by Warren Adler
Fiona felt the man's pain. It did not take much of a leap of faith to imagine her father in that role if events had taken the wrong turn years ago. The attendant glanced toward Fiona, who nodded, and he closed the drawer.
Herbert wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, then turned away and walked with them out of the room. Fiona led him to a small office set aside specifically for the aftermath of these trying circumstances. There was a battered desk in a corner and some scattered mismatched wooden chairs.
Herbert slumped in a chair, avoiding their eyes, obviously trying to collect his thoughts. His ashen face was now flushed and droplets of perspiration had appeared on his upper lip. Fiona had been through this routine many times before. Unfortunately, repetition did not lessen the effect on her emotions.
"We've got to get this bastard," Herbert said suddenly after a long pause, his lips trembling.
"We will, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said. Herbert slowly lifted his eyes and looked at them both as if for the first time.
"Frankly," he said with evident scorn, "I'm not very optimistic."
"I don't understand," Fiona replied. Of course, she understood. The reputation of the Washington MPD had suffered mightily in the last few years. Judging from closing ratios, the department seemed a model of incompetence, which it wasn't. Actually, the closing ratio on mystery murders, such as this one, was pretty much in line with other cities. But the gang and drug-related killings, unfortunately, were not as easily closed and they pulled down the percentages.
Fiona was determined not to debate this point with Herbert. His mental state made rational argument impossible. Besides, the prevailing mood everywhere was a general cynicism about the police. In this case, the essential point of the moment was to get Herbert to cooperate with their investigation.
"I'm going to see to it that not a stone is unturned to find the sick bastard who did this," he said, staring at both of them with obvious contempt. It was not uncommon, Fiona knew, for a victim's relative to direct his anger and frustration toward the police. At this point any attempt to defend their position would only make things worse.
"First, I'm going back to Chicago tomorrow to bury my little girl," Herbert said. "Then I'm coming back here and I don't intend to leave this town until justice is done."
"Which is exactly our intention, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said.
"Is it really?" Herbert asked.
Fiona ignored the sarcasm. Nothing, she knew, could placate the man while he was in this state.
"Now let's start from the beginning," Herbert said. Fiona and Gail exchanged glances. The man was putting himself in charge of the investigation. Still, Fiona decided, it was not the time to challenge him. Obviously, he was a man used to being the boss and manipulating others.
"The beginning?" Fiona asked. It was more of a reflex than a question. Where, indeed, was the beginning, she wondered, instantly sorry that she uttered the remark. She could see that he had interpreted it as a display of bad attitude.
"Let me say at the onset"—his glance played between Fiona and Gail—"I have been a United States Attorney and have turned down numerous opportunities to be on the federal bench. I have both prosecuted and defended criminals. My firm is one of the most prestigious in the United States. I am the managing partner of my firm, which employs two hundred and seventy-eight lawyers. Moreover, I am intimately acquainted with many of the most powerful figures in this town. I have the clout to make things happen here and, I warn you in advance, I will go to the ends of the earth to find the bastard who did this thing to my daughter. Do you get my drift?"
His drift was inescapable. Fiona was feeling less and less sympathy for the man and more and more for the Eggplant. The Chief would have to react to the man's pressures and there was no doubt in Fiona's mind that Herbert could muster the muscle to make the Eggplant sweat and the department dance.
"Do you understand, girls?" Herbert hissed.
By then, Fiona surmised, he would test her level of tolerance, but she also knew that she would have to tread carefully. The ace card she held, his daughter's possible compliance, could be frittered away by a bungled effort on her part. Worse, she had to continue to hide her suspicions about Justice Lipscomb. If her first theory held, Herbert would be mortified. If her second, a long shot, proved correct, Herbert would be shocked into stupefaction.
Even the revelations of such suspicions without absolute proof would have negative implications. For him, whether proven or not, it would be a no-win situation. Deep conflict lay just ahead.
