Jenkinson

“You’re the highest-ranking detective in my bullpen, and with the longest tour of duty. It’s about experience, instincts, skill, and knowledge.” - Eve Dallas, Desperation in Death

Jenkinson
Occupation	Homicide Detective, NYPSD, Cop Central
Gender	Male
Spouse	Unnamed

History

• First appearance: Origin in Death (Fall, 2059)
• He was part of the task force assigned to find and apprehend The Groom.
• When Eve first arrested Penny Soto, she asked Jenkinson to jam everything up for a couple of hours (slow things down).
• During the events of Promises in Death, he helped run tenants in Amaryllis Coltraine’s apartment building.
• He appeared in Kindred in Death.
  • Eve wanted Jenkinson and Reineke on the memorial detail for Deena MacMasters.

Nicknames

• His nickname in the squad is “Sick Bastard.”

Interesting Facts

• Jenkinson must be older than the mature Baxter, who called him “a borderline creaker.”
• Jenkinson was married with at least two children, although ages and genders were unspecified. (While ranting about the snow, he said “I tag my kids, tell them to get over to the skinny-ass garage I pay my left nut for every month, clear the snow from the door so I can get my vehicle in there. And they do, my kids do the job.”)
• Jenkinson liked crullers.
• When in “thinking mode,” Jenkinson leaned back in his chair and juggled three colored balls.
• Jenkinson’s contribution to the Homicide Division Motto - She saw Jenkinson had taken her at her word. A banner hung over the break-room door, facing out so any who came in would see the sentiment: NO MATTER YOUR RACE, CREED, SEXUAL ORIENTATION, OR POLITICAL AFFILIATION, WE PROTECT AND SERVE, BECAUSE YOU COULD GET DEAD. Obviously, there’d been some discussion, some teamwork on the wording, but Jenkinson’s original sentiment remained. Her first reaction wasn’t the amusement she’d expected, but a tug of pride. Because it was the righteous truth.
• In late June, 2061, Eve put him up for the sergeant’s exam and asked him to take it. She told him: “You’re the highest-ranking detective in my bullpen, and with the longest tour of duty. It’s about experience, instincts, skill, and knowledge. You have all of what’s needed to make DS. You’ll do what you do now, but with a boost in pay and rank.” He agreed to take the test but asked that it stayed between he, Eve, and Reineke, in case he didn’t pass.
• “Now, before I go deal with this, the reason I happened to walk in at that particular moment. Jenkinson’s results from his DS exam. I wanted to inform his lieutenant in person.” “Yes, sir. He passed. No way he wouldn’t.” “And yet another agreement. Will you call him in to tell him privately?” “Permission to speak frankly, Commander.” “Granted.” “No fucking way. This division’s a team.” They proved it every day. Hell, she thought, they just had. “Would you like to inform him, sir?” “This is for you. But I’d like to be there.............. “I appreciate the backup,” Eve said to the room at large. Then she held out a hand to Jenkinson. “I appreciate the sentiment and the backup, Detective Sergeant Jenkinson.” At his desk, Reineke, the only one Jenkinson had told about the possible promotion, shot both fists in the air, and shouted, “Yes!” “No shit?” Jenkinson murmured. “Son of a gun.” He got backslaps, arm punches, congratulations as Whitney held out a hand. “Congratulations, Detective Sergeant. Well earned.” “Thank you, sir. Jesus, guys, give a DS some room. I wouldn’t’ve taken the exam if you hadn’t talked me into it, boss. I appreciate the backup.”

Jenkinson’s Ties

Dallas: “That’s some tie, Jenkinson.”
Jenkinson: “Just adding a little color to the world.”

Beginning in November 2060, Jenkinson begins wearing tasteless brightly-colored ties. One of the first mentions of Jenkinson’s colorful ties was in Thankless in Death. Since then, the colorful ties that Jenkinson wears has become a running joke in the books and then “a tradition” in the Homicide Division. Dallas discovers in early 2061 that Jenkinson “found a street vendor who’ll sell them to him at a discount when he buys five at a go.”

