"COME ON, SAM. PLEASE?" SHE'D TRIED CHARM AND NOW she was pleading.
But Sam Healy was a detective who disposed of bombs for a living; it was tough to talk someone like that into anything he didn't want to do.
They were sitting on the back deck of the boathouse, drinking beer and eating microwave popcorn.
"I just want to look at it. One little file."
"I can't get access to the files in the Twentieth Precinct. I'm Bomb Squad. Why would they even talk to me?"
Rune had spent a lot of time trying to decide if she was in love with this man. She thought she was in a way. But it wasn't like the old days--whenever they were-- when you were either in love or you weren't. Love was a lot more complicated now. There were degrees, there were phases of love. It kicked in and out like a compressor in an air conditioner. She and Healy could talk easily. And laugh. She liked the way he looked like the man in a Marlboro ad. She liked the way his eyes were completely calm and deeper than any man's eyes she'd ever seen. But what she missed was that gut-twist, that weight-losing obsession with the object of your desire that was Rune's favorite kind of love even though it was totally rare.
Also, Healy was married.
Which, oddly, didn't bother Rune that much. At least he was separated and had no problem being bluntly honest about the times he saw Cheryl. Rune looked at his marriage like an air bag in a car--a safety feature. Maybe when she got older, if they were still together, she'd force him to make a decision. But for now his marriage was his business. All she wanted was honesty and a boyfriend who kept you guessing. And no boyfriend kept you guessing like one on the New York City Bomb Squad.
Rune said, "They got the wrong man."
"I know your theory about Boggs."
"I don't need to prowl around the evidence room. I just want to read one file."
"I thought you wanted to be a reporter."
"I am a reporter."
"Reporters don't cheat. It'd be unethical to use me to get information."
"Of course it wouldn't. You know about unnamed sources. Come on, you can be my Deep Throat."
"It's a murder investigation. I'd get suspended for leaking information."
"It's a murder conviction. It's a closed case."
"The transcript is public record. Why don't you--?"
"I've got the transcript.
I need the police report. It's got the names of all the witnesses and the bullet angles and pictures of the exit wounds. All the good stuff. Come on, Sam." She kissed his neck.
"There's nothing I can do. Sorry."
"The man's innocent. He's serving time for something he didn't do. That's terrible."
"You can talk to the public information officer. They'll give you the department's side of the case."
"Bullshit is all he'll tell me."
"She," Healy said. "Not he." He stood up and walked into the galley. "You have anything substantial?"
"Well, first, everybody I've interviewed said that no way in the world could Randy Boggs kill anyone. Then--"
"I mean to eat."
"Oh." She squinted into the galley. "No."
"Don't mope."
"I'm not," she said quickly. "I just don't have anything substantial. Sorry. Maybe some Fruit 'N Fiber cereal."