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Michelle and Susan's husbands are told.


"Well, I can do something about all that right now." I said, grinning. I stalked out the side entrance of the room and turned immediately into the Vice office next door, my team discreetly following.

Sure enough, when I entered the Vice room, Steven Ikea was in there bragging loudly about his role in leading the bust. The rest of the room was filled by detectives either bored with the story or glaring at Ikea. Teresa was not in the room.

"De-tec-tive Ikea." I said, interrupting his story. He scowled when he saw who it was. "Are you going to put Croyle in for a citation?"

Looking puzzled, Ikea sneered "Why?"

"Well for openers, she got shot saving two officers from getting blown away." I replied with alacrity.

"She did her job." Ikea said, his voice sneering and condescending. "She did what I expected her to do when I brought her on the mission, nothing more."

"Okay, just wanted to make sure. I'll put her in for it myself." I said, then walked out before anyone could say a word, leaving behind a wake of shifting emotions.


"What in the fuck are you doing?" Captain Harold Malone demanded. I was in the empty office next to Paula's, typing up the citation report for Teresa, having formally interviewed and received written statements from several officers at the scene.

"Writing up a citation for Detective Croyle, doing Ikea's job since he said he wasn't going to." I replied.

"That's my fucking job, dipshit." Malone growled. He was visibly angry, and not just at me doing the job, but the trap I'd sprung on Ikea. "Give me those goddamned affidavits." I handed him the folder containing all the information. Paula and Cindy Ross were in the anteroom, watching.

"I'll get Croyle her damned citation. You stay the fuck out of my business." Malone ordered, then strode out of the room. Paula and Cindy returned my grin as I came out of the office. We knew Malone would keep his word and get Teresa the citation, and we knew even more about the shifting morale and loyalty situation.

As the story spread around the building like wildfire, the atmosphere around the headquarters building improved tremendously. As did my stature.

Part 3 - An Offer To Be Refused

It was noon the next day, Wednesday. It was overcast and cold, and it looked like bad weather was trying to decide whether or not to come in and dump on us. "Board of Regents weather." Laura like to call it. "Can't decide what it wants to do."

I was sitting outside on the patio of a sandwich shop near the park in the center of town, having been at the nearby Courthouse complex during the morning. I wanted to feel the cold to help myself think more clearly. There was a lot to think about:

-- Neither the DEA, FBI nor the State had contacted our police department about the drug bust. This was disturbing, especially in light of the size of the haul.

-- Thinking of the size of the haul, it was clear that a junction point for a huge distribution network had been established.

-- The storage of the haul was not a solution that appealed to me: it was being stored in a rented warehouse, and while the facility was fenced, secured and guarded, it could still become a target.

-- Why doesn't our Police Department have a SWAT team?

-- Was Ikea and the Vice squad just lucky in interdicting a haul this size? Was this legitimate police work? Did someone tip off the cops, to get the police to do the dirty work of removing competition? Are there dirty cops in on all this?

Since beginning work with the Town & County Police, I'd begun to see the merest glimmers that something was not right about some of the drug busts that had gone down, but there was nothing I could point my finger at, at least not yet--

Just at that moment, my "spidey sense" told me to come back to the present.

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