Thankless in Death

• Jenkinson strolled out of the break room with a giant mug of that bad cop coffee and a lumpy-looking doughnut. He wore a gray suit the color of tarnish with a tie of nuclear blue and green curlicues on a screaming pink background. He said, “Yo, LT.” “That’s some tie, Jenkinson.” After setting the mug on his desk, he flipped it. “Just adding a little color to the world.” “Did you steal that from one of the geeks in EDD?” “His mama bought it for him,” Sanchez said. “Your mama bought it for me, as a thank-you for last night.” “It’s so she can see you coming from two blocks away and get gone.” Before Jenkinson formed a witty repartee, Baxter walked in, slick in a dark chocolate suit, expertly knotted tie that picked up the color with minute checks of brown and muted red. He stopped as if he’d hit a force field. “Jesus, my eyes!” He pulled out a pair of fashionable sunshades, slid them on as he studied Jenkinson. “What is that around your neck? Is it alive?” “Your sister bought it for him.” Still quietly working at his comp, Trueheart didn’t even look up. “A token of her esteem.” The kid was coming along, Eve thought, amused, and left her men to their byplay.

Obsession in Death

• Jenkinson approached the board. He wore a tie with blue and yellow polka dots on a red background—his neckwear was becoming infamous—and looked tired around the eyes.
• “Take her down, LT,” Jenkinson told her. “Wrap up that crazy bitch.” “You got pizza sauce on your tie, Detective.” “Damn it.”

Devoted in Death

• “She looked across the room, studied Jenkinson’s tie. Today’s had white snowflakes swirling against a blue so bold and lively Eve thought it might have a pulse.” “That’s never going to stop, is it?” Baxter grinned, shook his head. “It’s now a Homicide Division tradition. Reineke told me Jenkinson’s found a street vendor who’ll sell them to him at a discount when he buys five at a go.” “God help us all,” Eve muttered, and walked away to join Mira.
• “Two minutes, Lieutenant.” Jenkinson pushed away from his desk, went to her. Today’s neckwear sported long-eared white rabbits with orange carrots on a purple background. “Where are you getting those?” she demanded. “You’d be surprised how easy it is. We caught one this morning.” He ran it through briefly. A bludgeoning, the lead from a CI they only half trusted and a seedy pool hall in Chinatown. “Snitch says the guy we want frequents that establishment, but we go in asking about him, they’re going to clam it or cover him. And we get a feeling the snitch is maybe playing both ends on this. We figure we’ll go in, soft clothes, play some pool, see what’s what.” “Do it, but don’t wear that tie.”

Wonderment in Death (Novella)

• She decided not to comment on Jenkinson’s tie, because it looked like an explosion of radioactive waste.

Brotherhood in Death

• Santiago obviously still had some time on the bet he’d lost to Carmichael, as he had the cowboy hat perched on his head. And Jenkinson had managed to find yet another eye-burning tie. This one had puke-green and piss-yellow stripes.
• Eve went back to Homicide, arriving in time to hear Baxter ragging Jenkinson over his choice of tie. “How can you wear purple and gold with that shade of brown suit?” “The tie says it all.” “It says I left my taste at home. At least you could think about color families and proper contrast.” “Gotta take some fashion risks,” Jenkinson said, just to rag back. “Yo, Trueheart, I got a source on these. He’ll make you a nice deal if you want to polish up your detective wardrobe.” “Thanks, Jenkinson, but I’ve got the one your wife gave me last night as a thank-you gift.” “Thinks he can be a smart-ass now. Hey, boss. What do you think of my tie?” “Jenkinson, I try not to think about your new tie fetish.” “Just adding color to a dark world. Show the LT your socks, Reineke.” “I don’t want to see—” She broke off when Reineke shot his foot out from behind his desk and showed off red socks shocked with blue lightning bolts. She had a terrible flashback to Juju’s airboots. “There is no merciful God,” Eve muttered. “I gotta keep up with my partner,” Reineke claimed. “Figured I’d go for the footwear, and shoes cost too much to play with.” The best cops she knew, Eve thought as she escaped to her office. Her bullpen was stocked with the best cops she knew. But there were times.

