Purity in Death (19 page)

"All right."

She led Eve out of the dim parlor, up a set of stairs. Cops had spilled out, crowded there as well. But they stepped aside, eyes lowered respectfully as Colleen passed.

"My husband would like to meet you as well. And Lily. But I asked them if I could have this time alone with you. They understood."

She opened a door, walked into a small sitting room. More flowers, soft fabrics just a little overdone in style, just a little too dark in their wine-red tones.

"These places are so horribly depressing, aren't they? I wonder why they don't let in the light." Colleen walked to the window, threw open the heavy drapes, and let in the sun. "I suppose a lot of people find comfort in the shadows."

"Do you?" she asked Eve, then shook her head. "My thoughts are rambling. Please, sit down."

Colleen took a chair, sat with her back very straight. "I've seen you on-screen. You always seem so competent, even when it's coverage of one of those social functions you attend with your husband. He's terribly handsome, isn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"It was kind of him to come as well. To make the time, to speak to me, my husband, Lily. Very kind. Kevin spoke of you occasionally. You never worked with him, though, did you?"

"Not directly, no. But I often depend on EDD in my work. Hall . . . Kevin was a valued member of the department."

"He admired you. I wanted to tell you," she added, smiling a little at the blank look on Eve's face. "He sometimes spoke of you working with Captain Feeney and the other young detective, Ian McNab. He was, I think, a little envious of your relationship with both Ian and the captain."

"Mrs. Halloway-"

"I only tell you that so you might understand why he might have said or done the things he said or did when he was in such terrible trouble."

"Mrs. Halloway, I don't need an explanation. Kevin was ill, very ill, and none of what happened after they infected him was any fault of his."

"It's good to hear you say that. I heard the statements this morning. Both of them. I wasn't sure if yours was just the departmental line, or if you meant it."

"I did mean it. Every word of it."

Colleen nodded. Her lips trembled once, then firmed. "I know what you did to try to save Kevin. I know you risked your own life to do so. And I know," she continued as Eve started to speak, "that you'll say you were doing your job. That's what all of you say. But I want to thank you first as a mother, just as a mother."

Her eyes swam and though she blinked to fight the tears, one spilled out and trailed down her cheek. "And I want to thank you for Kevin. Please . . . let me finish."

Still she had to stop for a moment, clear her throat. "My son was proud to be a police officer. He believed in what that stood for, respected it, and gave his best. They might have taken that from him as well as his life if not for you. If not for you, his captain, his commander, his fellow officers . . . that pride and respect might have been taken from him. Instead . . ."

She reached into a small black purse and took out her son's badge. "Instead, there's honor. I'll never forget it." She leaned forward now, her expression intense. "Stop them. You will stop them."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll stop them."

With a nod, Colleen leaned back again. "I've kept you long enough. I'm sure you have a great deal of work. I think I'd like to sit here in the light, for a little while."

Eve rose and went to the door. Then she turned and said what was on her mind. "Mrs. Halloway? He must have been awfully proud of you, too."

Again those lips curved, just a little. Again a single tear spilled down her cheek.

Eve slipped out and closed the door.

She was nearly to the stairs when Franco swooped up. Chang scurried in her wake like a pet dog. "We'll talk now."

When she headed for the privacy room, Eve caught her arm. "Mrs. Halloway's in there."

The impatience on Franco's face faded. Her one last glance at the door was full of sympathy. Then that faded as well as she strode down the hallway, pushed her way into another room.

It was some sort of office, manned at the moment by a young woman at a gleaming wooden breakfront that had been modeled into a workstation.

"I need this space," Franco snapped. "You'll have to leave."

Eve lifted her brows as the girl scrambled out. Franco was a woman who went where she wanted when she wanted. Eve admired the trait.

When Chang closed the door behind them, Franco launched into the attack. "You were instructed to use the official statement when responding to the media. We can't waste time and resources running along behind you and clearing up the mess."

"Then you'd better try to keep up. I got a heads up minutes before the latest statement from Purity was to be aired. I responded to said statement as I deemed appropriate."

"It's not your place to deem what is an appropriate response to the media." This came from Chang, in clipped tones. "It's my job to tell you what's appropriate in this area."

"The last time I looked I don't answer to you, and should that day ever come, I'll retire."

"Chief Tibble ordered you to cooperate," he reminded her. "Yet you refuse to accept the bookings that were arranged for maximum spin and effect. And now you issue your own statement without clearance. A statement that speaks not just for you, Lieutenant, but for the department. This is not acceptable."

