by J. D. Robb
“Word gets around.”
“So, on one hand word gets around that the investigation is stalled, and on the other word gets around that we have a description of a suspect. You decide to join those hands together and fuck up my op. A man who’s killed two people is now in the wind due to your actions. The investigation is compromised, the department is now vulnerable to a civil suit not only from a kid you tossed to the ground, but from this establishment, and any other individuals who may have been injured or just decide to claim emotional hardship. You assholes.”
“Look, I don’t have to take this.” Cunningham surged up. “I got a look at the sketch, and the kid looked like him, even dressed like he did. I acted, which is more than Homicide’s been doing since the captain’s girl got raped and murdered Sunday.”
Eve stepped forward. “Sit your fat ass down or I’ll put it down.”
“Like to see you try.”
“Cunningham, for Christ’s sake, for Christ’s sake.” Still on the sofa, Harrison rubbed a hand over his face.
“Officer Cunningham, you’ve earned yourself a thirty-day rip for insubordination. Further determination of your status will be determined. You will sit when I tell you to sit, or you’ll be looking at sixty days right off the top.”
“The captain’s my boss,” he said, but he sat.
“And I am your superior—in so many ways. But yeah, the captain’s your boss. Your actions today have destroyed an operation that could have—damn well would have—seen to it that the man who raped and murdered Deena MacMasters was in custody right fucking now. Who showed you the sketch?”
Cunningham jutted up his chin. “I don’t say nothing more until I have my rep.”
“Your choice.” She looked at Harrison. “You?”
“I didn’t see the sketch, LT. I heard about it, but I didn’t see it. Cunningham took the kid down, shouted out he had the bastard and needed assistance. I assisted.”
“Write it up, call your reps. Get out of my sight.”
When they filed out, Baxter came over, took the cold wrap, twisted to activate. “Use it. Your eye’s going black.”
She twisted, imagining for one happy moment the cold wrap was Cunningham’s neck. “Jesus Christ, Baxter.”
“We’re in the soup, and goddamn. I’d kick Cunningham’s ass, but it’s a waste of time. For what it’s worth, I got a decent view on how it went—and it went quick. Harrison’s telling it straight. He moved in to assist another officer. I can’t see hanging him for it.”
“That won’t be up to me.”
“I’d just caught sight of the bastard. Pauley. Just made him, then the place went up like somebody yelled ‘bomb.’ I couldn’t get to him, got pushed back, trapped in a corner. Trueheart carried some old woman out of it. She got knocked cold. We had him, Dallas. We’d’ve had him.”
“Means jack now.” She dragged her hand through her hair. “And now I have to go get my ass fried like I just fried Cunningham’s.”
“It’s not right. Not fucking right.”
“My op. My soup.”
Peabody was waiting when Eve stepped out. “The commander’s in the meditation room, this level. We can go over now.”
“I’ll go over. Inform the team we’ll debrief at the conference room in one hour.”
“I’ll inform the team, and we’ll go over. You’re rank, but we’re partners. I’m in this, too.”
“No point in both of us getting our asses kicked over it.”
“There is to me.”
“Fine. It’s your ass.”
“Every square inch. Trueheart! Inform the team we debrief in one hour at Central, conference room. It’s heady to outrank someone,” Peabody said as they continued on. “At least I outrank him for the moment.”
“Whitney’s not going to bust you down to uniform. One of us leaked the sketch, and my money’s on a uniform there. So, after we’re roasted, we do some roasting ourselves. Either way, it comes down to a FUBAR on this op.”
She stopped outside of the meditation room. “Last chance.”
“No. I’m in.” Peabody opened the door herself.
Jonah and Carol MacMasters sat together on a small sofa. From her chair, Anna Whitney leaned forward and poured tea from a delicate pot into delicate cups. Whitney turned from the window.
“We’ll speak elsewhere,” he said, but before he could move away from the window, Carol sprang up.