Apprentice in Death

• When Lieutenant Eve Dallas strode into the bullpen of Homicide after an annoying appearance in court, she wanted coffee. But Detective Jenkinson had obviously been lying in wait. He popped up from his desk, started toward her, leading with his obnoxious tie of the day. “Are those frogs?” she demanded. “Why would you wear a tie with piss-yellow frogs jumping around on—Christ—puke-green lily pads?” “Frogs are good luck. It’s feng shui or some shit.
• She stood, real coffee in hand, and studied the screen when Jenkinson and Reineke came in. She’d have sworn the light changed in the glare of Jenkinson’s tie. From his standpoint, she supposed the gold-and-green dots on screaming red struck him as classic, even subtle.
• The old satchel was a wild green just short of fluorescent, with a jagged lightning bolt pattern done in Peabody pink. “Christ, it’s nearly as bad as one of Jenkinson’s ties.” “I heard that,” Jenkinson said in her ear. “It’s not a secret.”
• “How’s the eye, LT?” Jenkinson called out. “It stings like a bitch, but that’s from looking at that tie. Go home.”

Echoes in Death

• She pulled into Central, started toward the elevator, and spotted Jenkinson. You couldn’t miss the tie, not even from space. With his coat open, it glowed toad green with—perhaps not coincidentally—bug-eyed frogs of yellow and blue hopping over it. “You could light a cave with that thing around your neck.” “Never know when you might end up in one. How was the time off, LT?”
• A couple more cops came on. One of them studied Jenkinson. “That’s some tie you got there, Jenks.” “Yeah, that’s what your sister said when I put it on this morning.” That got a few snorts and made the crowded ride a little more entertaining.
• Eve glanced around as Jenkinson came in, snarling, his blinding white snowflakes on a fiery red background tie leading.

Secrets in Death

• Finding herself right about Jenkinson’s tie didn’t dull the glare of what looked like urine-colored sperm squiggling over virulent purple. As he worked both his ’link and his comp, she held back any comment. Instead she crossed to Baxter’s desk. No sperm tie for Baxter; his had purple stripes against gray and set off his snappy gray suit.

Dark in Death

• She swung into Homicide, stared for the three seconds she calculated she had before Jenkinson’s virulent blue tie with its hard-candy pink—were those elephants parading over it?—seared her corneas.
• “Sure. Hey, Jenkinson.” Mavis beamed at him. “That tie is the total ult.” “Don’t encourage him,” Eve mumbled and led the way.

Leverage in Death

• She strode into Homicide, blinked once at the bug-eyed multicolored fish on Jenkinson’s virulent blue tie, and kept on going until she hit the comforting dull colors of her office.
• Despite the tie—yellow flowers over a sea of green that made her eyes want to bleed—she walked to Jenkinson’s desk. “Anything hits I need to know, tag me. Otherwise, handle it. I’m working from home.” “Sure thing, boss.” His gaze drifted up; his lips twisted into a smug smirk. “What?” “Just thinking how you rag on my ties, but you got a pink unicorn in your hair.” “I—crap!” She reached up, dragged it out. “Not on purpose. Yours is deliberate.”
• Since her eyes already throbbed, Eve ran through the current caseload with Jenkinson and his psychotic rainbow tie, Reineke and his kittens on Zeus socks.

Connections in Death

• And Jenkinson’s tie glowed like the moons that covered it.
• When she turned into her bullpen, she regretted leaving the sunshades in her car. They might have prevented her eyes bleeding from a glance at Jenkinson’s latest tie, featuring jagged blue sperm squiggles over a field the color of chili peppers. If you infused them with plutonium.
• When Jenkinson sat, she realized she’d managed to avoid looking directly at his madly pink polka dots over nuked green tie, until just that moment. Now her eyes vibrated.
• Jenkinson and his tie came in first. A horde, a flock? A shitload of multicolored butterflies swarmed over screaming blue.

