“For your information, I’m acting perfectly acceptable for an Ivy Leaguer.”
“Well, Decker, to that, I say, you’re not in college anymore.” Again he leaned over. “You’re pissing people off … the very people you might need someday. Maybe you should start using some street psychology.”
“Yeah, yeah—”
“Stop brushing me off and just listen. ’Cause I—like Daddy—have your welfare at heart. Life and death, split-second decisions are not analyzed, Cindy. You just jump in there and hope for the best. And the vast majority of us on the force will jump in to rescue a colleague at a big risk to our own lives. We’re acting on instinct. It’s an emotional thing. But we’re human, too. I’ll jump into the pyre, sure. But I’ll do it a lot quicker if I like the person. Stop being a snob. Especially because your father isn’t like that, and he has much more reason than you to be arrogant—”
“I’m not arrogant!”
Oliver stopped talking and focused in on her face. She was crushed but trying to hide it. He knew he was coming on too strong, although it didn’t make his words any less true. Lecturing to her just as he had done with his own sons. He had always been so anxious to get the words out; he had never bothered to think how his brutal remarks had affected them.
Cindy stared into her wineglass. “You want to know the irony of all this?”
Oliver nodded.
“I’m actually shy,” she said. “I mask it in superiority. Because in a cop’s world, it’s better to be egotistical than shy.” She looked up and made eye contact with him. “If you give off even an inkling of fear, no one’ll ride with you.”
“That’s true.”
“If some of the guys knew how nervous I was, they’d dissolve me in acid.”
“Everyone’s nervous at first.”
“It’s different being a woman.”
“I’m sure you’re right—”
“Better to eat than to be eaten.” She stared at her plate. “Who thinks I’m smart, by the way? Or did you make that up to console me?”
“Nah, I didn’t make it up. For starters, the detective I was consulting with yesterday—Rolf Osmondson. He says you’re smart.”
She was skeptical. “I don’t know why he’d say that. First time I ever laid eyes on the man was last night.”
“Apparently, he’s laid eyes on you.”
“Suddenly second-grade detectives are noticing uniformed rookies?”
“If the second-grade detective is a heterosexual male and the uniform rookie is a lovely young female, you bet your ass he notices. Also, Craig Barrows mentioned you to me.”
“Craig Barrows?”
“You don’t know him, either?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Oliver said, “About my height. Long face. Sandy-colored hair that’s thinning. Blue, bloodshot eyes—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Isn’t he in Homicide?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Sure, now I remember,” she said. “About three months after I arrived at Hollywood, one of the vets threw a party and actually invited us rookies. Some of the gold shields were there. I chatted with Detective Barrows for about ten minutes.” Cindy pushed away her salad plate. Immediately, the busboy removed the dish. She said, “From that one lone conversation, he thinks I’m smart?”
“You must have impressed him.”
“I think it was the red hair.”
“You attribute an awful lot to your hair, you know that?”
She chuckled and looked up into the dour face of their server. He placed the sand dabs on the table. “For the lady.”
“Why, thank you.” Cindy picked up a French fry and bit it. “Perfect.”
The waiter cracked a smile. “You’re welcome.” He served Oliver his dinner. “More wine?” He looked pointedly at Cindy. “It seems to agree with you.”
“Wine agrees with everyone,” she stage-whispered to him. “Thank you. Half a glass. I must save room for dessert.”
The waiter poured wine for both of them. “Anything else?”
Cindy said, “I believe we’re fine.” She looked at Oliver, “Are we fine?”
“We’re very fine,” Oliver answered. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the waiter said. “Watch out for pin bones.”
Again he left.
“Awwww, he cares about us,” Cindy said. “He doesn’t want us choking on a fish bone. He’s definitely thawing.”
“Either that or you’re buzzed, so your perspective has changed.”
“Could be, could be.” She ate another French fry. “Why do you say I’m buzzed?”
“You’ve got color in your formerly pale cheeks.”
“Oh, that! It’s just the makeup kicking in.”
Oliver laughed. “What did you and Craig talk about?”
“Pardon?”
“Craig Barrows. At the party? You chatted for ten minutes?”
“Gosh, it was so long ago.” She tried to bring the memory back into focus. “I think we talked about Armand Cray—” She felt her cheeks get hot. “About the Armand Crayton case. It was me, my partner, Graham Beaudry, and Slick Rick Bederman—”
“When did that take place? About eight months ago?”
“About. The case had been all over the papers. It was such a weird thing with the wife witnessing the whole ordeal.” She glanced at Scott, who was staring at her. “Just idle chitchat.”
Oliver said, “Cindy, what aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sweetheart, you’re blushing. What’s up with Armand Crayton? Did you know the guy?”
“What do you care?”
Oliver audibly plunked down his fork and sat back in his seat. “What do I care? The file is open, darling. What are you hiding?”
Cindy waited a moment, then sighed and said, “Okay. Here’s the deal. I used to work out at Silver’s gym in the Valley before I moved into town. I went there for maybe a year. We struck up a casual acquaintance.”
“Did you date him?”
“I said casual—”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Oliver, do you know the definition of the word casual?”
“Sex is casual with lots of people.”
“He was married, Scott.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t sleep with married guys! Ever!”
“The guy was known as someone who fucked around,” Oliver persisted. “Did he ever tell you he was married?”
“No, he didn’t. But I, being perceptive and astute, stood