"If the chief or my commander determines I've done or said the unacceptable, then they can dress me down, Chang. You can't."

She took a step toward him, was darkly pleased to see him take one back. "Don't ever try to tell me how to do my job."

"You've never had any respect for me or my position."

Eve angled her head. "And your point is?"

"We'll see what Chief Tibble has to say about this."

"Run along and tattle, you little weasel. And let the grown-ups finish talking." She turned back to Franco, who'd said nothing during the exchange. "You got something else to say to me?"

"Yes, actually. Why don't you give us a minute here, Chang? We'll discuss the rest of this in my office in . . ." She checked the time. "Thirty minutes."

He went out, giving the door a sulky little slam.

"Do you try to irritate people, Dallas, or is it just an innate skill?"

"I guess it's the second, because it comes real easy. Especially with pissants like Chang."

"If I tell you I agree that Chang is an annoying, self-satisfied, and boring pissant-a statement I will vehemently deny making if repeated-can we table some of the hostility?"

"Why do you use him then?"

"Because he's good. He's very, very good. If I had to like everyone I worked with or who worked for me, I sure as hell wouldn't be in politics. Now, issue one, your statement this morning. Chang feels, and I agree-as does the mayor-that your use of Detective Halloway's death was ill advised."

"My use? Just one damn minute.
They
used him, shirking responsibility for his death. I responded and stuck the responsibility right back up their ass."

"And I understand the instinct that prompted you to do so. For God's sake, Dallas, do you think I function without a heartbeat? I don't. And that heart breaks for that woman down the hall. Damn it. She's lost her son. I have a son. He's ten. I can't imagine having to say good-bye to him the way Colleen Halloway is saying good-bye today."

"It seems to me it would be harder if people were allowed to think her son died for nothing."

"Didn't he?" Franco retorted, then shook her head. "Oh, I know how you cops think. On the job. I won't argue with you because I don't understand that either. But the point is that the more often his name is said, the more he's made the story, the harder it is to focus the media and the public on the message we want to send. Whatever you might think," she added as she turned back.

"I know more about this than you and Chang know.The second point is no statement should have been made without clearance."

"You won't box me in that way. I'm no media hound, but if and when I feel using it helps my investigation, I'll use it."

"Yet you toss back the bookings Chang arranged, programming where we'd have some control."

"I'm not sitting in some studio parroting departmental or mayoral approved responses and statements when my time and energies are required in a priority investigation. The fact is, I'm never doing it."

"Yes, so your commander has made clear."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Had to take a shot." Franco spread her hands. "We could use the airtime. The other matter I have to discuss with you is, potentially, a great deal more serious. It's already come to the mayor's ear that you questioned the Dukes this morning in the course of your investigation. A family who also lost their son recently, and who are protected by sealed files."

"He didn't waste any time. The information on the Dukes came into my hands. The connection to two of the victims, as well as Donald Dukes's profession, led me to believe an informal interview was warranted. Are you going to try to tell me how to do my job now?"

"Oh for Christ's sake." Franco threw up her hands. "Why do you insist on behaving as if we're on opposite sides."

"It feels that way."

"Do you know what will happen if Donald Dukes goes to the media? If he talks about being harassed in his own home by the primary in this already hot-button situation? Their son was hooked on illegals by Cogburn-"

"There's no evidence to support Cogburn was his first dealer."

"It doesn't
matter
if there's evidence," Franco fired back. "This is what would be said. Cogburn hooked an innocent, vulnerable twelve-year-old boy, from a good, solid, churchgoing family. The police failed to make a case. Later, this boy-now troubled, now recalcitrant due to his addiction- falls into the hands of a pedophile. Chadwick Fitzhugh beats and rapes young Devin, now a tender fourteen. The family is shattered, the boy is traumatized, and
again
the police fail to make a case."

"That's not the way it happened."

"That's the way it'll be presented, reported, discussed should they go public. Truth, pieces of the truth, outright lies, it doesn't matter once it's on the air. A picture will be painted, then you'll walk into it, questioning this damaged, grieving family who tried to do the right thing, who put their faith and their son's welfare into the hands of the system only to be failed in the most horrible way. You attempt to implicate them in a homicide investigation. You accuse them of being members of a group you've publicly called terrorists. And you do this in their home. Don't you see how this will play?"

"I'll tell you how it plays, Franco. Donald Dukes couldn't or wouldn't accept his son's sexual orientation-"

"Oh my God, oh my God." Franco pressed her fingers to her temples, seemed to try to drill them through. "You start saying that child was gay, you'll be in a lawsuit, and so will the department, probably the city before I can push you out of the nearest twenty-story window."

