Page 17 of Blood Moon

Tom went on. “I’m already scheduled to do two interviews.”

“Maybe you need a talent agent, Tom, to handle all that scheduling for you.”

John’s nonstop sarcasm hadn’t escaped the other man. His lips had tightened into a thin, straight line. “The point is, you may be approached with a request for an interview. In fact, the officer working the switchboard this morning informed me that before you came in a woman had called asking for you.”

John struggled not to act too interested, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the caller had been Beth Collins. “Did she leave a message, say what she was calling about?”

“No. Declined to talk to anyone else. Didn’t leave her name.”

“Huh.” John shrugged. “No clue.”

“She asked for your cell number.”

John reacted with a start. “Well, I hope to God that whoever took the call didn’t—”

“Of course not. Department policy.”

“And we all know how strict you are about adhering to department policy.” John relaxed back into his chair.

By contrast, Barker hiked up his trousers and assumed a combatant stance. “Now, on the outside chance that you’re being sought for comment about this upcoming program, or about any aspect of that Mellin case, you’d do well to decline. Graciously but firmly.” He lowered his pugnacious chin and looked at John from beneath his eyebrows. “It would be a really bad idea for you to go before a camera.”

John chuckled. “No shit. Looking like this?” He pointed at his face. “There’s not enough makeup in the world to—”

“Cut the crap, Bowie. You know what I’m leading to.”

“Actually, I think I lost the thread.”

The other man’s expression turned even meaner. “Don’t dredge up all that stuff you were mouthing before.”

“Before? By before, do you mean before you closed the case when the body was still missing? Thatstuff?”

Tom’s face turned red. “I should have convinced the chief to fire you then.”

“For what?”

“Dereliction of duty.”

“I wasn’t the one who was derelict, Tom. But you’re right. You should have convinced him to fire me. I wonder why you didn’t. Oh!” He snapped his fingers, then pointed his index finger at Barker. “It would have looked bad on you.

“One of the senior detectives on the case,” he said, pointing to his own chest, “started raising questions.” John spread his arms at his sides. “Isn’t raising questions in our job description? Isn’t that what detectives are supposed to do in order to detect? Aren’t we meant to be on the lookout for inconsistences, do some meddling, poke and probe when called for?” He paused, but Barker didn’t say anything.

“Obviously that’s not standard operating procedure when you’re leading an investigation,” John said, scoffing. “The truth now, Tom. You wanted me to stay employedonlybecause you didn’t want me out of here and at liberty to talk about the goings-on inside these walls. Am I warm?

“If I’d been free to speak my mind, the public, the attorney general, just about every-damn-body might have wanted to take a closer look at just how hastily and irresponsibly you investigated that girl’s disappearance.”

Barker’s face had become congested with rage, but his voice remained controlled. “You’re a head case, Bowie. An undeclared alcoholic. Your wife had the good sense to leave you and is getting happily fucked by her new boyfriend every night and most daytimes, too.

“Your kid has run off to God knows where. You’ve got nothing to recommend you. And the funny part? Despite all that, you’re a delusional smart-ass who thinks he’s got it all figured out.”

John stood up and lifted his sport coat off the back of his chair. “I’ve got one thing figured out. I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Thenquit,” Tom bellowed.

John bore down on him and got right in his face. “Not. On. Your. Life.”

He held the man’s furious stare for several seconds, then turned and walked out, becoming aware that he and Barker had attracted an attentive audience. Other detectives, uniformed patrol officers, a janitor emptying the wastebaskets had all stopped what they’d been doing to watch. John didn’t care. He wouldn’t take back a single word he’d said.

He jogged down the stairs to the ground floor. A minute later, he was in his car, booting up his laptop.

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