Sullivan's Justice by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg Read Free Book Online Page B

Anyway, I thought Veronica Campbell was handling it.”
    “She’s not handling it now,” Carolyn said. “I’ve got to get going on this thing, Hank. Just make sure you’re available if I need to ask you some questions.”
    “Listen to me!” he shouted. “Moreno attacked three inmates last night. Don’t go over there and put on your usual routine. You could get hurt, understand?”
    “I’ve already spoken to him,” Carolyn said, searching in her desk for some Tylenol. It wasn’t noon yet and her head was already pounding. Veronica swore it was Carolyn’s eating habits. She never ate breakfast, and when she was busy, she frequently skipped lunch.
    “He talked?”
    “Yeah,” she said, giving up and shutting her drawer. “I’m sweating him for a few hours, then I’m going back. If my instincts are right, there’s more going on than meets the eye. He’s nasty, but I’m almost certain he’s not crazy. Just the opposite. I think he’s smart, really smart.”
    “You’re amazing,” the detective said. “I don’t know why in the hell you want to stay with the probation department. Come over here and I’ll make you a detective.” He coughed, then added, “I’m warning you, Carolyn, don’t push your luck with this guy.”
    “I’ll do anything in my power to make certain he spends the rest of his life in prison,” Carolyn said. “Risking our lives is what we get paid for, in case you’ve forgotten. Sometimes it’s the only way to get the job done.”
    “We make only a few dollars more than the sanitation workers,” Hank argued. “No one cares if you get your head blown off, or some psycho like Moreno cracks your neck like a twig. It isn’t worth it, understand?”
    “Aren’t you the guy who jumped off the top of a moving car onto the back of a junkie with a shotgun?”
    “That was different.”
    “Sure it was,” Carolyn said, recalling at least fifteen other instances when Sawyer had done something with a million-to-one chance of succeeding. Even today, being a woman in law enforcement wasn’t easy. Most of the younger officers treated women like equals. Old-timers like Hank Sawyer would never come around. All she was to him was a little girl with a dangerous weapon. And it wasn’t necessarily a gun.
    “Enjoy the party,” she said. “Some of us have to work around here.”

Chapter 4
     
     
     
     
    Thursday, December 23—4:00 P.M.
     
    N eil Sullivan’s home was on top of a hill overlooking the ocean. He unlocked the glove box in his Ferrari and removed a small white envelope. Pulling down the visor, he slipped out the makeup mirror and placed it on the center console. He separated the crystal meth into two thin lines, using the razor blade he kept in the ashtray. Bending down with a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill in his hand, he snorted the white powder up his nostrils. Better, he thought, leaning back in the seat.
    He started to put the envelope back in the glove box when he noticed it was empty. How could it be gone? He’d just bought it yesterday. No, he thought, it must have been the day before. Then he remembered that he’d been driving his van, so he knew it had to have been Wednesday. He hadn’t picked up the Ferrari until after dinner. Someone had found his stash, maybe the valet at the restaurant he and Laurel had gone to last night.
    He didn’t use on a regular basis, only when things went wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong today.
    Images flashed in his mind. He remembered storming out of the house. Everything before that was muddled and frightening. No one had stolen his stash, he realized. This wasn’t the first time he’d snorted today. The ritual was so familiar, he sometimes used it twice without realizing it. He had to stop, but he couldn’t stop now. Now was never a good time to give up something you needed.
    When he backed out of his driveway, transparent sheets of rain splashed against his windshield. Reaching over, he turned the wipers on high. He