“How could you let this happen? How could you? At Deena’s memorial?”
“Carol, stop. Stop.” MacMasters got to his feet.
“It’s a disgrace.”
“Yes, it is.” He took his wife by the shoulders. “And it was my men who caused it, not the lieutenant’s. It was my men.”
“Regardless of that, this was my operation,” Eve said, “and my responsibility. I have no excuse, Mrs. MacMasters, and my apologies are hardly adequate.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Her eyes burned with a fury Eve imagined hurt less than grief. “You take responsibility?”
“No, but it’s all I have. I should be standing here telling you I have the man who killed your daughter in custody, and I’m not. Nothing I say can mean anything to you.”
“Carol.” Anna put the teapot down. “You’ve been a cop’s wife too long to do this. You’ve been a cop’s wife long enough to know everything that can be done is being done, and that lashing out at the lieutenant doesn’t help Deena.” She stood. “Now, come with me. We’ll go sit with Deena while this is sorted out.”
She led Carol out, closed the door quietly behind her.
“Lieutenant,” Whitney said coolly, “report.”
She did so just as coolly and in careful detail. When she spoke of Harrison and Cunningham, MacMasters rested his head in his hands.
“Who leaked it?” Whitney demanded.
“I’ll debrief within the hour, sir. I will have that information within an hour and five.”
“I expect you to have better control of your team, Lieutenant. I expect you to have the judgment and control to prevent this sort of leak in an operation under your command.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jack.” MacMasters spoke wearily. “They were my men.”
“And as the lieutenant correctly stated, this was her op, and her responsibility.” Whitney turned his gaze pointedly to Eve. “Lieutenant, I’ll need a full evaluation and written report, tonight.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll refine the team according to that evaluation, and present you with a detailed overview of the alternate operation to apprehend the suspect tomorrow with the Mimotos’s cooperation.”
“If you expect me to sell not releasing Darrin Pauley’s sketch and some salient information to the public via the media to the commissioner, you’d better sell it to me.”
“If we release the sketch, let him know we’re close, he’ll be in the wind.” He could already be in the wind, she thought. And that was a hard, hot ball in her belly.
“He’s young,” she continued, calmly, firmly, “and he’s patient. He can afford to wait, a year, five years before moving on another target if he goes rabbit now. He may select another. He’ll alter his looks—which he was cautious enough to modify today—use his skill in ID fraud to take another identity, or series of them, and settle back until Deena and Karlene Robins are forgotten, until the other known targets are no longer protected.”
“She’s right, Jack.” MacMasters held up a hand, let it fall. “Dallas was right about him coming here today. She’s right about this. If I have any weight here, I want you and the commissioner to know I agree with the lieutenant.”
Eve took MacMasters’s weight and pushed with more of her own. “Commander, if we release the sketch, we’ll have morons like Cunningham flooding the tip line with sightings of teenagers and twenty-somethings in ball caps while Pauley closes shop here and moves on to wait his chance.
“If we release the sketch, he wins. If we let this play out, and frankly, Commander,
it burns my ass, but if we allow the media to portray this fiasco today as a monumental screwup, and we control that feed, he’ll be only more confident, and he’ll move on Mrs. Mimoto tomorrow, as planned. Release it, and we lose the chance.”
“We’d have had him today, sir.” When Peabody spoke up, Eve glanced at her with a combination of surprise and annoyance. “That’s not an excuse, it’s a fact. We will need to interview staff members here, and access their security as it’s obvious Darrin Pauley gained access much earlier, and was in the building prior to the memorial. But even with that, we’d have had him.”
Whitney lifted his eyebrows. “You’re confident of that, Detective?” Eve was pretty sure she heard Peabody gulp, but her partner continued in what passed for confidence. “Yes, sir. Detective Baxter made him, just as the lieutenant did. His communication to me was delayed due to the chaos Cunningham and Harrison created, the same chaos that injured Dallas and damaged her coms. Instead of entering the room where we could and would have boxed him, he slipped away rather than engage in the confusion, and risk being interviewed as we are now interviewing a number of participants. That’s his caution, sir, just as profiled. He behaved exactly as anticipated. He will behave as we anticipate tomorrow.”
