Page 20 of Return of the Spider

Sampson said, “I didn’t realize I’d handled him.”

“You gotta handle all the big swinging clowns,” Diehl said. “Otherwise you’ll never get what you need when you need it to close a case.”

“Which is what we’re all about, understand?” Kurtz said. “Together, Diehl and I have forty years on the street. Neither of us give a damn about moving up, becoming more of a suit than we already are. We like being detectives—being out, asking questions. It’s what we’re good at. It’s all we want to be.”

“Same here,” Sampson said.

“I’m not happy behind a desk,” I said.

“Good,” Diehl said. “Then keep us informed, let us take the lead when it needs to be taken, and trust our decisions when we make them.”

Kurtz said, “Other than that, have at it. Run down every lead you want. You won’t be stepping on anyone’s toes as long as you tell us where you’re focusing.”

“And above all, stay on target,” Diehl said. “We are not here to chase glory. We represent the dead, and we work on their behalf.”

“Clear?” Kurtz said.

“Clear,” Sampson said.

“Loud and clear,” I said.

“We’ll see you back at the crime scene, then,” Diehl said, and they left.

When we got in our squad car, Sampson said, “Diehl and Kurtz. Who knew?”

“Learning.”

“Every day, brother.”

CHAPTER

13

Seven hours later, withlittle to show for our investigations into the Talbot murder, I pressed the buzzer to the bottom-floor flat in a small two-story house on Fourth Street.

A woman’s voice whispered, “Who’s there?”

“Tony,” I said.

“Mmm,” she said, and then, putting on a Hispanic accent, “If it’s Tony, he’s gotta sing.”

I looked around, saw no one, and sang the line fromWest Side Story:“‘Maria, I just met a girl named Maria.’”

She laughed. “Not bad. But you started in the middle of the song.”

“Best part.”

“Sing the next verse, and Maria will know you’re her Tony.”

“But no dancing.”

“Promise.”

So I sang, “‘I just kissed a girl named Maria!’”

The door buzzed open. I went inside and found my wife, Maria, waiting at the door, barefoot but still in her work clothes, all five foot two inches of her; she shot me the most beautiful smile. Her hands rested on her belly—she was six months pregnant with our second child.

“Babysitter just left, and Damon’s conked out,” she whispered. I bent my six-foot-two frame over and kissed her hello, then followed her inside.