Snakes & Ladders by Sean Slater Read Free Book Online Page B

Felicia flinch at the mention of the badge number, but he paid her no heed. Seconds later, when the clerk excused himself to print up the proper labels for the sample and grab one of the Time Continuity forms the police required, Felicia rushed up to the counter and elbowed Striker.
    ‘What the hell is wrong with you? That’s Laroche’s number.’
    Striker shrugged. ‘Has to be. With a bill this big, only an inspector can sign off on it.’
    ‘But he didn’t sign off on it – we haven’t even spoken to him yet.’
    Striker raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? I must’ve been mistaken then, because I could’ve sworn you told me he’d given us authorization.’
    Her reply was cold. ‘No. I didn’t.’
    ‘Hmm. Must’ve misheard you then.’
    ‘Jacob—’
    ‘We really need to communicate better in the future.’ When her cold look remained fixed on him, he added, ‘Just be happy he took the badge number. Otherwise we would’ve had to use Plan B.’
    ‘Plan B?’
    ‘You would’ve had to sleep with him.’ When she didn’t laugh and her glare remained the same, Striker splayed his hands in surrender. ‘Come on, Feleesh. It’ll be fine. Trust me.’
    She lowered her voice. ‘I’ve heard that one before, Jacob. You’re going to get us suspended.’
    He stopped leaning on the counter and turned to face her. ‘That won’t happen. And besides, you know how it works around here – you honestly think Laroche is going to authorize private funding when all we got right now is circumstantial evidence? Lots of luck.’
    ‘That’s exactly my point.’
    ‘Well, whatever happens, I’ll wear it. As far as I’m concerned, I thought he had approved this. Whoops. My mistake.’
    ‘Let’s just get the hell out of here,’ she said.
    ‘We can’t go just yet. He needs me to sign the continuity form,’ Striker said.
    Felicia just gave him one of her sharp looks before turning away. She shook her head, brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder, and focused on the gigantic painting on the far wall – a recreation of Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam , except in this painting, Adam wasn’t touching God, he was touching a spiralling strand of DNA.
    Striker watched Felicia from behind, feeling the cold shoulder she was giving him. It was all right; she had reason to. He completely understood that. What he was doing could get them into major shit. Yet again. And sooner or later, a suspension was bound to happen. Lately, he’d been cutting more corners than a Vancouver taxi driver. But he couldn’t help it.
    That was the only way things ever got done around here.
    He was just about to force some conversation with Felicia – try to smooth things out a little – when his cell went off. He whipped it out, read the screen and saw Mike Rothschild’s name. He picked up.
    ‘Sergeant,’ Striker said.
    ‘Hey, Snow White, how’s life in the forest?’
    ‘We’re real busy here, Mike.’
    Rothschild laughed at his irritation. ‘I got some news for you.’
    ‘ Good news?’
    ‘Yeah. The camera cunts showed up.’
    Striker felt his jaw tighten. ‘The media? Again?’
    ‘You said it. What ya want me to tell them?’
    ‘Who the hell leaked?’
    ‘Find me a magic mirror and I’ll tell you.’
    Striker thought over their options. Dealing with the media was always a hassle. They distorted facts to make articles more sensational, and they had no respect for a person’s privacy. Whether the victim was alive or dead, young or old, passed away or horribly mutilated and murdered – it was irrelevant to the media. All that mattered was how many viewers were watching. Or how many papers sold. Everything was numbers and headlines.
    ‘Tell them it’s a suicide at this point, but the investigation is ongoing.’
    ‘Done.’
    ‘That’s all and no more, Mike – I want to keep a tight lid on this one. Real tight.’
    ‘So I shouldn’t tell them we suspect Taliban involvement.’
    Striker smiled grimly at the comment.