Vendetta in Death

• When Eve walked into her bullpen, Jenkinson’s tie du jour scorched her corneas. His way to celebrate almost spring, apparently, equaled a forest of Peabody’s daffodils—these infused with sulfuric acid—over a field of Venusian green grass. She winced, turned away to save herself. “Peabody, my office.” In her office, with nuclear yellow still blooming across her vision, she hit the AutoChef.
• When Eve walked back into the bullpen, Jenkinson’s new obscenity of a tie greeted her. When he signaled her over to his desk, she scowled at it. “Why, I ask sincerely, would a grown man, a cop, a veteran detective of the NYPSD wear an atomic-green tie with screaming yellow rubber duckies all over it?” “They’re not screaming, they’re quacking. And it’s what you call whimsy.” “It’s what I call felonious assault on the eyes. Did you get the notes and names from Natalia Zula?” “Yeah, we got ’em—and her daughter was home.” Though he sat and Eve stood, he managed to look down his nose at her. “She said my tie was mag. Just saying. You got the discs on your desk. And check it.” He thumbed back toward Reineke, his usual partner. Obliging, Reineke hitched up his pants leg to reveal screaming yellow rubber duckies on atomic-green socks. “Jesus, you’re coordinating now?” “Just the luck of the draw,” Reineke claimed.
• She unlocked her door, stalked out to the bullpen. Jenkinson and his tie were back—and dear God, this one sported rainbows obviously generated in a nuclear reactor. So were Reineke and his socks, but she thanked the patron saint of vision she couldn’t currently see them.

Golden in Death

• Eve walked into the bullpen at Central, and saw Jenkinson’s tie. She figured it would burn your corneas if you viewed it from space. It was as if an evil rainbow infused with acid had exploded. Swirls and streams of ferocious color covered every inch. She swore they moved, as if alive. She wondered whether, if he dropped any crumbs from the cruller he munched on, those swirls would absorb them. And grow. Risking temporary blindness, she walked over to his desk. “You said you got those ties off the street. Where?” Jenkinson brushed crumbs off the tie. Eve imagined the swirls covering his hand, pulling him in, inch by struggling inch. “A stand on Canal. He’s doing the street fair on Sixth on Sunday. You looking to get one for Roarke?” “Sure, if I want him to have me committed. One day, one fine day, I’m going to do a drive-by of that stand, buy all the ties, and have them destroyed—it may take a vat of acid—for the public good.” “Aw, LT. They got pizzazz.” “I don’t think that word means what you think it means. Don’t even think about showing me your socks.” She pointed at Reineke, Jenkinson’s partner. “Don’t even think about it.” And escaped to her office.

Shadows in Death

• Oh, and FYI? Jenkinson and his tie are now at his desk. You should avert your eyes.” “They’re drawn to it. They know better, they suffer for it, but they’re drawn to it.”
• As she passed through the bullpen, her eyes—and they did know better—scanned toward Jenkinson’s desk. And suffered, oh, they suffered from the blast of viral, virulent orange covered with whales. With grinning purple whales that spouted fountains of a blue that could only be a result of ingesting great amounts of plutonium. “It doesn’t even make sense,” Eve managed.
• Despite the throb it put behind her eyes, she studied Jenkinson’s tie—an explosion of multicolored stars on a neon-blue sky. “Maybe you can find a tie that doesn’t cause temporary blindness.” He just gave her a toothy grin.
• “Well, that’s insane.” “You think that’s crazy?” Jenkinson pointed at the ties. “This one here’s got pigs on it—little pink pigs you can’t even see until you’re right on it. And I can buy a freaking hundred ties at my stall for the price of this one.” Jenkinson shook his head.
• Eve gave the two detectives a quick up and down. “You look like cops.” In response, Jenkinson grinned, fluttered his atomic tie at her. “Even with that ocular nightmare. Get on soft clothes.

Faithless in Death

• Her stride hitched briefly as she blinked at Jenkinson’s tie. She should be used to the detective’s insane ties by now, she thought, but who got used to fat, bug-eyed yellow bumblebees buzzing over a neon-orange field? Nobody did. Nobody ever should.
• As she swung into Homicide, Jenkinson called out, “Yo, LT.” Instinctively, she glanced toward him, then slapped her hand over her eyes. “Jesus Christ!” The tie, from knot to tail, showcased a bug-eyed, pee-yellow-beaked, wildly pink flamingo. “Can’t blame me for this one. My wife gave it to me.” “You’ve infected her.”
• “It’s kind of cute,” Peabody commented as they hit the glides. “The socks and ties. I mean, sure, Jenkinson’s ties are mongo bad, but so mongo they’re kind of endearing.” “They make my eyes sting.”
• They split off, and Eve turned into the bullpen. Apparently rolling out Jenkinson early didn’t spare the tie. Today’s was a sunburst of yellow with a multitude of fiery red squiggles. She literally felt her eyes shake in their sockets.
• Jenkinson and Reineke came in next. Jenkinson’s tie, a flaming orange, had little red devils all over it. The kind with horns and pointy-end tails and snarling grins. “Really? Today?” “Especially today, Loo, because if there’s a hell, those bastards are going to fry in it. But first we’re gonna lock them in cages.”