"We girls do understand, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said, ignoring his deliberate put-down but unable to resist a dollop of vitriol.
"Good. Now." He paused. Her remark seemed to sail harmlessly over his head. "Are there any leads?"
"None yet," Fiona replied, going along.
"Any hard evidence? Latents? Clues? Have the lab boys finished their work?"
"Nearly," Fiona replied. "But they're still plugging along."
"You mean they have nothing?" Herbert demanded.
"Not so far."
"Not so far. Not so far." Herbert slapped his thighs with his fists. "I can foresee what I'll be getting around here. Not so far. That will be the operative phrase. Not so far." He suddenly shot a glance at Fiona.
"I want the best people on this job. Do you understand? The best."
"Is your implication that you're dealing with less than that, Mr. Herbert?" Fiona inquired pointedly.
"I think I'd like a little more experience brought to bear," Herbert said.
"I see," Fiona said nodding her head. It seemed, at this moment, futile to defend themselves. Again she exchanged glances with Gail, who returned a look of unqualified support.
"And please. Don't lay any of that gender bullshit on me. A female detective might do wonders on television, but I'd like to have someone on this case with years of experience in dealing with crimes of this nature."
"You mean an all-male team?" Fiona said.
"I didn't say that," Herbert replied, backpedaling. Fiona was having a progressively difficult time trying to make allowances for his grief.
"I think perhaps I should consult the Chief," Fiona said.
Herbert looked at his watch.
"I'm certain he has been consulted already." So he had lost no time in putting his muscle to work, Fiona suspected. He was already calling in his political chits. Poor Eggplant, Fiona thought. She looked toward Gail and raised her eyes. Prentiss nodded her understanding.
"One thing is certain. We're going to get the man who murdered my daughter."
At that moment, the Eggplant walked in the door. He looked harassed and angry as his eyes roamed the room. Of all the places in the world he would have liked to have been at this moment, this one was, obviously, at the bottom of the list. Fiona knew exactly what had happened. The mayor had been leaned on by members of the Illinois congressional delegation.
"This is Thomas Herbert, Phyla Herbert's father. Mr. Herbert, Captain Luther Greene."
The men shook hands and the Eggplant, in a defensive gesture deliberately assumed the most authoritative seat in the room, behind the battered desk. Neither of the men made any effort to be ingratiating to the other.
"We're pushing every button," the Eggplant began.
"That's not what I've been getting from your girls," Herbert sneered.
Girls? Hold off, Fiona urged the Eggplant silently. In a white man, she would have read the reaction on his skin. With the Eggplant, his eyes told the story. Behind the facade of his official persona, he was fuming. He appeared to have picked up her silent message. Besides, he had learned the hard way all about acceptable feminist nomenclature.
"Have we got the pathologist's report, FitzGerald?" the Eggplant asked.
"I have a verbal report, Captain," Fiona said crisply. She was about to take Mr. Herbert on his first tour of the minefield he insisted on traversing. "And these pictures."
She had carried the set of pictures in a manila envelope in her pocket
-book. She slipped them out of the envelope and reverse rolled them to flatten them.
"Would you care to look at them, Mr. Herbert?" the Eggplant asked politely. He shot Fiona a glance of approval.
"Of course," Herbert replied.
"I must warn you," the Eggplant began.
"Warning noted," Herbert shot back arrogantly.
He took a pair of gold folding glasses from his jacket pocket, slipped them from the leather case, opened them and placed them carefully on his nose. With shaking hands, he picked up the pictures. His reaction was instantaneous.
"I'm sorry," the Eggplant said. "They're not pretty."
Swallowing hard, beads of perspiration popping on his forehead, Herbert tried to hold himself together as he forced himself to look at the pictures. The flush on his face disappeared and his pallor indicated that he might be ready to keel over.
