Night Sins Read Online Free

in a plate of post-Christmas Swedish meatballs at the Scandia House Cafe.
    When the news of his demise swept through the warren of offices at headquarters, Megan observed a moment of silence in honor of Leo, then typed yet another memorandum to the assistant superintendent, submitting her name for consideration for the post. When the day for decision-making drew near and she had heard nothing encouraging, she gathered her nerve and her service record and marched to the office of the special agent in charge of the St. Paul regional office.
    Bruce DePalma went through the same song-and-dance he'd given her before. There were reasons all the field agents were men. The chiefs and sheriffs they had to work with were all men. The detectives and officers who made up their network were nearly all men. No, that wasn't discrimination, that was reality.
    “Well, I've got another dose of reality for you, Bruce,” Megan said, plunking her file dead center on his immaculate blotter. “I've got more investigative experience, more class time, and a better arrest record than any other person in line for this assignment. I've passed the agent's course at the FBI academy and I can shoot the dick off a rat at two hundred yards. If I get passed over again for no other reason than the fact that I have breasts, you'll hear me howling all the way to the city desk of the
Pioneer Press
.”
    DePalma scowled at her. He had a Nixonesque quality that had never endeared him to the press. Megan could see him playing the scene through his mind—reporters calling him evasive and uncooperative while the cameras focused on his deep-set, shifty eyes.
    “That's blackmail,” he said at last.
    “And this is sex discrimination. I want the assignment because I'm a damn good cop and because I deserve it. If I get out there and screw up, then yank me back, but give me the chance to try.”
    DePalma slumped down in his chair and steepled his fingers, bony shoulders hunched up to his ears, a pose reminiscent of a vulture on a perch. The silence stretched taut between them. Megan held her ground and held his gaze. She hated to stoop to threats; she wanted the job on merit. But she knew that the brass was especially skittish of words like
harassment
and
gender bias,
was still smarting from the sexual harassment charges several female employees had made against the outgoing superintendent months before. It may have been a risk, but the reminder might be just enough to make DePalma pay attention.
    He scowled at her, jowls quivering as he ground his teeth. “It's an old-boy network out there. That network is essential to successful police work. How do you expect to get in when everyone else thinks you don't belong?”
    “I'll make them see that I do belong.”
    “You'll hit a stone wall every time you turn around.”
    “That's what jackhammers are for.”
    DePalma shook his head. “This job calls for finesse, not jackhammers.”
    “I'll wear kid gloves.”
    Or mittens,
she thought as she fiddled with the car's heater setting. Frustrated and cold to the bone, she smacked the dashboard with a fist and was rewarded with a cloud of dust from the fan vents. The Chevy Lumina was a nag from the bureau's stable. It ran, had four good tires, and the requisite radio equipment. That was it. No frills. But it was a car and she was a field agent. Damned if she was going to complain.
    Field agent for the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. The BCA had been created by the state legislature in 1927 to provide multijurisdictional investigative, lab, and records services to the other law enforcement agencies in the state, a scaled-down version of the FBI. Megan was now the bureau's representative to a ten-county area. She now served as liaison between the local authorities and headquarters. Consultant, detective, drug czar—she had to wear many hats, and as the first woman on the job, she would have to look damn good in all of them.
    Being late for her first meeting with the chief