Forgotten in Death

• The only carnival in her bullpen lived in Jenkinson’s tie. To her eye, it looked like a sunset on Pluto, after the sun went nova. She wondered it didn’t burn through his shirt. Deliberately she walked down into her office, retrieved the sunshades she put in a drawer. She slid them on and walked back to the bullpen. When he saw her, Jenkinson smirked.
• She walked out to the bullpen as McNab pranced in. Like a ringmaster, he brought the EDD circus with him. His baggies, the color of lemons infused with plutonium, glowed. The shirt over his skinny torso exploded with polka dots. He pumped a fist in the air. “Score!” Jenkinson shot out a finger. “And you rag on my ties, boss.” Eve could only shake her head.
• She glanced over at Jenkinson, who was currently sending Bardov the hard eye. She did her best not to react to a tie swirling with a series of rainbows that might arc across the sky after a nuclear disaster.

Abandoned in Death

• Jenkinson brushed a crumb from his atomic-yellow tie. Eve found herself surprised one of the grinning green frogs hopping over it hadn’t flicked out a tongue to capture it first. Jenkinson and his eye-watering tie crossed to her.
• EDD was like Jenkinson’s ties on steroids.
• Eve asked Jenkinson if he scared the truth out of her suspect with his tie, orange covered with purple insects with bugged-out eyes.
• Since his tie, wildly colored gumdrops over blinding white, hurt her eyes, Eve focused on Jamie.

Desperation in Death

• When Eve walked into Homicide, Jenkinson’s tie assaulted her eyes. He’d outdone himself - if such things were possible - with a single, huge, atomic-pink, googly-eyed cat staring out from a neon purple background. “You like cats,” he told Eve. “I like my cat. I mostly like cats. That cat looks like somebody shoved a shock stick up its ass.”
• Eve swung through the bullpen, tried to avoid eye contact with Jenkinson’s tie as he stood by his desk slurping coffee. She failed, had her retinas blasted by what might have been a depiction of the big bang.
• Eve walked into Homicide and Jenkinson’s tie assaulted her senses. “What the hell are you doing here? And what the hell is that on your tie?” “They’re dragonflies.” “From what galaxy?” “Unknown.”

Encore in Death

• Eve marveled that Reineke willingly stood so close to his partner’s nuclear reactor of a tie. This one sported madly purple and pink dots over a piss-yellow field.
• When she came out, Jenkinson worked through the first of the guest rooms. She tried not to focus on his tie—one covered with multicolored magnifying glasses over midnight black.
• Nadine bribed the bullpen with double chocolate chunk cookies, and “Jenkinson didn’t have the grace, or maybe the gall, to look ashamed as he brushed some of those stray crumbs off the tie of insanity.”

Payback in Death

• She walked into Homicide, and was immediately assaulted by Jenkinson’s tie.
• She approached Jenkinson’s desk, looked at his mutinous face, his insane tie. “Jenkinson.”
• When she walked into Homicide, Jenkinson and his tie du jour—a supernova scattering fiery space debris over electric-blue space—lurched to his feet. “Jesus, Jenkinson, I’ve got a fat lip and an aching jaw, now you want to burn my retinas?”
• The circus of EDD distracted from that. Jenkinson’s tie paled in comparison.
• Since it faced the canary-yellow sofa Taylor chose, Eve sat in a chair of shockingly bright blue with yellow swirls. It made her think of Jenkinson’s ties.
• She exchanged a look and nod with Jenkinson and his atomic tie as she passed through the bullpen.
• When she walked into the bullpen, Roarke sat on the corner of Jenkinson’s desk, apparently unaffected by tiny rainbow-hued dinosaurs roaming over electric green.
• Stuck with that, Eve took the glides to Homicide. At least she didn’t get blasted by Jenkinson’s tie.

