Nostalgia wasn’t the reason that Mondale tolerated Dan’s abuse, and neither of them had any illusions otherwise. The truth was, Dan knew something about Mondale that, if revealed, would destroy the captain’s career, something that had happened when they had been second-year patrolmen, a vital bit of information that would have made any blackmailer swoon with joy. He would never use it against Mondale, of course; as much as he despised the man, he couldn’t bring himself to engage in blackmail.
If their roles had been reversed, however, Mondale would have had no compunctions about blackmail or vindictive revelation. Dan’s continued silence baffled the captain, made him uneasy, encouraged him to tread carefully each time they met.
‘Let’s get specific,’ Dan said. ‘Exactly how much longer will you put up with my shit?’
‘I don’t have to. Not for long, thank God. You’ll be back in Central after this shift,’ Mondale said. He smiled.
Dan leaned his weight against the unoiled spring-action back of the office chair, which squealed in protest, and put his hands behind his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint. I’ll be sticking around for a while. I caught a murder last night. It’s my case now. I figure I’ll stay with it for the duration.’
The captain’s smile melted like ice cream on a hot plate. ‘You mean the triple one-eighty-seven in Studio City?’
‘Ah, now I see why you’re in the office so early. You heard about that. Two relatively well-known psychologists get wasted under mysterious circumstances, so you figure there’s going to be a lot of media attention. How do you tumble to these things so quickly, Ross? You sleep with a police-band radio beside your bed?’
Ignoring the question, sitting on the edge of the desk, Mondale said, ‘Any leads?’
‘Nope. Got pictures of the victims, though.’
He noted, with satisfaction, that all the blood drained out of Mondale’s face when he saw the ravaged bodies in the photographs. The captain didn’t even finish shuffling through the whole series. ‘Looks like a burglary got out of hand,’ Mondale said.
‘Looks like no such a thing. All three victims had money on them. Other loose cash around the house. Nothing stolen.’
‘Well,’ Mondale said defensively, ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You still should’ve known burglars usually kill only when they’re cornered, and then they’re quick and clean about it. Not like this.’
‘There are always exceptions,’ Mondale said pompously. ‘Even grandmothers rob banks now and then.’
Dan laughed.
‘Well, it’s true,’ Mondale said.
‘That’s just marvelous, Ross.’
‘Well it is true.’
‘Not my grandmother.’
‘I didn’t say your grandmother.’
‘You mean your grandmother robs banks, Ross?’
‘Somebody’s goddamned grandmother does, and you can bet your ass on it.’
‘You know a bookie who takes bets on whether or not somebody’s grandmother will rob a bank? If the odds are right, I’ll take a hundred bucks of his action.’
Mondale stood up. He put one hand to his tie, straightening the knot. ‘I don’t want you working here any longer, you son of a bitch.’
‘Well, remember that old Rolling Stones song, Ross. “You can’t always get what you want.”‘
‘I can have your ass shipped back to Central.’
‘Not unless the rest of me gets shipped with it, and the rest of me intends to stay right here for a while.’
Mondale’s face darkened. His lips pulled tight and went pale. He looked as if he had been pushed as far as he could be pushed for the present.
Before the captain could do anything rash, Dan said, ‘Listen, you can’t take me off a case that’s mine from the start, not without some screwup on my part. You know the rules. But I don’t want to fight you on this. That’ll just distract me. So let’s just call a truce, huh? I’ll stay out of your hair, I’ll be a good boy, and you stay out of my way.’
Mondale said nothing. He was breathing hard, and apparently he still didn’t trust himself to speak.
‘We don’t like each other much, but there’s no reason we can’t still work together,’ Dan said, getting as conciliatory as he would ever get with Mondale.
‘Why don’t you want to let go of this one?’