by J. D. Robb
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Anger fired through grief again. “And if she had kept one, I wouldn’t let you see it. It would be personal. But she didn’t keep a diary. I have all of her things, and there’s nothing like that.”
“You have her things?” A little bubble of excitement, of hope opened in Peabody’s throat. “Can I see them?”
“Why should I—”
“Please, Mrs. Devin. I can’t explain everything, but I promise you I want to do right by Gail. I swear to you, that’s my only purpose in being here, in asking you.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.” The woman turned her back, strode through the living area to a dining nook, through that to a room off a kitchen that gleamed and smelled of lemon.
It was like a small bedroom without the bed. Clothes hung neatly in the closet—Peabody imagined more were neatly folded in the small dresser. Pieces of Gail Devin sat here and there. Whatnot boxes, scarves, a bright pink vase. Photos, framed posters, a Little League trophy, a fishing rod.
A slim case held discs. Music discs, music vids, Peabody noted. All arranged by category, alphabetized.
She got a little buzz.
“That’s a nice collection.”
“It was how she relaxed, let loose.”
I know her now, Peabody thought. She was smart and determined. A good cop. Where would a smart, determined, and good cop hide a record she wanted to keep handy, keep safe?
“Mrs. Devin, I have to ask you to let me borrow Gail’s music collection.”
Hot pink color stained cheeks already wet with tears. “Do you think I’d hand over what was Gail’s, one of her most important things, to a stranger?”
“She’s not a stranger to me.” Peabody looked in Mrs. Devin’s eyes and repeated, “I want to do right by Gail. If she were standing in front of my mother, I know she’d do the same for me.”
On her way back to Manhattan, Peabody had to pull over, rest her head on the wheel.
“Please, God,” she murmured. “Let me find something. Don’t let me have done this to that poor woman for nothing.”
18
EVE HAD A SHORT WINDOW TO CHECK IN WITH her own men, so she hit the bullpen between meetings. After a quick scan, she gestured to Trueheart.
“My office.”
She went in, grabbed coffee, downed half of it.
“Where’s Baxter?” she asked when Trueheart stepped in.
“He’s working a wit in the lounge, Lieutenant. I’m verifying some information via ’link. We’re—”
“Is there a reason I need to know what you’re working on?” she interrupted. “Any humps, bumps, problems, questions?”
“No, sir. Not at this time.”
“Good. Is there anything anybody’s got going that requires me? You pay attention, Trueheart,” she said when he hesitated. “You know what’s moving out there. I don’t have time for a rundown unless I need a rundown.”
“Um, no, sir. I don’t think your attention’s required on anything current.”
“Get the word out. If I’m needed leave a memo. If it’s urgent, contact via ’link.”
“Yes, sir.”
She eased down on the corner of her desk, a deliberate move to take some of the formal out of the exchange. “What’s the buzz out there, Trueheart?”
He looked at her, spiffy in his uniform. “Sir?”
“Jesus, Trueheart. I know damn well Baxter’s clipped some of the green off of you, and as I said previous, you pay attention. You know what the talk is. Let’s hear it.”
“Well, um. Everybody knows something’s going on, and it’s more than the dead junkie. Word’s out one of Lieutenant Oberman’s men went down, at the same scene.”
“And being cops they’re speculating,” Eve added. “And laying money on various scenarios.”
He flushed a little. “It’s very possible, Lieutenant.”
“Get the word out I consider speculation the natural order of things, and would be shocked, Officer, shocked and appalled to discover gambling was going on in my bullpen.”
He gave her a sober nod, spoiled a little by his struggle to control a grin. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”
“I can be contacted, but only on urgent matters, for the next two hours. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Alone, she stood a moment, finishing her coffee and studying her board. When her ’link signaled, she saw Peabody on the display.
“Dallas.”
“I think I might have something,” Peabody began.
Eve switched her to privacy mode and took the communication on the way to Whitney’s office.
Whitney opened the door personally. There were new lines dug into his face, she noted, more gray threaded through his hair than there had been even a few days before.
Command, she thought, could be a harsh master.
“Lieutenant.”
“Sir.”
He gestured her into his office with its wide windows to the city he was sworn to protect.
Commander Marcus Oberman stood in front of one of them—tall, sturdy in his serious gray suit and steel blue tie. He’d let his hair go white, kept it shorn short, military style. Command had left its mark on him as well, but he remained a handsome man, striking and fit at eighty-six.
“Commander Oberman,” Whitney said, “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Lieutenant.” Oberman extended his hand. “I appreciate you taking the time to come in to meet with me. I understand the value of your time.”
“It’s an honor, Commander.”
“And for me. You have an impressive reputation. Your commander speaks highly of you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Can we sit?” Oberman asked, deferring to Whitney.
“Please.” Whitney gestured to chairs.
Oberman took one. “You were barely out of the Academy when I retired from this office,” Oberman began, “but I’ve followed some of your investigations in the media, and heard the buzz at the trough where we old warhorses gather.”
He smiled when he said it, the bright blue eyes he’d passed to his daughter friendly on hers. But Eve felt herself being summed up.