“And you’re willing to risk lives on that?”
“Commander—”
“No,” Peabody interrupted Eve. “He asked me. I would risk mine on the lieutenant’s judgment. It’s easier to say so since, in this case, mine runs the same path. I wouldn’t risk lives, even my own, to save the department’s face. That’s what we’d be doing to publicize Pauley’s face now. Risking lives to save face. That’s my judgment, sir.”
“Jack, again if it matters, that’s my judgment as well.”
Whitney glanced at MacMasters. “And mine, but it still has to be sold. I’ll be speaking, very shortly, with Officers Harrison and Cunningham. They are your men, Jonah, but the fact remains the operation and the results are Dallas’s responsibility.”
“Yes, sir, they are,” Eve agreed.
“You have thirty hours. I can hold the information for thirty hours. If the suspect isn’t in custody at that time, we go public. Damn the leak, Lieutenant, and get it done.”
“Yes, sir. Captain, my sincere regrets.”
“I want in.” MacMasters pushed to his feet. “The leak will cost you at least one man. I want to take his place.”
There were times, Eve thought, you had to go with the gut. “With the commander’s permission, we could use you.”
“Your call. I’ll have Anna take Carol and your family home.”
I’ll drive,” Roarke said when they prepared to head to Central. With a shrug Eve slid in, and gave herself the luxury of closing her eyes.
She opened them again when something landed in her lap. She lifted her eyes at the candy bar. “First cake, now candy.”
“You look like you could use a lift.”
“It could’ve been worse.” Her head ached, her face throbbed, and her suspect was probably having a cold brew and a good laugh. “I don’t know how at this very minute, but it could’ve been worse. There could have been locusts,” she decided, and tore the wrapping off the chocolate. “That would’ve been worse.”
“On a happier note, I don’t believe the department will be troubled by a lawsuit from the bereavement company.”
She bit in, savored. “What did you do, buy the place?”
“An interesting solution, but no. It was simply pointed out that the company held the lion’s share of liability as it was their security who allowed an intruder, which I assumed was a wiser term than suspect.”
She took another bite, sneered a little. “You got that.”
“That they allowed the intruder access to their facilities, into a memorial for a murdered minor where several people, including police officers were injured. I believe those in charge now understand the ramifications, and the possible consequences—and publicity—of a countersuit.”
“That’s why you wheel the deals.”
“It is, yes. How’s my favorite face?”
She turned to study him. “You look okay.”
“And as fond as I am of what I see in the mirror, I like your face even more.”
“It hurts.” She allowed herself a momentary sulk. “I’m glad it hurts because it reminds me I fucked up.”
“Oh well, it’s pity party time. Go on then, you’re among friends.”
“I should’ve anticipated him infiltrating the staff.”
“Why?” Roarke glanced at her, tried not to smile when he watched her scowl over the next bite of candy. “From where I’m sitting it’s more trouble than it was worth—or should’ve been.”
“Because he’s careful. It gave him better cover. Who looks at all those black suits and sees anything but another black suit? It gave him more access, let him choose his time, which was at peak.”
“And added to the risk of being tapped by the senior staff members and managers who know the people assigned to each suite or memorial. I’ll tell you why he went that way—took an unnecessary risk—if you want my view on it.”
“I’ll take your view on it.”
“He could get a look at his work, close-up, another pat on the back from himself to himself.” Adjusting his speed, Roarke snuck through a light on the yellow. “He delivers some flowers, gives her a study. And I’ll wager hoped to take himself some photos that he’d look back on fondly.”
“Goddamn it. Goddamn it, that’s exactly what he’d do.” She dragged a hand through her hair, pulled. “I missed it.”
