“Ah, Dallas.” His smile faded away at the thought of focusing in on his own people. “I hate that shit.”
“So do I. Run them anyway. Keep it to the city for now.”
“Right.” He blew out a breath, wondered if she realized his name would be on the list. “Hell of a way to start the day. Now I’ve got a present for you, kid. There was a memo on my desk when I got in. The chief’s on his way in to the commander’s office. He wants both of us.”
“Fuck that.”
Feeney just looked at his watch. “I make it in five minutes. Maybe you want to put on a sweater or something, so Simpson doesn’t get a good look at that shirt and decide we’re overpaid.”
“Fuck that, too.”
Chief Edward Simpson was an imposing figure. Well over six feet, fighting trim, he preferred dark suits and vivid ties. His waving brown hair was tipped with gray.
It was well known throughout the department that those distinguished highlights were added by his personal cosmetician. His eyes were a steely blue—a color his polls indicated inspired voter confidence—that rarely showed humor, his mouth a thin comma of command. Looking at him, you thought of power and authority.
It was disillusioning to know how carelessly he used both to do laps in the heady pool of politics.
He sat down, steepling his long, creamy hands that winked with a trio of gold rings. His voice, when he spoke, had an actor’s resonance.
“Commander, captain, lieutenant, we have a delicate situation.”
And an actor’s timing. He paused, let those hard blue eyes scan each face in turn.
“You’re all aware of how the media enjoys sensationalism,” he continued. “Our city has, in the five years of my jurisdiction, lowered its crime rate by five percent. A full percentage a year. However, with recent events, it isn’t the progress that will be touted by the press. Already there are headlines of these two killings. Stories that question the investigation and demand answers.”
Whitney, detesting Simpson in every pore, answered mildly. “The stories lack details, chief. The Code Five on the DeBlass case makes it impossible to cooperate with the press or feed it.”
“By not feeding it,” Simpson snapped back. “We allow them to speculate. I’ll be making a statement this afternoon.” He held up a hand even as Whitney started to protest. “It’s necessary to give the public something to assess, and by assessing feel confident that the department has the matter under control. Even if that isn’t the case.”
His eyes zeroed in on Eve. “As the primary, lieutenant, you’ll attend the press conference as well. My office is preparing a statement for you to give.”
“With all respect, Chief Simpson, I can’t divulge to the public any details of the case that could undermine the investigation.”
Simpson plucked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Lieutenant, I have thirty years of experience. I believe I know how to handle a press conference. Secondly,” he continued, dismissing her by turning back to Commander Whitney, “it’s imperative that the link the press has made between the DeBlass and Starr homicides be broken. The department can’t be responsible for embarrassing Senator DeBlass personally, or damaging his position, by joining these cases at the hip.”
“The murderer did that for us,” Eve said between her teeth.
Simpson spared her a glance. “Officially, there is no connection. When asked, deny.”
“When asked,” Eve corrected. “Lie.”
“Save your personal ethics. This is reality. A scandal that starts here and reverberates to East Washington will come back on us like a monsoon. Sharon DeBlass has been dead over a week, and you have nothing.”
“We have the weapon,” she disagreed. “We have possible motive as blackmail, and a list of suspects.”
His color came up as he rose out of the chair. “I’m head of this department, lieutenant, and the mess you make is left to me to clean. It’s time you stop digging at dirt and close the case.”
“Sir.” Feeney stepped forward. “Lieutenant Dallas and I—”
“Can both be on Traffic Detail in a fucking heartbeat,” Simpson finished.
Fists clenched, Whitney lunged to his feet. “Don’t threaten my officers, Simpson. You play your games, smile for the cameras, and rub asses with East Washington, but don’t you come in on my turf and threaten my people. They’re on and they stay on. You want to change that, you try going through me.”
Simpson’s color deepened further. In fascination, Eve watched a vein throb at his temple. “Your people press the wrong buttons on this, it’ll be your ass. I’ve got Senator DeBlass under control for the moment, but he’s not happy having the primary running off to pressure his daughter-in-law, to invade the privacy of her grief and ask her embarrassing, irrelevant questions. Senator DeBlass and his family are victims, not suspects, and are to be accorded respect and dignity during this investigation.”
“I accorded Elizabeth Barrister and Richard DeBlass respect and dignity.” Very deliberately Eve shut down her temper. “The interview was conducted with their consent and cooperation. I was not aware that I was required to receive permission from you or the senator to proceed as I see warranted on this case.”
“And I will not have the press speculating that this department harasses grieving parents, or why the primary resisted required testing after a termination.”