She had no quibble with that, as she did the same with him.
“Of course, now with the success of Nadine Furst’s book, your work on the Icove case is well documented. It’s been good for the department, wouldn’t you agree, Jack, the interest in that case? How it was pursued, investigated, and closed?”
“I would.”
“From what I’m told and, observed, Lieutenant, you’ve butted heads with fellow officers during the course of investigations.”
“I’m sure that’s accurate, Commander.”
His smile widened. “If you’re not butting heads now and then, you’re not doing the job—in my opinion.”
He leaned back in the chair. Taking the formal out, Eve judged, as she had with Trueheart.
“It takes confidence, even bullheadedness, as well as training, talent, dedication to stick with the job, and to move up the ranks. I understand you and my daughter are butting heads at the moment.”
“I regret if Lieutenant Oberman sees it that way.”
He nodded, his gaze pinned on hers. Still cop’s eyes, Eve thought. Shrewd, probing, the sort that could peel away the layers and expose what was hiding beneath.
“Your commander will attest to the fact I don’t make a habit of interfering with departmental business. I no longer have the chair, and hold nothing but respect for the man who does.”
“Yes, sir, as do I.”
“But a father is a father, Lieutenant, and from that job no man retires. I expect you and Lieutenant Oberman would have some certain friction between you as you are different types, have different work styles. But you’re both still ranked officers of the NYPSD.”
“Absolutely understood, Commander.”
“I hadn’t inte
nded to become involved in this situation, in any way.” He lifted his hands, spread them. “Even when I had the chair, I believed my officers should settle their own differences.”
Daddy refusing to grease the wheels? Eve thought. That had to chap Renee’s ass. “Yes, sir. I agree.”
“I reconsidered this only after learning early this morning that one of my daughter’s men had gone down. The officer who was at the center of the friction.”
“It’s very regrettable Detective Garnet lost his life, sir.”
“Every man lost can and does affect us all, but most particularly his commanding officers. You’ve lost men under your command, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” She could list their names. She knew their faces.
“It’s my hope, Lieutenant, that given these new and tragic circumstances, you will agree to expunge the mark you placed on the fallen officer’s record. Deservedly placed,” he added. “But I would reach out to you now on this, for Lieutenant Oberman and her man.”
“No, sir. I regret I’m unable to accommodate you on this matter.”
He sat back, obviously taken by surprise. “It’s so important to you, Lieutenant, that this rip stands? On a dead man?”
“Dead or alive, he earned it. I apologize to the father, sir, but hope the commander who held this chair, and who served this department honorably for more years than I’ve been alive, will accept my stand when I say Detective Garnet’s lieutenant, present throughout that incident, did not intervene. Did not control the situation.”
“Are you directing the rip at Garnet or his lieutenant?”
“I’m not in the position to discipline his lieutenant. Respectfully, sir, I will not expunge his suspension. And in fact have already begun procedures that will result, I believe, in his expulsion from the force. Posthumously.”
“That is a harsh stance. A harsh line.”
“Yes, sir, it is. You may not be aware, Commander, that last evening Detective Garnet came to my home, did in fact lie in wait at my home. He attempted to assault me. Did, in fact, make physical contact. Did, in fact, draw his weapon.”
“No.” Oberman’s face went to stone. “I was not aware. I was not apprised.”
“The incident is on record, sir, and was reported immediately after it occurred. I believe Lieutenant Oberman will have been made aware of it.”
She waited just a beat to let that little gem shine.
“Detective Garnet’s death is regrettable, Commander, but it is my opinion he didn’t deserve his rank, his badge. I will continue to do whatever I can to see he’s stripped of them. His death doesn’t make him any less of a bad cop.”
“No, it does not. I withdraw my request, Lieutenant Dallas. And I apologize for making it.”
“No apology necessary, sir.”
Eve rose as he did.
“I’ll let you, both of you, get back to your work. Thank you, Commander Whitney, for giving me the time. And you, Lieutenant.”
“It was an honor to meet you, sir.”
As Whitney led Oberman to the door, the former commander paused, turned back to Eve. “Do you believe Garnet’s death comes out of the murder of this Keener?”
“I’m not working Garnet’s case, sir, but am cooperating and will continue to cooperate fully with the officers assigned to that investigation.”
“I see.” He looked at her for a long moment, then walked out without another word.
“He’s embarrassed.” Whitney closed the door. “Angry and embarrassed to have put himself in this position. And there’s a place in him now, twisting inside as he wonders, worries, considers what position his daughter might be in.”
“Yes, sir,” Eve agreed. “It’s going to be worse for him, and soon.”
And as Whitney walked to the window to look out at his city, Eve understood he, too, was angry and embarrassed.
“All the years he gave this job, this city. All the years he sat in command. All the work he put into helping rebuild and reform this department after the Urbans? And his name will always carry this.”
“Her name.”
Whitney shook his head as he turned back. “You don’t have children, Dallas. It will always be his name. And it will always be his shame.”
She waited until Whitney returned to his desk, sat heavily behind it.
