Don't Take It Personally
Broadway Breslin
1186 Broadway
5.30 am Saturday 28th October 2006
Briscoe was wondering whether or not to have a second cup of coffee when the front door of the Broadway Breslin opened and Regan Markham came out in sweatpants and sneakers.
"Heads up," he said to Green. "Uh-oh, Ed, I think she's made us."
Markham strolled over to the unmarked and waved at the two cops. Briscoe rolled down his window.
"Morning, Counsellor," he said.
"Hey, Lennie," she said when Briscoe wound the window down. "What's up?"
"Your boss asked the Lieu to have someone watch over you," Briscoe said. "And Ed and I could use the overtime."
Markham bent down to look past him. "Morning, Detective Green. McCoy requested protection for me?"
"From Edward Walters." Green said, leaning over to see her through the window. "You hear he got ROR yesterday morning?"
"No," Markham said. "No, I didn't hear. So you guys been here all night?"
Briscoe shrugged. "Couple of hours. No-one mentioned it to you?"
Markham grinned. "McCoy benched me off the case, sent me home when I argued. Given how pissed he was with me, I'm surprised he didn't send my address to Edwards."
" Jesus, no," Briscoe said, shocked. "Not even in jest, Ms Markham."
"Well, maybe he guessed I'd ditch you guys if I knew you were here."
"Now, there will be none of that," Briscoe said. "I'm too old to be chasing down women who don't want to be followed. You going jogging?"
"Yeah, I'll try to stick to main roads," Markham promised.
"Good," Briscoe said. "I wouldn't want to have to take this heap of junk down into the subway."
"You're hilarious, Lennie," Markham said, straightening up and turning away. "Just fucking hilarious."
"Hilarious and underappreciated," Briscoe said, starting the car and pulling out to follow Markham.
"Do you think he'll try and snatch her?" Green asked.
"Who know with these freaks?" Briscoe said.
"Maybe we should have been inside last night," Green said. "He took Firienze inside her building."
"Yeah, Ed, but the one-six weren't sitting on Walters twenty-four-seven when he did Firienze," Briscoe pointed out. "They had an eyeball on him when Corenze and Kellerman pulled up here last night. No way for Walters to get into the building except through the front door. If we don't see him go in, he isn't in."
"Except if he goes in while we're watching Markham's ass," Green pointed out.
"Yeah, well, we'll walk her up," Briscoe said. "Meanwhile, it's a nice ass. And why don't you check on Walters?"
Green picked up the radio, made the call. Walters hadn't been seen coming out of his building that morning. Green gave dispatch their position and hung up.
"You know, normally we arrest guys who do this," Briscoe said, turning left as Markham did. "Whenever I get sick of my job I think about the opportunities to follow good looking women around."
"Maybe we can persuade the LT to send Ana Cordova as a jogging partner," Green said, grinning.
After half-an-hour they pulled back in front of the Breslin and Briscoe parked.
Markham came over to the car and used it to balance herself while she stretched. "So you on me for the rest of the day?" she asked.
"Until midday," Briscoe said. "There's a couple of patrol officers from the 1-6 taking over then. If you could tell us your plans for the day, that would help."
"I'm going in to the office," Markham said.
"Working Walters?"
"Nah, McCoy's made it clear he doesn't want me anywhere near that case."
"Well, he's working it with sex-crimes," Briscoe said. "He probably wants one of the SVU Bureau prosecutors."
"No. He picked a guy out of rackets." Markham said. She shrugged, tried to smile. "Guess he wasn't sure I could cut it on this case. It's pretty high profile."
"Don't take it personally, kiddo," Briscoe said. "McCoy … this case has gotta be pressing some of his buttons." He got out of the car. "I'm gonna walk you to your door, okay, counsellor?"
"Such a gentleman," Markham said.
"Such a gentleman," Regan said again when Briscoe opened the back door of the unmarked for her thirty minutes later.
He gave her a little bow and shut the door after her. "NYPD, ma'am," he said. "We have standards, unlike your more provincial police forces in, say, Seattle."
"Yeah, those Seattle cops," Regan said, settling in. "Bunch of hicks, all of them."
Regan surprised herself by how easy she found it to skate past it as a joke – after two years of expecting the world to crack open if she heard the words Seattle or shot or police in a sentence with her as the subject. She looked out the window at the light Saturday morning traffic as Briscoe and Green's bickering about that week's sports scores made a soothing background noise.
After a while Regan realised she was looking at the pedestrians they passed, watching for Walters. She turned away from the window. "Do you know how the case is going, detectives? Mary's case?"
"I heard McCoy called in a few favours and got the feds to put Walters under the microscope," Green said. "But I also hear we got nothing so far in the investigation – no forensics, no witnesses."
"This skell comes after me, I hope you guys are gonna shoot him," Regan said.
Briscoe pulled up at One Hogan Place. "We'll take care of you, counsellor, don't worry."