"Not if I push you first. In any case, evidence indicates he was gay, or certainly confused about his own sexuality. He never got the chance to make up his mind. His father is rigid, domineering. The kind of guy who's just not going to be wrong. He destroys evidence that may have helped make the case against Cogburn, but it's the system's fault. He edits and changes the facts in the Fitzhugh matter so the case falls apart, and again, it's the system's fault. Now he's found an outlet for his aggressions and his viewpoint: Purity."

"You have proof of all this?"

"Of some. I'll get the rest."

"Dallas, if I'm having a hard time believing any of this, no one else will believe it. In addition, you're speaking of facts and suppositions that were in a sealed. An official and public reprimand from your commander may not be enough to stop legal action, or the media storm."

"If and when my commander deems it necessary to reprimand me, that's his right and that's my problem. The media storm's yours and Chang's. Dukes can start all the legal actions he wants. They're not going to go anywhere once I put him in a cage. Are we done here?"

"You'd better be very sure of yourself," Franco warned.

"I'm sure of the job, and that's the same thing."

Eve walked out. As she started back downstairs, she heard the clear, strong voice of a tenor singing the opening bars of
Danny Boy.

Cops were always singing
Danny Boy
at funerals, she thought. She'd never known just why.

"Lieutenant." Roarke met her at the base of the stairs.

"I need some air," was all she said, and strode out the door.

Chapter 16

A double-parked delivery van had tied up traffic for what appeared to be a good six blocks. The resulting noise from blasting horns and hurled obscenities turned the air into one long scream of rage.

A glide-cart operator had overcooked and oversauced his kabobs. The stink of the greasy smoke was amazing.

Eve preferred the noise and stench to the murmurs and flowers inside.

She strode straight through the nauseating odor and dug out credits. "Gimme chocolate," she ordered the operator.

"Got sticks. Many ya want?"

"Six."

"Got yer fruitade, got yer Pepsi, got yer Coke, got yer fizzy water. Whatcha want?"

"Just the chocolate."

She tossed him the money, snagged the skinny sticks out of his hand. She bit fiercely into the first. They were already melting in the vicious fist of the heat.

Roarke bought a large water and grabbed a small mountain of napkins. "Hand one over. You'll be sick if you eat them all."

"I'm already sick." But she proved her depthless love by giving him one. "Peachtree gives me the thirty-second lecture on teamwork, ending in the warm,
we're both just public servants
arm squeeze. Then Chang and Franco jump on my ass about the statement I gave 75 this morning. Not screened, not approved. Let's not confuse the public with the truth. I'm a cop, not a public relations puppet."

"Which I'm sure you pointed out."

"Yeah." She smiled grimly, ate more chocolate. "There was that. Franco doesn't seem to be an idiot, especially for a politician. But she-and all of them-sure seem to be more interested in perception, in image, in spins than in the investigation."

"They wouldn't understand the investigation the way they would perception, image, and spin."

He drank water to wash down what was laughingly called chocolate by the city vendors, then dampened a napkin to get the smear of it off his fingers.

"And they wouldn't understand you and the fact that you care less about media exposure than you do what shirt you put on in the morning," he added, two-pointing the napkin into a recycler. "Which is not at all."

Eve looked down at her shirt. It was white, she thought. It was clean. What else did you need to worry about?

"We'd all be better off if they did what they did, and left me alone to do what I do. I've got suspects, damn it. Price, Dwier, and now the Dukeses. I crack any one of them, and this breaks open."

She started on the third stick. "Dukes called a lawyer. Jumped right on that. Whining harassment, making lawsuit noises that've put Franco and company into orbit."

"Was that unexpected?"

"No, I expected it. I guess I hoped it would hold line until after the memorial." She glanced back at the bereavement center. A few cops were heading out. Back to duty, she thought. Life didn't always go on, but the job did.

"He's in it, Roarke. Dukes. Slides into the profile like it was a tailor-made suit. You know how you handled Jamie this morning, what I said about knocking him back, grinding him into dust, then building him up again? Dukes wouldn't trouble himself with the last part of that cycle. My impression is he made his kid's life a small, personal hell. I'm going to bring him down, and the rest of them with him."

She looked up, picked out the window of the room where she'd sat with Colleen Halloway. "I'm going to stop them. I need you to get me as much data and background on Donald Dukes as you can-within legal bounds."

"If you want it within legal bounds, why ask me instead of Feeney or McNab?"