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“So given.”
“I can’t and won’t say that none of this will fall on you. You’re in command, so it will. But I can and will say you’re not responsible.”
“Being in command makes me responsible.”
“No, sir. Taking responsibility and being responsible aren’t always the same thing. You’ll take it because you’d never do otherwise. But Renee Oberman is responsible, and in a way that’s deeply unfair, so is her father. His name and his reputation, the awe he inspires, allowed her room, inclined some to turn a blind eye, influenced others to go along.”
“Including me?”
“I can’t answer that, Commander. But I know when I brought this to you, you didn’t turn a blind eye or give her room. You acted as a commander, because you’d never do otherwise. And you acted, knowing full well what would fall on you. You could’ve done it differently.”
Obviously intrigued, he sat back. “How so?”
“You could’ve found a way to get her off the job. You could’ve found a way to pressure her off, to keep it internal, to weed out her squad. And, sir, you could have covered it up. Kept it inside, called on the blue line. Dead man’s just a junkie. Sure, cops are dead, but you can’t bring them back.”
She paused a moment, watching his face. “You probably considered it, weighed it out, for about five minutes. You could’ve made it work—I can see how you could’ve made it work. But you’d never take that out. Because you’re in command. Because you’re a cop, sir, and you’ll never be anything else.”
He pressed his palms together, tapped his index fingers on his chin. “You assume you know me, Lieutenant.”
“I do know you, Commander.” She thought of what Peabody had said to her. “I have had the opportunity to study some of your work as a detective, as you moved up the ranks. I have studied and observed your methods and manner since I’ve served under you. I respect how you sit the chair.”
“Do you consider how you might do the same? How you might sit this chair one day?”
“That’s a terrifying thought.”
She made him laugh. He rose, walked to the AutoChef. And sighed. “Christ, I wish I had some of your coffee.”
“I can have some sent up.”
He shook his head, made do with what he had—then brought her a cup, once again reminding her of her earlier session with Peabody.
“Sit down, Dallas. Tibble will be here any minute, and IAB will be right behind him. We’re going to stick there, you and I, not only in your proprietary role in the Keener homicide, but in your integral role in the Oberman investigation. I believe Tibble will agree. If not, we’ll convince him.”
“Yes, sir, we will. Commander ... contact Nadine Furst.”
He lifted his eyebrows, said nothing.
“She will agree to and proceed by stipulations of timing, off-the-record statements, of confidentiality. She won’t release anything until you give her the green.”
“You want me to use her to spin this off me?”
“Not precisely, sir, no. Nadine likes to get her teeth in red meat as much as any reporter. She’s just better at seeing the real story—not just the jazz that pulls ratings. That’s why, I think, she pulls them. She digs for the truth, not just the juice. I know we have our PR people, media liaisons, mouthpieces, but in my opinion, she’s worth ten of them.”
He nodded slowly, watching her now. “Go on.”
“Sir. Renee Oberman’s actions will hurt the department once they become public. More, they’ll hurt the public as cage doors will certainly open. I see the value in using whatever is at our disposal to minimize that damage. Wit
h truth. Corruption existed. When uncovered it was ruthlessly, systematically, and unhesitatingly cut out.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Sir . . .”
“You’re still in the speak freely zone, Dallas.”
“Go on her show. You, the chief if he’ll agree. Me, Peabody. Especially Peabody. The situation she was in, the actions she took, who she is, will play well.” Eve pushed, hard, surprising herself how fiercely she wanted to convince him. “A good cop—a young female detective trapped in a deadly situation—who turned that and spearheaded the exposure of corruption, of murder and treachery.
“We’re the blue line, sir, and that will resonate on-screen. But Peabody is the face, the very human element. And she would symbolize who we are, contrast sharply against what Renee Oberman is.”
He rubbed his chin, and his lips curved a little above his fingers. “You can carve out an angle like that, an excellent angle, and believe the idea of your ass in the chair someday down the road is terrifying?” He waved off her response before she could make it. “I should have thought of it myself, should have thought it through exactly that way. I’ll contact Furst.”
Something inside her unknotted. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m wondering why I haven’t assigned you to Media and PR.”
“Because, sir, I hope I’ve done nothing to deserve that kind of punishment.”
Both he and Eve rose when Whitney’s admin announced Chief Tibble.
He was dark, long, and lean, and wore a suit well. A good look, Eve knew, for media conferences and screen time. But there was considerably more under the surface.
He studied Eve a moment, then addressed her directly. “This avalanche was precipitated by a dead junkie in a bathtub.”
“No, sir, this avalanche was precipitated by Renee Oberman’s corrupt and illegal use of her badge, her name, her rank, and this department.”
“Point well taken, and well expressed. But I wasn’t talking about the goddamn shit rolling down the goddamn hill, but what set off the roll.”
“That would be a dead junkie in a bathtub, sir—technically.”
“We’re going to use him, everything and everyone that came before and after him, to bury her in it. When we do, the department’s going to stand on top of that shit pile and claim victory. We’re going to work on that, Jack.”