Read Past Imperfect (Sigrid Harald) for Free Online Page B

and . . .”
    His explanation of the Peter Principle petered out pretty lamely and Irene Cluett couldn’t seem to decide whether to take Hy the right way or get mad about it on her late husband’s behalf.
    “He was a good patrol cop,” she said huffily. “And if he was such a bad detective, why’d Captain McKinnon borrow him from you?”
    She sure as hell had a point there. Why did McKinnon ask for Cluett by name? I hadn’t paid all that much attention at the time, just been mildly tickled that Manhattan had pulled his name out of the hat. I was sure they’d mistaken him for some other, sharper detective. Now I remembered Cluett’s face when I told him he was being specialed across the East River.
    “Good old Mac!” he’d said, sucking in his gut and trying to look like a real cop for a change. “I broke him in, you know. Knew from the very beginning he was going to do okay.”
    “Yeah?” I’d asked as I initialed the temporary transfer.
    “Now he’s a big-time captain and he wants me, Mickey Cluett.”
    “How’d it go over there?” I asked Irene. As his boss I should know without asking, but I honestly couldn’t remember. Oh, sure, I remembered the first day he was back, asking him how he’d liked Manhattan duty. He’d muttered something about things being the same all over, which it mostly is.
    I heard him shoot the breeze with a couple of the guys about a homicide/suicide mixed up with drugs. Gory, but getting commonplace even down to the pile of blood-drenched money they’d confiscated. “A wad of hundreds big enough to bloat a goat,” he’d bragged. And he’d worked that case where some dancer got herself killed on stage in front of an audience. That was a hair more interesting, but I’d still let it go in one ear and out the other.
    Evidently, Irene had, too.
    “He thought it was going to be something special,” she said, “but it wound up just being a longer commute and more court hassle. He was supposed to go back over and testify on a couple of things and you know how he hated that. And it wasn’t really working for Mac either. He had to take orders from a woman—a chit of a lieutenant who wasn’t even born when Mickey first joined the force.”
    Hy Davidowitz half-smiled. “Yeah, I heard him say he once bounced her on his knee when she was a baby.”
    There was nothing nostalgic in Irene’s tone. Instead, I caught an echo of Cluett’s sour resentment.
    “I’m a woman myself,” she said, “and I’m for equal pay and all that, but I just don’t think it’s right for any police officer to have to take orders from a woman. In fact, I don’t think women even belong on the force. Not on the street anyhow. You put a woman in the same patrol car with one of these young buckos and send them out on night duty—”
    She shook her head at so much opportunity for sin and sex but before she could get going on what sounded like an old sore point, her daughter appeared at the door again.
    “Sorry to interrupt, Ma, but Father Ambrose is here and he needs to talk to you about Pop’s mass.”
    It was as good a time to leave as any. I guessed we’d probably got all we were going to get from Irene that night.
    Back at the car, Hy radioed in. Everything was quiet at the station, so I let him drop me at the nearest subway stop. I’d promised Terry I’d pick up some shrimp salad for supper. I’d also promised to get home on time.
    Oh well. One out of two’s not too bad for a cop.
     

 
    CHAPTER 6
     
    Midtown was clogged with the beginning of rush hour traffic. As Lieutenant Sigrid Harald drew near Lou’s Foto Finish, a van parked illegally at the top of a bus stop flashed its left rear blinker and pulled out in front of her. She automatically slid her car into the space he’d vacated.
    Just as automatically, she flipped down the sun visor to display the emblem that identified this as a police officer’s car even though she wasn’t on duty. Taking advantage of her position to bend