"Because I may be ordered to back off the Dukes, and if I am I can't ask them. So I'm asking you in case it plays that way. Seems to me a guy with all your companies would always be on the lookout for a good computer scientist. You'd do a background check, employment check, and so on before you considered hiring anyone on, right?"

"I certainly would. And I might casually mention some of that information to my wife." He stroked a finger down her chin. "That's very clever, Lieutenant."

"I want him in a box, and to get him there, I need all the angles. I'm going to have another talk with Clarissa Price this afternoon. She's not going to be happy to see me. Then I may bounce on to Dwier."

She looked down at her hand. The remaining stick was now a blob, and a dead loss. "Well, yuck."

She dumped it in a recycler, cleaned her fingers with the water and napkins Roarke provided.

"Hey, lady!" A man stuck his head out of his car window and shouted at her over the horns. "Why don't you blast that asshole up there, give the resta us a fricking break?"

"Your weapon's showing," Roarke told her, and she hitched the thin black jacket back over it.

A quick scan and she spotted a couple of uniforms coming out of the center. "Yo!" She held up her badge. "Roust that delivery jerk up there. He doesn't move along in one, slap him a ticket."

"You a fricking cop?" the man shouted.

"No, I just like carrying a fricking badge and a blaster. Lay off the horn." She turned back to Roarke, caught him grinning at her. "What?"

"You've got chocolate on your fricking badge, Lieutenant."

"Damn it." She'd nearly wiped it on her trousers before he snatched it out of her hand, used the last of the napkins. "Lift up your chin," he ordered.

"What? Is it on my face?"

"No." He leaned in-the perfect angle-and kissed her. "I just wanted to do that."

"Smart guy. Give me back my shield."

"It's back in your pocket."

She checked, shook her head. "Go use those fast fingers of yours to get me some data. I'm going to go grab Peabody and head to Child Services."

"I'll just see if McNab's ready to go."

"You brought them in the limo, didn't you?" she asked as they walked back.

"Yes, why?"

"You're spoiling my team." She turned toward the door just as Whitney came out.

"Lieutenant, Roarke. I thought you'd left."

"We were about to, Commander, as soon as I round up my team."

"Leave that to Roarke. Walk back to Central with me."

"Yes, sir. Tell Peabody to meet me at Central," Eve told Roarke. She took a step, stopped. "Tell her to walk," she added. "I don't want you dropping her off in the limo."

"As you like, Lieutenant." Roarke skimmed a finger over the dent in her chin. "I'll see you at home. Jack." He nodded at Whitney, then went inside.

"From the looks at this traffic, he wouldn't get a vehicle near Central for the next thirty minutes."

"He'd find a way," Eve replied, "and it makes a damn spectacle."

"I prefer walking when I can manage it," Whitney said as they started down the sidewalk. "You spent some time speaking with Halloway's mother, alone."

"She's got a lot of spine."

"Yes, she does. I believe you also spoke with the mayor."

"Yes, sir."

"He's understandably concerned about this situation."

"I think it's fair to say we're all understandably concerned about this situation."

"Our concerns may demonstrate themselves differently. You also spoke with Chang and the deputy mayor."

"We had words."

Whitney looked over at her. "You had words with a number of people today."

"Yes, sir. I believe the statement I gave Nadine Furst in response to the release by Purity was appropriate. It was also factual. Detective Halloway and his family deserve more than to have him used as a tool by terrorists to spread their message. The job owes him more than that."

"I'm very aware of what the job owes, Lieutenant." He stopped at the crosswalk with a crowd of other pedestrians waiting for the light. "As it happens, I found nothing inappropriate about your statement, nor does the chief. The mayor's office is less satisfied, but Chang isalready working to maximize the effect in our favor. It matters," Whitney said, though she hadn't spoken. Hadn't intended to.

The crowd started the surge seconds before the light changed. Both Eve and Whitney moved through it, picking up the pace to break clear.

"I could waste our time giving you the standard lines about politics, media relations, public relations, image and perception, and the often tricky dynamics between the NYPSD and the mayor's office."

Whitney flipped credits out of his pocket and into a beggar's cup without breaking stride. "But I won't. You're aware of all of this already, just as I'm aware you're not particularly concerned with any of that. I will say it will be helpful and it will be simpler for all involved if you cooperated with Chang as much as possible. When it doesn't impede or interfere with your investigation."

"Yes, sir."

"As to the matter of your interview with Donald and Sylvia Dukes this morning."

"It wasn't an interview, Commander, but a few informal questions in their home, and with their permission."

