ray’s hands and feet and Dobbs Ferry had most of the body, NYPD had taken on the case. It could have been a jurisdictional thing, but Dobbs Ferry had been more than gracious about giving up control.
    â€œThat’s because it’s a bag of shit,” Fred had said in his usual delicate manner. A “bag of shit” was a case nobody wanted, and Crawford supposed that Hardin and Madden had their own, Westchester version of the phrase to describe the Ray Stark case. Probably had something to do with old foie gras or something equally highfalutin.
    For the past six hours, Fred and Crawford had been watching a female police officer in a borrowed diamond necklace walk up and down the avenue, checking her police-issue Rolex now and again and flashing wads of cash as she purchased items of a variety of name brands from the vendors on the avenue of a variety. They were across the street, idly examining newspapers, walking up and down the avenue, trying to remain as inconspicuous as two men over six feet three can remain on a fairly crowded street. Crawford and Wyatt were the “catch team”—the cops that watched decoys as they put themselves in harm’s way to catch the people who preyed upon the innocent.
    Crawford was in a particularly bad mood because he hated a disruption in his routine and he hated being pulled away from the job he was good at—investigating murders. He missed another Saturday-night dinner with his daughters. And that was a disappointment he couldn’t handle; he saw them once a week and valued his time with them. Missing out on seeing them for work was unacceptable.
    Fred moved on to the Saturday Night Fever collection.
    Â 
    If I can’t have you
    I don’t want nobody, baby
    If I can’t have you—
    Â 
    â€œShut the FUCK up, Fred.” Crawford took a few steps away from Fred; with Fred singing to him, they looked less like cops than a gay couple in the middle of an argument.
    He had been holding the same cup of coffee for the last hour; he took a swig of lukewarm sludge and grimaced.
    Fred turned and looked at him. “And what is your problem?”
    Crawford folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, none too convincingly. “Just stop singing.” He watched the woman across the street play with the diamond necklace on her neck as she shot them an impatient look. She was as tired as they were, and she got to parade up and down the avenue in a four-thousand-dollar necklace and Manolo Blahnik shoes instead of standing in the hot sun with a partner who wasn’t as funny as he thought he was. Crawford avoided her gaze and focused on his shoes.
    â€œWe’ve got to get back on the Stark homicide,” Crawford said.
    Fred grunted.
    â€œWhat?”
    Fred kept his eye on Carmen but addressed Crawford. “You’re a little too interested in the case, don’t you think?” Fred took a sip of cold coffee. “Do you want to solve it to close the case or do you want to get back into someone’s good graces?”
    Crawford tensed. He and Fred never disagreed about anything; they knew each other too well. But Fred was treading on rocky territory, and if Crawford were really honest with himself and his partner, Fred had a point. He was more than a little ticked that they had been pulled off the case; any breaks in the case would give him an excuse to talk to Alison and, hopefully, see