“Easy to see it from this side, analyzing the whys after the fact. His youth is part of it—caution and impulse—and it’s most likely she’s his first kill. This is his mission, and he’d be careful not to risk it. Now, he’s got the makings for a nice scrapbook.”
“Let’s keep this between us, for now. I let MacMasters on the team. He doesn’t need to hear this.”
“Is that wise, letting him on?”
“I’m going to find out.”
She took her time getting to the conference room. She wanted everyone assembled when she arrived. She moved in briskly, walking to the front of the room, waiting while Roarke took his seat.
“Captain MacMasters is joining this team, as of now. I’ll be taking individual reports and analyses. Before I do, I want the individual who shared the sketch of the suspect with Detective Cunningham, and possibly others, to identify himself.”
She didn’t need a raised hand, a confession, not when she saw Officer Flang’s eyes cut away.
“Flang, explain yourself.”
“Lieutenant, I was just trying to help. It was getting really crowded in there, and the more eyes we had—”
“Did I or did I not give a direct order regarding this, Officer, when you brought up the issue in the pre-op briefing?”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“I have to assume, Officer, that you considered yourself more capable of leading today’s operation than me, that you believe your judgment superior to mine.”
“No, sir, I just thought—”
“You thought it was acceptable to disobey a direct order from a superior officer. You’re mistaken. You’re on report, Officer Flang, and you are dismissed.”
“Lieutenant—”
“Don’t speak.” Her order chilled the room as Flang visibly withered under her stare. “Further, if one more drop—a single drop—of this leak slides out of the pipe, I will see to it that you’re charged with obstruction of justice. I want a list of every name with whom you shared this information on my desk inside fifteen minutes. Now, I repeat, Officer, you are dismissed.”
The room was silent as a tomb as Flang left.
“If anyone else believes their judgment is better than mine, or that following orders is optional, there’s the door.” She waited two beats, let the silence hum. “Now, we’re going to go over every step of this clusterfuck from every angle, then we’ll outline, streamline, ref
ine and re-refine the op for tomorrow.
“Feeney. Security.”
21
WELL INTO THE EVENING, WITH EVERY POSSIBLE contingency addressed, dissected, and readdressed, Eve walked through the doors of home with Roarke.
Summerset, looming as usual, cocked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve had your monthly facial, Lieutenant.”
“Trina will be here tomorrow. Maybe she can decorpse yours.”
Eve scowled her way up the steps. “Damn it, that was weak. His was better. His was good. Just one more thing to be pissed about.”
“I’m surprised you have the energy to bicker. I want an hour in the whirlpool.”
She rolled her tense shoulders, and winced as the movement sent something new throbbing. “That sounds good. I’ve got aches making themselves known all over.”
“Start the tub, why don’t you, and we’ll both have a whirl. I’m getting us both a very big glass of wine.”
“We covered it all.” She went into the bathroom to order on the water, the temperature. As the wide scoop of tub began to fill, she went over the steps and stages of tomorrow’s operation.
“I can’t think of anything we left out. It’s a smaller space, more controlled. No excess civilians. As long as Mrs. Mimoto holds her own, just long enough to get him inside . . . Better, better for the case if he drops the mickey, but we can take him before that if she looks shaky. We have enough.”
Today’s botch, he thought, had shaken her confidence, had her second-guessing. “Put it aside for a bit. You’ll overthink it.” He came in with two glasses of wine—very large.
“The contingency op was always the better scenario. I wanted to take him today, shut him down, but . . .” Her mouth dropped open when Roarke shed his shirt. “Holy shit. I didn’t know you got hit.”
“Mmm.” He glanced at the mirror, and the symphony of bruises along his ribs. “My second favorite face avoided any violent contact, but a good deal of the rest of me feels like it’s been ten rounds with the champ, and the worse for it. It was a bloody madhouse in there.”
