She was silent and he told her he needed to get some additional information about her sister as well as the names of the LAPD detectives on the case. They talked for about ten minutes and when he had all of the information he needed written down in a small notebook, an uneasy silence played across the telephone line.
“Well,” he finally said, “I guess that’s it, then. I’ll call you if I have any other questions or if anything else comes up.”
“Thank you again.”
“Something tells me I should be thanking you. I’m glad I’ll be able to do this. I just hope it helps.”
“Oh, it will. You’ve got her heart. She’ll guide you.”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly, not really understanding what she meant or why he was agreeing. “I’ll call you when I can.”
He hung up and stared at the phone for a few moments, thinking about her last line. Then again he unfolded the newspaper clip with his picture. He studied the eyes for a long time.
Finally, he folded the newspaper clip closed and hid it under some of the paperwork on the desk. He looked up at the girl with the braces and after a few moments nodded. Then he turned off the light.
WHEN McCALEB HAD BEEN with the bureau, the agents he worked with called this part the “hard tango.” It was the finesse moves they had to make with the locals. It was an ego thing and a territorial thing. One dog doesn’t piss in another dog’s yard. Not without permission.
There was not a single homicide cop working who did not have a healthy ego. It was an absolute job requirement. To do the job, you had to know in your heart that you were up to the task and that you were better, smarter, stronger, meaner, more skilled and more patient than your adversary. You had to flat-out know that you were going to win. And if you had any doubts about that, then you had to back off and work burglaries or take a patrol shift or do something else.