Conflict of Interest

Chapter Eight

Carrie

They say that the point of an internship is to get a feel for the job that you yourself might one day find yourself in. For that reason and that reason alone, I saw it counterproductive to spare my intern the minutiae of my day-to-day work, which not only included but featured the fine detectives who made my life difficult.

When I asked her how she felt about taking a ride, she had no objection, as I'd anticipated. If she was anything like me, the four walls of my office would have been getting to her by then. DA's office claustrophobia generally sets in by day three.

"Okay, I'm here," I announced to Clapp, who was standing near the door when I walked in. "What matter is so momentous that you needed to extradite me from my office?"

"That depends," he shrugged.

"On what?"

"On what momentous means."

I just scoffed, pressing by him and letting myself into the precinct as though I owned it.

"Who's this?" he asked me, causing me to notice that I hadn't introduced her.

"Oh," I realized. "This is my intern."

"Maggie," she introduced, putting out a hand.

"Margaret," I corrected. "We're working on that."

"You decided her name for her?" he asked in disbelief.

"I had to, for the sake of her career," I said as though it were the most obvious statement of truth.

"Well, why do you get to be Carrie and I have to be Margaret?"

"Because I'm a grown-up," I decided. "You earn your right to a nickname with age."

"I'm twenty five!"

"You're twelve."

Our inane banter was at that point interrupted by the sound of Kim vocalizing some sort of irritation at my entering the room.

"Oh my God," she groaned, throwing her head over the back of her chair. "I told you not to call her."

"I had to do something, Kim. You were starting to scare me."

"I'm sorry, what exactly is the problem here?" I intervened.

Clapp placed a note in my hands then, a small piece of paper scrawled on in girly handwriting that only read 'I'm sorry.'

I was perplexed by it slightly, and expected him to say something, but he didn't.

"Clapp, really, it's okay. You didn't wake me up."

He sighed. "Not you, dipshit."

"Okay, I'm here pro bono right now, so if we're going to name call let's at least do it on a day when I'm being paid to put up with your shit."

"It's from Grace," Bagley explained, trying to douse the argument that was going nowhere.

"Grace? Grace Grace? As in 'Kiiiiim' Grace?" I clarified, impressing even myself with my uncanny impression of her whining.

"She doesn't talk like that," Kim argued flatly as she always did when I made fun of her girlfriend, only this time there was far less enthusiasm.

"Okay, what happened?" I invited, wanting to get the full story. "Yes she does, by the way."

"She left," Kim exhaled, disregarding my last statement. "I woke up this morning, and, that was there. And she wasn't. And I'm fine--"

"No, you're not," Bagley interrupted. "Just let us help you, Kim."