Random in Death

• ...even with her mind elsewhere [Eve] had to wince at Jenkinson’s tie. Today’s offering had what she thought might be magic wands scattered all over a bloodred background. Each one shot a different glittery stream of color. “LT.” He signaled her, forcing her to move closer to the eye burn. “My esteemed partner and I...” He trailed off as Detective Reineke hiked up his pants leg to show off the white rabbit peeking out of a magic hat. “Sweet color-blind Jesus.”
• [Eve] couldn’t say for sure, but she thought they called the color fuchsia. If fuchsia was irradiated. White fuchsia-eyed rabbits hopped over it. She imagined they had really sharp, pointed teeth under their sly smiles. They made her wonder why she always felt compelled to look. “Detective Sergeant Rabbit.”
• “Ditch the ties. Not you, Jenkinson. Yours makes you look right at home at a carnival.”
• [Eve] didn’t even let Jenkinson’s frosted pink-and-blue-cupcake tie bother her.

Passions in Death

• “One foot in the door, and Jenkinson’s tie with a big, bug-eyed mouse the color of a tropical sea nibbling on cheese the color of spring daffodils.”
• “She winced at Jenkinson’s tie assaulted her with its multicolored smiley-faced cartoon stars over a wild blue sky.”

Colorful Quotes

Treachery in Death

• Her own weapon was out as she pivoted and saw Jacobson stick his right in Marcell’s ear. “Drop the fucking weapon, you fucking motherfucker or I’ll fucking scramble your fucking brains. Hands up! Hands where I can fucking see them, you fucking cocksucker. You fucking breathe wrong, you fucking blink wrong, and I will fuck you up.” While Reineke and Peabody dragged Palmer out the other side, Eve stepped back, let Jacobson deal with Marcell. “That was some very creative and varied use of the word fuck, Detective.” “Fucker.” Jacobson snarled it as he shoved Marcell to the ground. “On your fucking face, you fucking shit coward. Stream my lieutenant in the fucking back? Fuck you.” There was a distinctive snap followed by a scream. “I seem to have misjudged my step, Lieutenant, and stepped on one of this motherfucker’s fingers. I believe it’s broken.”

Obsession in Death

• “All respect, boss, but that’s bullshit. We know how to juggle,” Jenkinson reminded her. “Everybody in this room’s been on the job long enough they can juggle standing on one foot with one eye closed. Just like everybody knows if it’s a cop doing this, or somebody attached to the cops—well, it doesn’t make two people more dead or less dead, but it means the sooner we shut it down the less crap’s going to fly on the department. And you, LT.” “I can take care of my own flying crap.” After a moment of silence, Reineke puffed out a breath. “He’s trying not to say bullshit to you twice in the same briefing, so I will. That’s bullshit, boss. Baxter shook his head. “You want to get this done?” he asked Reineke, Jenkinson. “Use some smarts. You can handle your own crap, Dallas, but while you are, some’s bound to splatter on this division, on us. So we put in the time, and we minimize that. And maybe save a life because there’s nothing up there that says he doesn’t have another lined up.” “I shoulda thought of that,” Jenkinson muttered. “I shoulda had that one ready.”
• As they rose, Jenkinson got to his feet, cleared his throat. “Nobody fucks with our LT. Deal with it,” he told Dallas, then walked out. “That was kind of sweet, in a Jenkinson way,” Peabody commented.

