Before Avery and Ramirez even walked into the A1 conference room, they could hear O'Malley screaming into the speakerphone.
"Completely unacceptable, Will! You were supposed to share everything with us. We're handling this case now. But instead, you received a huge piece of evidence and decided to keep it for yourself. When were you going to call us?"
"We just received the letter this afternoon," Holt blared back from the speaker.
"How did the papers get it?"
"They got a copy. We have the original here, but the killer made copies. The way I understand it, he sent them to every newspaper."
"No way the papers would know that splotch on the bottom of the letter was a saliva swab. That had to come from your department. So you got the letter, you had forensics check it out, you matched the saliva to the victim, and then you told someone. That's the only way this could have happened, Will. The first call you should have made was to Detective Black. Do you know where I am right now? I'm in the office. You know where I should be? I should be in bed with my wife. But instead, I'm here. That's because you didn't do your job, and now we have a publicity nightmare on our hands and the mayor is pissed."
"Calm down, Mike, calm down."
"I won't calm down until you tell me the truth!"
"The truth is, we had no idea that letter was connected to the victim we found this morning. It came in the regular mail, it was opened by one of our staff, and someone had the foresight to send it to forensics. It just so happened that there was a match."
"Who called the papers?"
"They must have called us."
"The leak definitely came from your department."
"I'll handle it."
"You'd better handle it, and next time, we expect a call."
He hung up.
"Shit!" he cried.
Dylan Connelly sat down.
"Captain, why don't you go home?" he said. "I can handle this."
"I can't go anywhere just yet," O'Malley replied, "because the mayor pulled me into his Everybody-Holds-Hands crime campaign and now I'm screwed. Don't worry. I'm going home soon. You're here to learn everything you can from Black and Ramirez and act as a liaison with Simms over at the A7 so this doesn't happen again. You two are friends, right?"
"We were in the academy together."
"Good. Once we're through here, call him up. If he doesn't want to talk to myself or Black, he's at least got to talk to you."
"It might not be his fault," Avery said. "He was a little busy earlier."
"Oh yeah," O'Malley snapped. "That reminds me. Nice face," he noted to Avery. "What the hell were you doing in the gang den of Juan Desoto?"
"It was a lead. We were following up."
"You were supposed to talk to him," O'Malley said. "Instead, the A7 has five guys in a holding cell and one in a hospital. How do we know they won't file charges?"
"It was clean, Captain," Ramirez said. "We went in-"
"Did I ask you?" O'Malley snapped. "No, I didn't. Not for nothing, Ramirez, but Black is the lead on this case and it was her call to go in. What happened?"
"We just wanted to talk. Desoto made it personal. Apparently, I beat up his cousin a few years back, but I don't remember it. Desoto swung first and tried to kill me-both of us," she corrected with a look at Ramirez. "If we didn't fight hard, we'd both be dead."
"Cross-departmental assignments," O'Malley spit. "Bullshit. Well, watch your back. Desoto won't take that lightly. No word yet, but I'd be looking over my shoulder for a while, and you should too. Now," he sighed. "Back to this letter. Holt and his team scanned it for prints. Nothing. Trying to track down pen ink is futile. We have a handwriting style, but until we get a suspect, it's useless. No one knows how the letter got into their mailbox. Guy must be a ghost. Any ideas? Anyone?" he said with a glance at Ramirez. "I guarantee you, the A7 is going to try and crack this case just to prove they didn't need our help."
A copy of the letter was on the table. Avery leaned over to scrutinize every line.
"'Break the cycle,'" she read, "'take advantage of each moment.' The victim ran a spiritual bookstore. Self-help, afterlife. This sounds like something a self-help guru would say. Maybe if we comb through some of the titles, we can find a match?"
No one else offered anything.
They all stared at each other for the next ten minutes and threw out random ideas, but none of it felt right to Avery, and she imagined the pieces of the puzzle moving further and further apart.