The Cold Moon

government, but a problem at the 118 would be especially awkward. It was a showcase house, with a higher share of collars, as well as a higher rate of casualties among its officers, than other precincts. More senior cops moved from the 118 to positions in the Big Building than from anywhere else.
    “After I found out there might be a connection between them and Creeley,” Sachs said, “I hit an ATM and took out a couple of hundred bucks. I exchanged that for all the cash in the till at the St. James. Some of the bills had to come from the officers there.”
    “Good. And you ran the serial numbers.” Flaherty rolled a Mont Blanc pen absently along the desk blotter.
    “That’s right. Negative on the numbers from Treasury and Justice. But nearly all the bills tested positive for cocaine. One for heroin.”
    “Oh, Jesus,” Wallace said.
    “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Flaherty said. Sachs nodded and explained to the dep mayor what the inspector was referring to: Many twenty-dollar bills in general circulation contained some drugs. But the fact that nearly every bill the cops in the St. James had paid with showed trace was a cause for concern.
    “Same composition as the coke that was found in Creeley’s fireplace?” Flaherty asked.
    “No. And the bartender said she’d never seen them with drugs.”
    Wallace asked, “Do you have any evidence that police officers were directly involved in the death?”
    “Oh, no. I’m not even suggesting that. The scenario I’m thinking of is that, if any cops’re involved at all, it was just hooking Creeley up with some crew, looking the other way and taking some points if he was laundering money or a percentage of the profit from the drugs. Then burying any complaints or stepping on investigations from other houses.”
    “Any arrests in the past?”
    “Creeley? No. And I called his wife. She said she never saw him doing any drugs. But a lot of users can keep a secret pretty well. Dealers definitely can if they’re not using the product themselves.”
    The inspector shrugged. “Of course, it could be completely innocent. Maybe Creeley just met a business acquaintance at the St. James. You mentioned he was arguing with somebody there just before he died?”
    “Seems that way.”
    “And so one of his business deals went bad. Real estate or something. Might have nothing to do with the One One Eight.”
    Sachs nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. It could be a pure coincidence that the St. James’s a hangout for cops. Creeley could’ve been killed because he borrowed money from the wrong people or was a witness to something.”
    Wallace looked out the window at the bright, cold sky. “With the death, I think we’ve got to jump on this. Fast. Let’s get IAD involved.”
    Internal Affairs would be the logical outfit to investigate any crimes involving police. But Sachs didn’t want that, at least not at this point. She’d turn the case over to them later, but not until she’d nailed the perps herself.
    Flaherty touched the marbled pen once more then seemed to think better. Men can get away with all kinds of careless mannerisms; women can’t afford to, not at this level. With fingers tipped in perfectly manicured nails, the polish clear, Flaherty placed the pen in her top drawer. “No, not IAD.”
    “Why not?” Wallace asked.
    The inspector shook her head. “It’s too close to the One One Eight. Word could get back.”
    Wallace nodded slowly. “If you think it’s best.”
    “I do.”
    But Sachs’s elation that Internal Affairs wasn’t going to take over her case didn’t last long. Flaherty added, “I’ll find somebody here to give it to. Somebody senior.”
    Sachs hesitated only a moment. “ I’d like to follow up on it, Inspector.”
    Flaherty said, “You’re new. You’ve never handled anything internal.” Sothe inspector’d been doing her homework too. “These’re different sorts of cases.”
    “I understand that. But I can handle it.” Sachs was thinking: I’m the one who broke the case. I’ve taken it this far. And it’s my first homicide. Goddamn it, don’t take it away from me.
    “This isn’t just crime scene work.”
    Calmly she said, “I’m lead investigator on the Creeley homicide. I’m not doing tech work.”
    “Still, I think it’s best. . . . So. If you could get me all the case files, everything you have.”
    Sachs was sitting forward, her index fingernail digging into her thumb. What could she do to keep the