Page 86 of The Body in the Backyard

“Come on. We can help each other out. You scratch my back, I send you all pizza for lunch tomorrow,” Nick cajoled.

“What kind of pizza?” the hefty desk sergeant demanded.

“Niko’s. Just tell me if Weber cracked either one of them yet.”

“Damn it. I love their primavera pizza,” a uniform muttered.

“Come on, guys. These assholes tried to shoot up my house with my girl in it,” Nick pressed.

“Neither one of those burly fuckers has said a damn word yet,” the detective said. “And I want a whole grandma pizza to myself.”

“Done,” Nick agreed.

The debate about who was getting what pizza raged until the interrogation room door opened and the captain and Weber stepped into the hall. Cops scattered like chickens.

“Let me guess. You got big fat nothing out of them,” Nick predicted.

Weber stuck his finger in his ear. “This investigation is none of your business, Nicky,” he said in a near shout.

The captain rolled his eyes ceilingward as if praying for patience. “Both of you shut up before I lock you in a cell. I don’t care who did what.” He pointed at Weber. “You, find out who these assholes are. And you, Santiello, get out of my precinct.”

One of the captain’s more endearing traits was that he liked to call people by the wrong names to keep them from feeling important in his presence.

“Come on, Captain. I was just offering my expertise?—”

Nick’s bullshitting was interrupted by the throat clearing of a tall bald man in tortoiseshell glasses and a tailored suit that screamed,I make $900 an hour. “I’m Bradford Carpendale, attorney at law. Can any of you gentlemen point me in the direction of my clients?” he asked in that polite way that felt like a disguise for a haughtyfuck you.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” the captain said.

Nick and Weber shared a dark look. This wasn’t good.

“I believe they were arrested about two hours ago after accidentally trespassing on private property and getting shot at by the homeowner. I need to confer with them immediately,” the attorney said, opening a leather-bound folio and showing the contents to the captain.

Nick remembered how the captain’s jaw always did that tightening thing when he was pissed and wondered if the man’s dentist had ever commented on the state of his molars.

“Detective Weber, please show Mr. Crapathon to his clients,” the captain said.

“It’s Carpendale,” the lawyer said.

“I don’t care,” the captain said before walking away.

Weber jerked his head at Nick, which meantstay here and don’t fucking talk to anybody.Nick took it as an invitation to camp out at Weber’s desk and snoop through case files until a couple of rookies swung by and asked him about some of his more colorful exploits while with the department.

“I heard that you jumped off a three-story building into a dumpster to beat a perp on the fire escape to the ground.”

“That’s how I got this scar,” Nick said, pointing to his neck, where there was no scar because it had been the roof of a ranch house and he’d tackled the suspect on a half-inflated bounce house.

“Are you telling them about the time you got stuck in the elevator of a suspect’s building and cried until the fire marshal carried you out like a baby?” Weber asked, elbowing his way through the crowd that had gathered.

The rookies dispersed.

“I’ll have you know lots of people don’t like small enclosed spaces,” Nick pointed out.

“Chief Jennifer told that story at her retirement,” Weber said.

Nick sighed at the memory. “I never felt safer than I did nestled between her bulging biceps.” He took his feet off Weber’s desk. “What’s Million Dollar Suit Baby doing here? Did the perps make a call?”

Weber shot a dark look in the direction of interrogation. “They did not.”