"You can play the semantics game when it suits you. Whatever term used, the files on Devin Dukes were sealed, and remain so at this time."

"Data isn't always accessed through files, sir."

"Yes, you can play the game. Are you willing to divulge your source?"

"No, sir, nor am I required to under Departmental Code 12, Article-"

"Don't quote departmental codes at me, Dallas." He continued to walk easily, despite the pressing heat. But his tone took on an edge. "If it comes to a civil trial, both you and those codes will be tested."

"It won't. Not only will the issue be moot when I charge Donald Dukes with conspiracy to commit, but he's going to need to pool all his legal resources for his defense."

"He's part of it?"

"He's up to his neck."

"The mother?"

Eve shook her head. "I don't think so. She's too passive. I'm doing a background to try to determine how skilled a programmer Duke might be. Regardless, I believe him to be a key player. He wouldn't settle for less. I could break him in Interview. He's angry and he's arrogant, and he needs to be right. He doesn't like women in authority, either, so that'll push. Likes them in their proper place," she continued, half to herself. "Wife's all shined up like a show dog, wearing an apron. Lip dye and earrings at nine in the morning."

"My wife puts on her makeup before breakfast"

"Weird. But nobody intimidates Mrs. Whitney. Nobody pushes her around." Eve caught herself, winced. "No disrespect intended, Commander."

"None taken."

"I need a few more threads to tie Dukes, then I can bring him in."

"Find the threads, and make them strong ones."

"I think he's maintained a relationship with the social worker and the cop who were on his son's case. And I think they're involved. I tie any one of them, I'll tie them all."

They streamed through another intersection, turned west.

"Make sure of it. A mistake will blow this up in our faces and you'll take the brunt of that. On another matter, it was good to see McNab on his feet."

"Yes, sir, very good."

"He looks a little shaky yet."

"I'm keeping his workload light, and Peabody's . . ." She clammed up, redirected. Must be something about walking outside like a couple of tourists that loosened her tongue, she decided. "Peabody's taking up the slack."

"Do you think I'm unaware of the relationship between the EDD detective and your aide, Lieutenant?"

Eve stared straight ahead. "I don't like to talk about it. It makes me twitchy."

"Excuse me?"

"Literally. I get this tic right under my eye every time . . . Never mind. Both Detective McNab and Officer Peabody fulfill their duties in an exemplary fashion. I plan to submit Peabody's name for consideration for promotion to Detective First Grade."

"How many years does she have in?"

"Almost three, and over a year of that in Homicide. Her work and her record warrant the consideration, sir. If you could find time to look at her files, and my evaluations, and if you agree with my recommendation, she could start preparing for the test."

"I'll let you know. Can you spare McNab for an hour, maybe two, this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, if necessary."

"Then I'm pulling him. He'll do a one-on-one with Furst, in studio, in response to the statements issued this morning."

"Sir, that doesn't go down easy. Putting him on display after his injuries? On the day of Halloway's memorial?"

"This is what's known as compromise, Lieutenant." His tone remained mild, a dash of ice water on the heat of hers. "Power and authority demand compromise. Do you doubt he can handle it? More, do you doubt he'll stand for Halloway?"

"No, sir, I don't doubt it."

"You don't like him being used as a symbol." Whitney moved to the entrance of Cop Central. "But that's what he is. And, Lieutenant, so are you."

Inside, he looked around the enormous lobby with its many data stations, animated locator maps. At the cops, at the victims, at the guilty.

"And so," he said, "is this. This stands for law and order, and it's on display. It is, very simply, on trial due to the manipulations and maneuvers of a group of terrorists. It's more than closing your case. It's winning the verdict. Find the threads. If you're going to take down the father of a dead teenager, be sure you tie them tight."

***

She decided to tie other threads by taking the time to write an official report on her morning activities. But when she walked into her office, Don Webster was at her desk.

"I keep finding IAB in my chair, I'm going to have to have it replaced."

"Close the door, Dallas."

"I've got a report to write, then I have to get out in the field."

He got up, closed the door himself. "We'll make this quick. I have to record this conversation."

"What's this conversation, and why do you have to record it?"

"It's in regards to your access of data contained in sealeds. Take a minute to think," he said before she could speak. "Take a minute to think before the recorder goes on."

"I don't need a minute. Turn it on and get this over with. I have a few pesky murders to solve while you're filing your internals."

"This is SOP. You know it. You had to know this was coming."

"To tell you the truth, I didn't think of it." And she'd kick herself for that later. "Had a few things on my mind today."