Echoes in Death

• “Didn’t they know it was coming?” he demanded of his partner as Reineke, smirking some, came in with him. “Didn’t they?” He threw out his arms to the nearly empty bullpen. “Problem, Jenkinson?” Eve asked. “Yeah, there’s a problem. Damn straight there’s a problem with the basic infrastructure and maintenance of this city we serve and protect.” Reineke slapped Jenkinson’s arm. “I’m gonna get us come coffee, partner.” So saying he walked toward the break room, giving Eve a wild eye roll on the way. “Weather guys all say the storm’s coming. Hold on to your asses, boys, it’s gonna hit. But are we prepared?” Jenkinson demanded, arms out like an evangelist preaching to the flock. “No, we are not.” He tossed his coat on his desk chair, stomping that way on boots crusted with snow. “I was fucking prepared. I tag my kids, tell them to get over to the skinny-ass garage I pay my left nut for every month, clear the snow from the door so I can get my vehicle in there. And they do, my kids do the job, so I get home, park it up. And what do you think happened? I’ll tell you what happened,” he ranted before Eve could respond. “I come out this morning, wade down there over sidewalks nobody’s cleared along streets the crews have half-assly cleared, and see they’ve shoved a couple feet of that fucking snow right in front of the garage door. What the fuck, LT!” “Bastards.” “Damn straight. Ends up, I flag down a black-and-white to haul me in, pick up Reineke. And my kids are bitching—can’t blame ’em—that they’ve got to go back over, dig me out a-fucking-gain.” “Requisition an all-terrain.” He opened his mouth, more raging on the tip of his tongue. Then angled his head. “Yeah?” “Yeah. You might as well have one on tap in case, and do it now before everybody else gets the same idea and we’re out. Meanwhile, you and Reineke hold down the fort.” Reineke came out with coffee, shoved one at Jenkinson. “Tell him it’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor, Dallas.” “It’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor.” Jenkinson’s face settled into a haughty sulk. “It’s the principle.” “It’s the politics,” Eve corrected. “I need you holding the wheel if I don’t make it back in from the field today. Remember?” She gestured to the squad slogan posted over the break room door. “That holds for before, during, and after snowstorms and shitty road-crew work.” Jenkinson sighed, gulped coffee. “Yeah, but I bet nobody blocked the mayor’s car in.” “Five’ll get you ten the mayor’s buried under irate ’link calls, e-mails, v-mails, and texts this morning.” The idea had Jenkinson brightening. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s something.”

Shadows in Death

• “He threatened you, LT?” Jenkinson pushed up in his chair, shoulders suddenly steel-beam straight. “He will,” Whitney said before Eve could speak. “It’s pattern.” “Fucker’s going down.” The outrage on Jenkinson’s face shined brighter than his tie. “Fucking fuck’s going the fuck down! Pardon my fucking French, Commander.” “I depend on you taking the fucker down,” Whitney returned.
• “As you know by now, Cobbe slaughtered a cat, left it at my gates.” “Sick fucking fuck,” Jenkinson muttered.
• “Our boy’s more Clare man than Dubliner, and make no mistake of it.” “Plenty of New York in him, too,” Jenkinson claimed. “Fucking ring that fucker’s bell! Sorry for the language,” he said to Sinead. She smiled. “Not a’tall.”

Desperation in Death

• “The kid in Battery Park (Mina Cabot). Fucking fuck does that to a kid needs to fucking rot in a cage for a couple of lifetimes.”

Payback in Death

• Eve had to slap her own hand against Jenkinson’s chest to stop him—and nearly didn’t. “He fucking laid his fucking hands on you, LT. That fucker fucking laid fucking hands on you in front of my fucking face.”
• She approached Jenkinson’s desk, looked at his mutinous face, his insane tie. “Jenkinson.” “I said what I said to that fucker, and I’d say it again if I get the chance. We stand up for each other in here, and we stand for our lieutenant.” “Do you think I couldn’t take that fucker?” “I think you’d have kicked his ass, then wiped the floor with what was left of it. That doesn’t mean I don’t regret some you didn’t let me do it first.” He shrugged. “I’ve gotta stand by that, Commander.”
• When she walked into Homicide, Jenkinson and his tie du jour—a supernova scattering fiery space debris over electric-blue space—lurched to his feet. “Jesus, Jenkinson, I’ve got a fat lip and an aching jaw, now you want to burn my retinas?” “Baxter said that fucking fuckhead fuck punched you in the tit. That he fucking aimed for it.” “Christ.” She muttered it as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. “He got worse.” “Fucking A. Tossed a fucking stream at Baxter.” “All good,” Baxter said from his desk. “I got the magic. Lansing’s in a cage, LT, and crying lawyer.” “Fucking coward” was Jenkinson’s opinion.

YANNIs

• In some editions of Treachery in Death, Jenkinson was incorrectly called Jacobson (“In the bullpen Eve listened as Jacobson ran through the angles he’d come up with through juggling”).