When you flashed an FBI badge, you got a lot done, so much easier than when you showed a detective’s badge.
This was nice for a change.
“Thank you,” he offered.
The man stood and shook his hand as the printer finished printing out the file on Jadin Mendin that the detective had submitted before his death.
When he passed the printed off files, he pointed across the room.
“If you go through that door, you can follow it down the stairs, and it’s a shortcut to the morgue. My guys use it all of the time, so just follow them if you get confused. Everything that leads down eventually gets you to the morgue.”
And he appreciated that too.
Corbin was handling this just like he had before he’d been hurt. It was like riding a bike.
And that was good to know.
Heading out, they crossed through the room, and it wasn’t lost on him that the cops in there were staring.
On his hip, he had his FBI badge, and on the other side was his detective’s shield.
“Uh-oh, the Feds,” one said, spreading the news to his other co-workers.
The other laughed.
“Someone’s case is getting taken away,” the other stated. “Sucks to be them.”
Since they were engaging him, slightly, Corbin stopped.
“Hey, since you’re here,” he said, knowing how to deal with a room full of detectives, “maybe you can help a guy out.”
This was an area he excelled in, since he was one.
“I’m Detective Corbin Price,” he said, flipping the badge over so they could seePhiladelphiapolice ID, and then back over to the FBI side. “I work in tandem with the FBI. Can you guys answer some questions for me?”
The men shrugged.
None of them looked like they wanted to do that, but he’d just come out of the captain’s office, and as a detective, he knew the last thing a detective wanted was to piss off the homicide captain.
“That depends,” one cop offered.
Corbin focused on him, already hearing the tone. Well, he had news for him.
He could play games with the best of them. The FBI made him work for it more times than not. Gene wasNOTan easy teacher.
He rode ass hard.
“What’s your name?” he asked, curiously.
At his question, the man laughed.
“Oh, no. It’s one of my cases that’s getting pulled. The captain pointed him at us,” he joked with his buddies.
Corbin had to stop the runaway train before it picked up speed. He knew that Detectives, while mostly good at reading a room, liked to gossip like the best of them. The second he was gone, they’d start sniffing around, speculating.
And that wasn’t good for any investigation.
“No, actually, it’s the death of one of your co-workers, Aaron Figueroa. We’re getting the case back,” he stated.
