ONLY THREE BLOCKS from the Hall, Le Fleur du Jour is a popular morning hangout for cops. At 6:30 a.m. the smell of freshly baked bread made noses quiver up and down the flower market. Joe, Conklin, and I were at one of the little tables on the patio with a view of the flower stalls in the alley. Having never been with Joe and Conklin together, I felt an uneasiness I would have hated to explain.
Joe was telling Conklin some of his thoughts about the arson-homicide cases, saying he agreed with us, that one person couldn’t have subdued the victims alone.
These kids are show-offy smart,” Joe said. “Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.
And that means what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Did everyone know Latin but me
Joe flashed me a grin. “It means, ‘Anything said in Latin sounds profound.
Conklin nodded, his brown eyes sober this morning. I’d seen this precise look when he interrogated a suspect. He was taking in everything about Joe, and maybe hoping that my boyfriend with his high-level career in law enforcement might actually have a theory.
Or better yet, Joe might turn out to be a jerk.
No doubt, Joe was appraising Richie, too.
They’re definitely smart,” Conklin said, “maybe a little smarter than we are.
You know about Leopold and Loeb?” Joe asked, sitting back as the waiter put strawberry pancakes in front of him. The waiter walked around the table distributing eggs Benedict to me and to Conklin.
I’ve heard their names,” Conklin said.
Well, in 1924,” Joe said, “two smart and show-offy kids who were also privileged and sociopathic decided to kill someone as an intellectual exercise. Just to see if they could get away with it.
Joe had our attention.
Leopold had an IQ that went off the charts at around 200,” Joe said, “and Loeb’s IQ was at least 160. They picked out a schoolboy at random and murdered him. But with all their brilliance they made some dumb mistakes.
So you’re thinking our guys could have a similar motive. Just to see if they could get away with it
Has the same kind of feel.
Crime TV has been educational for this generation of bad guys,” Conklin said. “They pick up their cigarette butts and shell casings. . . . Our guys have been pretty careful. The clues we’re finding are the ones they’re leaving on purpose.
Right about then, I stopped listening and just watched body language. Joe, directing everything to Conklin, coming on a little too strong. Conklin, deferring without being deferential. I was so attached to them both, I turned my head from one to another as if I were courtside at Wimbledon.
Blue eyes. Brown eyes. My lover. My partner.
I pushed my eggs to the side of my plate.
For probably the first time in my life, I had nothing to say.
