She moved straight to the sergeant’s desk, badged him. He was a hard-eyed, craggy-faced vet who looked like he enjoyed a nice bowl of nails for breakfast.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, out of Central, to see Lieutenant Delong.”
Those hard eyes trained on Eve’s face. “You the ones who caught the case?”
He didn’t have to specify which case—not for Eve, or for the cops within hearing distance. “That’s right.”
“Eighteenth squad’s one floor up. Stairs there, elevator there. You got any juice on it?”
“We’ve just started to squeeze. Has anyone off been in to see her, anyone we might want to talk to, the last few days?”
“Nobody comes to mind. If you need to see my log, I’ll make sure you get it. The rest of the desk shift’s, too.”
“Appreciate that, Sergeant.”
“I don’t know what kinda cop she was, but she never passed this desk without saying good morning. It says something about a person, they take a minute to say good morning.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
They took the open, metal stairs, and Eve felt cop eyes follow her to the second floor. The squad room was smaller than her bullpen—and quieter. Six desks jammed into the room, four of them manned. Two detectives worked their comps, two others their ’links. The Public Administrative Assistant sat at a short counter. His eyes were red, Eve noted, his white, white skin blotchy as if from a recent crying jag. He looked, to her, very young.
“Lieutenent Dallas and Detective Peabody to see Lieutenant Delong.”
“Yes, we’re—he’s expecting you.”
Once again, Eve felt cop eyes on her. This time she shifted, met them, one by one as the routine activity in the squad room stopped. She saw anger, resentment, grief, and a measurement. Are you good enough to stand for one of ours?
And through a glass wall she saw the man she assumed was Delong rise from his desk and start out.
He stood a little under average height, looked mid-forties and fit—strong through the shoulders. He wore a suit, dark gray with a white shirt, gray tie. A crop of wavy black hair swept back from a thin face that showed strain around the eyes and mouth.
“Lieutenant, Detective.” He offered a handshake to both. “Please come back.”
Silence followed them into the glass-walled room. Delong shut the door. “First, let me say you’ll have complete cooperation from me and the squad. Anything you need, any time you need it.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve already copied all of Detective Coltraine’s case files, and cleared EDD to take her electronics. I also have copies of her personnel file, and my evaluations.” He picked up a pouch. Peabody took it, slipped it into her file bag. “You can use my office to talk to the squad, or one of our boxes. There’s a small conference room upstairs, if that works better.”
“I don’t want to put you out of your office, Lieutenant, or cause your men to feel they’re being interrogated by another cop. The conference room would be fine. I’m sorry for your lo
ss, Lieutenant. I know it’s hard to lose a cop under your command.”
“Hard enough if she’d gone down in the line. At least then, you know. But this . . . Is there anything you can tell me?”
“We believe she was ambushed in the stairwell of her building, taken down to the basement. We haven’t found her weapon. It may have been used to kill her. What was she working on?”
“A robbery in Chinatown, a break-in, electronics store—a couple cases of pocket ’links and PPCs were taken, a carjack—armed. It’s all in the files.”
“Did she report any threats against her?”
“No. No, she didn’t. I have an open-door policy. We’re a small squad. If something’s up, I usually hear about it.”
“Who was she partnered with?”
“We work as a squad. She’d have worked with everyone at some time. I usually paired her with Cleo. Detective Grady. They had a good rhythm. But she was on with O’Brian for the break-in.”
“How’d she get along with the rest of the squad?”