Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

Waltham PD Headquarters on Lexington Street. Next door the Waltham Fire Department was cleaning its fire trucks from the night before. Kimberley Clark had managed to interview the lead detective while he was coordinating the forensic examination. Detective Harris had been brief and to the point.

“No comment.”

His demeanor left her in no doubt that that was a closed door. She had even less luck trying to interview the only other person known to have been near the scene: Vince McNulty. Because he was in custody for offenses to be formulated later.

“I take it breakfast means you’re not going to charge me.”

Harris sat at the table with a strong black coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs with cremated bacon strips. “You don’t want to be giving me attitude right now.”

McNulty took the attitude out of his voice. “Because the judge is giving you a hard time?”

Harris sprinkled salt on his eggs. “Because this whole thing is turning into a close protection detail.”

McNulty stirred sugar into his tea. “Making sure the warnings don’t become assassination?”

Harris paused with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth. “When I should be looking at everything tying you and Larry Unger and Chester Brook Orphanage to the pornography trial.”

McNulty watched the detective chew his eggs. “Larry’s got nothing to do with it. And the orphanage is just an orphanage.”

Harris swallowed and took a drink of coffee. “And your cameraman was just embracing free market enterprise.”

McNulty thought about Randy Severino and sighed. “We all make mistakes.”

Harris finished another mouthful. “Yeah, well. You made a pretty fucking big one last night.”

McNulty nodded. “Mmm, hmm, says you, but I was just trying to help.”

Harris put his fork down. “By playing at being a cop.” He put his knife down as well. “I’ve got news for you. You aren’t a cop anymore. So stop it with the inquiries bullshit. The Cloverleaf Boys are unstable. You don’t want to be getting stuck down there.”

McNulty thought about the rusty foreign car that had been following him. “They could patch up your bodywork and give it a paint job.”

“It’s the rust and the paint job that gives it undercover appeal.”

“Except I saw you. How undercover is that?”

Harris frowned. “I wasn’t hiding, I was following. There’s a man with a gun got as much interest in you as I have.”

McNulty looked at Harris with fresh eyes. “And if he comes for me you go for him.”

“Or I drive him away so he doesn’t come after you. You’re an asshole but you’re still an ex-cop.”

McNulty nodded his thanks but didn’t speak. Harris went back to eating his breakfast. Being an ex-cop was both a curse and a blessing. It meant that you saw the world in a different light than the rest of the population, people who have never seen the dark things that men can do to one another. It also made you feel invincible, like when you were on the job, except you don’t have the resources or the backup anymore. That was the trap that McNulty had fallen into. The cloverleaf overpass had brought that home to him. Setting himself up as a target at the courthouse set had been a step too far. It was foolish to think that a man who had already shot five people wouldn’t shoot him at the drop of a hat. The upside of being an ex-cop is you know when the real cops have no evidence to hold you. That’s why he was having breakfast now.

“So I’m off the hook then?”

Harris stabbed at a piece of bacon and it shattered, sending splinters of cremated meat across the table. “Your grubby fingerprints are all over this investigation. Between covering for Titanic Productions and helping deflect shit from the Chester Brook Orphanage, I trust you about as much as a fox in a henhouse.”

McNulty leaned back in his chair. “I’m not after the hens.”

Harris gave up on his breakfast.

“I know. You protect the hens. I read your file.” He pushed his plate away. “But protecting people is exactly why you’re mud deep in this.” He rested his elbows on the table and hardened his tone. “And here’s something else to think about.” He stabbed a finger at the table. “You setting that shit up last night. At the movie set. That had all my guys looking at you and the orphanage. Completely the wrong direction for somebody planting a bomb at the courthouse.”

THIRTY

Harris didn’t offer McNulty a lift, so he walked back to where he’d parked his car last night. Round the back of the CVS and Petco. The walk was only half a mile but it gave him time to think. He had a lot to think about. The sun was in his face all the way along Summer Street so he was squinting when he passed the District Court and crossed the street into the CVS parking lot. White smoke and steam still drifted out of the gaping hole in the side of the courts building, a hole protected by crime-scene tape and a cop standing guard. The cloud hung in the air like a speech balloon waiting for some words. McNulty was trying to figure what the words should be when he changed his mind. Forget the car. He did the cop thing instead and went into Dunkin. He preferred it when it had been Dunkin’ Donuts.

Looking out from Dunkin’s corner location next to the CVS Pharmacy, McNulty scrutinized the real courthouse over a latte and a donut. The same thing came to mind that he’d been thinking all the way from Police Headquarters: it didn’t make any sense to shoot a fake judge and blow up the real District Court. There was no way Judge Reynolds was going to be swayed by threats or intimidation. If anything, trying to sway him just made it more likely the porn syndicate would get a harsher sentence when they were found guilty. No sense at all.

He turned in his