"I'll get some water," Gail said, rushing out of the office. Herbert sighed, shook his head and gave the pictures back to Fiona. A nerve had begun to palpitate in his jaw and his nostrils flared as he drew in air. Somehow he managed to pull himself together, and by the time Gail arrived with the water, he was almost under control, although his hands continued to shake as he held his glass and drank the water.
"I want to assure you, Mr. Herbert, that we're moving as fast as we can..."
"But you've got nothing. Not so far..." His display of vulnerability did not seem to make him less contentious. He cut a contemptuous glance at the Eggplant. "I won't sit still for that, Captain."
"I understand, Mr. Herbert. But you've got to realize..."
"That these things take time, right? Well, here are the questions I'm asking and you know I've got the right and the clout to do so..."
The Eggplant nodded. He was showing amazing patience.
"The first question is"—he glanced toward Fiona—"are we giving this a full-court press?"
"Of course," the Eggplant replied with exactly the right amount of muted indignation. "These detectives are part of a special team assigned to investigate crimes against women. Our belief is..."
"I'm sorry, Captain. I don't buy it. Murder has little to do with gender. I want the best and most experienced. Excellence is the only criteria that works for me. I don't care about race or gender or religion. Are they the best?"
The Eggplant turned toward Fiona and Gail.
"For this case, yes. They are the best."
Fiona felt a shiver of emotion. She was proud of him.
"I don't agree. I would like you to reassess their assignment."
Fighting words, Fiona thought. It was time to throw a handful of salt on the man's open wound. In her judgment, he had gone too far.
"The chief medical examiner, Dr. Benson," Fiona began, turning toward Herbert. "His forensic reports shows that the immediate cause of death was an asthma attack."
Herbert flushed.
"An asthma attack!" he shouted.
Gail looked startled. The Eggplant stiffened in his chair. Herbert seemed to fulminate with rage.
"You must need a new medical examiner," Herbert muttered with anger. "I've just seen those pictures. Multiple stab wounds. Do you people think you can get away with that?"
"According to Dr. Benson, the wounds were administered after her death, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said calmly.
"I smell either incompetence or cover-up here," Herbert sneered, raising his voice. "I can assure you, I won't take this. I demand another autopsy. Whoever did this one is obviously incompetent, inexperienced or deliberately malicious. In fact, I will get my own pathologist. You people are amateur night. This is an investigation of my daughter's murder. What is going on here? I demand a reevaluation of this."
He was unhinged and raving and there was no way to calm him. Nevertheless his accusations demanded a response.
"The medical examiner," Fiona began—she was angry now and showed it—"a man of irrefutable competence and experience, did the autopsy himself. He has rarely, if ever, been wrong. If he says that the cause of death was an asthma attack, you can bank on it."
Her firm defense, while not mollifying the man, made him hesitate.
"The stab wounds are obviously the perpetrator's reaction to her sudden death," the Eggplant said, quickly offering his own interpretation. He, too, must have been shocked by the revelation. "His action was, it seems to me, an attempt at cover-up ... a deliberate action to make the crime look like the work of a ... an unbalanced pervert."
"A very convenient explanation, Captain," Herbert sneered. He seemed to be winding up for another diatribe against the homicide division. Again Fiona was moved to action.
"Did she suffer from asthma, Mr. Herbert?" Fiona snapped.
Herbert glared at her.
"I don't agree with this conclusion," he said.
"Did she have a history of asthma?" Fiona persisted.
"Why don't you ask your wonderful pathologist?" Herbert sneered. "Besides, if you know the answer, why ask me?"
He was growing exceedingly uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair, his hands clasping and unclasping.
"I'm going to have my own pathologist examine her. Somebody in Chicago that I can trust..." His voice trailed off as if he needed time to compose himself. "Yes. She was an asthmatic. But she had just about outgrown it. She had only one attack in the last three years."
"Two attacks, Mr. Herbert," Fiona reminded him.
