learning how to direct traffic and work non reportable accidents. He did not know his
way around this four-story complex, and stood in a doorway, suddenly shy in a uniform
that did not include gun, baton, pepper spray, or anything helpful.
“Excuse me,” he announced himself.
The duty captain was big and old at his desk, and going through pages of mug shots with
a sergeant. They ignored him. For a moment Brazil watched Channel 3 television
reporter Brent Webb, perched over the press baskets, going through reports, stealing
whatever he wanted. It was amazing. Brazil watched the asshole tuck the reports into his
zip-up briefcase, where no other journalist in the city would ever see them, as if it were
perfectly acceptable for him to cheat Brazil and everyone trying to report the news. Brazil
stared at Webb, then at this sergeant and captain who did not seem to care what crimes
were committed in plain view.
“Excuse me,” Brazil tried again, louder.
He walked in, rudely ignored by cops who had hated the paper so long they no longer
remembered why.
“I need to find Deputy Chief West’s office.” Brazil would not be ignored.
The duty captain lifted another plastic-sheathed page of hard-boiled mugs up to the light.
The sergeant turned his back to Brazil. Webb stopped what he was doing, his smile
amused, maybe even mocking as he looked Brazil up and down, assessing this unfamiliar
guy playing dress-up. Brazil had seen Webb enough on television to recognize him
anywhere, and had heard a lot about him, too. Other reporters called Webb The Scoop,
for reasons Brazil had just witnessed.
“So how do you like being a volunteer?” Webb was condescending and had no idea who
Brazil was.
“Which way to investigations,” Brazil replied, as if it were an order, his eyes piercing.
Webb nodded.
“Up the stairs, can’t miss it.”
Webb studied the way Brazil was dressed and started laughing, as did the sergeant and
duty captain. Brazil helped himself to the TV reporter’s briefcase and pulled out a
handful of purloined offense reports. Brazil smoothed and shuffled them. He perused
and stacked them neatly, taking his time, while everyone watched and Webb’s face turned
red.
“Believe Chief Hammer might like to see The Scoop in action.” Brazil smiled at him.
Brazil’s boots were quiet as he walked off.
Chapter Two.
Patrol was the largest division of the Charlotte Police Department, but investigations was
the most treacherous, it was Virginia West’s belief. Citizens followed burglaries, rapes,
and homicides with fearful eyes. They complained when violent offenders weren’t
instantly snatched off the street, as if the Rapture had come. West’s phone had not
stopped ringing all day.
The trouble started three weeks ago when Jay Rule, a businessman from Orlando, arrived
in the Queen City for a textile meeting. Hours after Rule left the airport in a rental
Maxima, the car was found abandoned in a dark, overgrown vacant lot off South College
Street, in the heart of downtown. The interior bell was dinging its complaint that the
driver’s door was open and headlights on. A briefcase and overnight bag had been gone
through in the backseat. Cash, jewelry, portable phone, pager, and no one was quite sure
what else, were gone.
Jay Rule, thirty-three, was shot five times in the head with a . 45 caliber pistol loaded
with a high-velocity, extremely destructive hollowpoint ammunition called Silvertips.
His body was dragged fifteen feet into kudzu, his pants and undershorts pulled down to
his knees, his genital area spray-painted bright orange in the shape of a large hourglass.
No one, including the FBI, had ever seen anything like this. Then the following week, it
happened again.
The second homicide was less than two blocks from the first, just off West Trade Street,
behind the Cadillac Grill, which wasn’t open at night, because of crime. Jeff Calley,
forty-two, was a Baptist minister visiting Charlotte from Knoxville, Tennessee. His
mission in the city was simple. He was moving his failing mother into a nursing home
called The Pines, and staying in the Hyatt while he did so. He never checked in. Late
that night, his rental Jetta was found, driver’s door open, bell dinging, same modus