"Glad I -don't have to dress like that anymore," Anderson
remarked as Marino headed toward us, his demeanor cocky and pugilistic, the
way he always acted when he was insecure and in an especially foul mood.
"Why's he in uniform?" I asked her.
"He got reassigned."
"There's been a lot of changes in the department since Deputy Chief
Bray got here," Anderson said as if she were proud of the fact.
I -couldn't imagine why anyone would throw someone so valuable back into
uniform. I wondered how long ago this had happened. I was hurt Marino
-hadn't let me know, and I was ashamed I -hadn't found out anyway. It had
been weeks, maybe a month, since I had called just to check on him. I
-couldn't remember the last time -I'd invited him to drop by my office for
coffee or to come to my house for dinner.
"What's going on?" he gruffly said as a greeting.
He -didn't give Anderson a glance.
"I'm Joe Shaw. How you doing?"
"Like shit," Marino sourly replied. "Anderson, you decide
to work this one all by yourself? Or is it just the other cops -don't want
nothing to do with you?" She glared at him. She took the gum out of her
mouth and tossed it as if he had ruined the flavor.
"You forget to invite anyone to this little party of yours?" he
went on. "Jesus!" He was furious.
Marino was strangled by a -short---sleeved white shirt buttoned up
to the collar and a clip---on tie. His big belly was in a shoving match with
dark blue uniform pants and a stiff leather duty belt fully loaded with his Sig---Sauer
-nine---millimeter pistol, handcuffs, extra clips, pepper spray and all the
rest. His face was flushed. He was dripping sweat, a pair of Oakley
sunglasses blacking out his eyes.
"You and I have to talk," I said to him.
I tried to pull him off to the side, but he -wouldn't budge. He tapped a
Marlboro out of the pack he always had on him somewhere.
"You like my new outfit?" he sardonically said to me.
"Deputy Chief Bray thought I needed new clothes."
"Marino, you're not needed here," Anderson said to him.
"In fact, I don't think you want anyone to know you even thought about
"It's captain to you." He blew out his words on gusts of
cigarette smoke. "You might want to watch your smart---ass mouth
because I outrank you, babe."
Shaw watched the rude exchange without a word.
"I -don't believe we call female officers babe anymore,"
Anderson said. -
"I've got a body to look at," I said. -
"We've got to go through the warehouse to get there," Shaw told
"Let's go," I said.
He walked Marino and me to a warehouse door that faced the river. Inside
was a huge, dimly lit, airless space that was sweet with the smell of
tobacco. Thousands of bales of it were wrapped in burlap and stacked on
wooden pallets, and there were tons of magfilled sand and orifet that I
believed were used in processing steel, and machine parts bound for
Trinidad, according to what was stamped on crates.
Several bays down, the container had been backed up to a loading dock.
The closer we got to it, the stronger the odor. We stopped at the
crime-scene tape draped across the container's open door. The stench was
thick and hot, as if every molecule of oxygen had been replaced by it, and I
willed my senses to have no opinion. Flies had begun to gather, their
ominous noise reminding me of the -high---pitched buzzing of a
-remote---control toy plane.
"Were there flies when the container was first opened?" I asked
A Man Called Intrepid author dies aged 89(Dec 03 2013) William Stevenson, a journalist and author who drew on his close ties with intelligence sources to write two best-selling books in the 1970s, A Man Called...