When he joined the force, the hardest thing for Ambrose to get used to was the discomfiting juxtaposition of violence and food. The disgusting details of this job never let up, even for meals.
As he did many mornings, Ambrose stared at the cinder-block wall, mulling over the Wicker Man case and eating a roach-coach egg-and-sausage biscuit. He was frustrated. Frustrated that he knew little more about Suspect M, the Candlestick Maker, than he did the week that tip had come in. The task force didn’t have the resources to put a citizen on round-the-clock surveillance based only on the whim of a single lieutenant, and his men didn’t share his certainty with regard to this suspect. Plus, the guy was a moderately prominent figure in the city. Not a household name, but a frequent guest at charity auctions and balls. He no doubt had lots of friends – probably even a few on LaSalle Street. These people could make life for Ambrose extremely difficult if the Candlestick Maker knew he was being watched.
I could do it myself, Ambrose thought. I could chase him down on my own time. He thought about Clint Eastwood movies. Dirty Harry. A cop who could operate outside procedure because his instincts were always right. What else did Ambrose have to do with his spare time? Nothing, when his kids weren’t visiting. And he had to shake things up. This couldn’t go on indefinitely. The next time there was a body, the terrorized people of Chicago weren’t going to tolerate a cute speech and a shrug from the leader of the Wicker Man task force. No, he was going back on the street. Solve this case himself. Some reporter would probably write a book about it. The Candlestick Maker would make a good title for a true-crime book. The idea seemed smarter to him the more he thought about it.
Looking up through the window in his office door, he could see activity in the squad room. Cops were on the phone. Other cops were running for their cars. Ambrose had turned the ringer off his phone so he could think, and now it blinked at him furiously. He watched Detective DuPree stop himself on the way to the door and reverse directions. DuPree opened the door to Ambrose’s office and said between breaths:
“Lieutenant. We got a witness.”