Green got out when Regan did and walked her into the building while Briscoe parked the car. Although she wouldn't have liked to admit it – especially not to McCoy – Regan did feel safer with Green checking out her office and the rest of the floor, hand on his gun.
"I'll be out here by the elevator," Green said. "You just need to yell if you need me. I'll be able to see your office door, too. You'll be okay, Ms Markham." He gave her a reassuring smile.
"I know, detective," she said. "I'm not worried. But do you think you could call me Regan? At least outside business hours!"
"Okay, Regan , and you call me Ed. Especially if you see something that worries you – call me Ed good and loud."
"Top of my lungs," Regan promised.
She settled herself into her office. She had no open cases on her docket but she did have one outstanding matter: Serena Southerlyn's harassment. Regan pulled out the files on Jennifer Walker's murder, her complaints about harassment and stalking, the copies Regan had made of the charges against Otis Langdon for his harassment of Serena, and Serena's own record of the anonymous letter, abusive phone calls, and vandalism at her home. She had started to prepare a list cross-referencing all of it to see if there were any incidents that couldn't be attributed to Conroy or Langdon.
She had got halfway through it, working on it in the evenings after finishing her work for McCoy.
Although this is also work for McCoy, Regan thought, since he asked me to do it. It just isn't work for the DA.
Serena hadn't reported any new incidents that week. Patrol cars were doing regular drive-bys of her house probably had something to do with that. NYPD won't keep that up forever. Regan wanted to be sure before that happened that Serena didn't have anything else to worry about.
Because, first off, she seems like a nice lady. And secondly, because Jack McCoy likes her and wants her safe. And maybe if McCoy owes me a favour he'll be a little nicer to me.
It seemed like a vain hope, especially today. But she had to find a way to make the relationship with McCoy work. It was the best chance she had. And there were moments when she thought that on the other side his capricious hostility and sudden changes in mood there was a man she would like to know, a man whose intellect and humour were fascinating, whose charm was captivating, whose dedication was admirable.
And then there's the other ninety-nine percent of the time, Regan thought, sighing at the memory of his furious condemnation of her 'meddling'.
She filled in another few lines of her cross-reference file. That one was Langdon – that was Conroy –
The elevator dinged and Regan turned in her chair.
"Morning, Counsellor," she heard Ed Green say, and relaxed.
"Morning, detective. Are you waiting for me?" It was McCoy's voice.
"No, I'm keeping a watchful eye on your prosecutor," Green said.
" Casey Novak?"
" Markham. She's just down there."
Regan steeled herself. A moment later she heard knuckles rapping on her door frame and turned to see McCoy, dressed casually in a jeans and sweater, regarding her with a thunderous scowl. "Didn't I send you home?"
"You told me to take two days and I did," Regan said.
"What are you working on there?" he asked sharply. Regan was glad she could give an honest answer that wasn't 'the Walters case'.
" Serena Southerlyn's complaint," Regan said.
McCoy came into the room and looked over her shoulder. "Find anything?"
"Not so far," Regan said. "Which is good, because they're going to pull the patrols off her pretty soon."
"All right," McCoy said, his voice gentler. "Keep me posted on that, will you?"
"Sure," Regan said. McCoy turned to leave, and Regan bit her lip. " Jack? Can I ask – about Mary?" He swung around, and Regan hastened to add: "I'm not meddling. Just - how is she doing?"
"No change." McCoy said. He looked at her a moment longer. "How are you doing?" he asked. "Any sign of Walters?"
"No. And if I do see him, I'll call a policeman – probably one of the ones five feet away." Regan leaned back in her chair. "What brings you to the office on a Saturday?"
"I'm here most Saturdays," McCoy said.
"And how are you doing?" Regan asked.
McCoy looked at her, looked away, tapped his fingers on the doorframe. "The police can't bring me a case I can prosecute," he said at last, biting the words off brusquely. "Yesterday I asked an old friend at the USDJ to start legally unjustified federal surveillance on one of our suspects because I couldn't keep him in custody. Mary Firienze is still in a coma. That's how I'm doing." He bowed his head and studied the carpet for a moment. "Anything else you want to know?"
"Yeah," Regan said, taking her courage in both hands. "When are you going to let me off the bench?"
McCoy looked up sharply. "Off the bench?" He raised his eyebrows, mouth quirking in a wry smile. "You're not so good at backing down, are you?"
"Sorry," Regan said, looking down at the papers on her desk.
"Don't apologise," McCoy said. "And don't be sorry, either. Monday soon enough for you?"
Surprised, Regan looked up and realised he was serious. She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
"Then get out of here. Enjoy your weekend." McCoy turned away and started down the hall.
Regan rolled her chair back from the desk so she could see through the doorway and watched him go, his broad shoulders slumped a little with weariness, head bowed.
Enjoy my weekend, she thought. Like you will be?
Regan gathered her papers together and put them in her briefcase rather than back in the file box beneath her desk. McCoy wanted her to go home? Fine.