"Probably brought on by what she was going through," Gail interjected, breaking her silence, her pity for the man obviously aroused.
"Either way," Herbert said sarcastically, "she was obviously raped and murdered..."
Fiona felt moved to reply, but a signal from the Eggplant silenced her.
"You have a point, Mr. Herbert," the Eggplant said. He stood up and looked directly at Fiona. "Would you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Herbert?"
Whatever had been on Herbert's mind seemed to evaporate with the Eggplant's request. Perhaps Herbert was assuming that the Eggplant was acting to relieve Fiona of the case. In any event, he acquiesced without protest.
"Officer Prentiss will stay here with you," the Eggplant said, nodding to Gail.
In the corridor, the Eggplant moved out of earshot to an alcove where there was a soda machine. He fished in his pocket for bills and placed one in the changemaker.
"Coke?"
She shook her head. He watched as the machine rumbled and offered up its can of Coke. It opened with a hiss and he immediately swallowed half its contents.
"Don't do it, FitzGerald," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Don't do what?" She was genuinely puzzled.
"Tell him your theory."
Which one? she wondered.
"This is not the time to tell him that his daughter was a willing participant."
"I hadn't intended to," she told him. "I was merely going to mention that she had not been penetrated, that no semen was found and that she had been attacked in the anus with an oversized dildo."
"Christ," the Eggplant said, blowing out a deep gust of breath. "It'll make him crazy. He's already stirred up a storm and the Post has played it up on the front of the Metro section. I've been fielding media questions all morning." He finished the remainder of the can, crushed it between strong fingers and threw it into the nearby receptacle. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.
"Maybe that was her sex thing and he knows it," Fiona speculated.
"I doubt it. In any event, don't expect him to confirm it."
"That's why I kept my big mouth shut."
"I'd rather he read the report," the Eggplant said. "He's already down on Benson's opinion. Let's not stir him up any more than we've done already."
"He had it coming."
"I don't disagree."
"I know. You feel sorry for the bastard."
The Eggplant looked down at his hands.
"There you go showing me that compassionate streak again, Chief. Don't worry, I won't blow your image."
The Eggplant shook his head and smiled. Fiona shrugged away any more sentiment and they started back to the office where Gail and Herbert were waiting. Before the Eggplant opened the door, he paused and studied Fiona's face.
"You really believe she was consensual?"
"Yes," she said firmly, convinced by her own experience, instinct and Benson's findings.
The Eggplant sighed and shook his head.
"He does have the clout to make us dance, FitzGerald."
"When I saw you come through that door, I made that assumption."
"I take him at his word. He's going to make a parallel investigation through his own sources. And he's going to try and get you and Prentiss off the case."
"If you want, we'll go quietly," Fiona said.
"You've never done anything quietly, FitzGerald. You think I want a gender discrimination case in my face?"
"Hell, you said in front of witnesses that we were the best. We'd win hands down."
He chuckled as he pushed open the door.
What struck her immediately was the way in which Herbert and Gail were positioned. They were still sitting in their respective chairs, but they had moved closer to each other, their knees almost touching. As a good judge of body language, Fiona speculated that Gail was in the process of charming the man, winning his confidence, doing the good-cop waltz.
"I was explaining to Mr. Herbert the theory behind the Captain's pairing us, the motivation behind the arrangement."
"Officer Prentiss has, at least, put it in perspective," Herbert said grudgingly. He gave Gail a benign kindly nod. He turned to look at Fiona. "She gave me a little background on you as well, Sergeant. I knew your father when I was a young Assistant U.S. Attorney."
So that was it, Fiona thought. Gail had used the time for a bit of name-dropping to a man to whom clout, big names and connections meant everything. Fiona shot an unseen wink in Gail's direction. She was slowly putting the pin back in his grenade.
"We were out there arranging for you to have a copy of the autopsy report, Mr. Herbert," the Eggplant said. He, too, was apparently relieved by the environmental change.
