She spotted Dwier at the end of the bar, already half-done with his first glass of beer and the shallow black bowl of pretzels in front of him.
She walked down, slid onto a stool beside him. It was apparent he’d staked a claim on it as every other seat in the joint was occupied.
“Detective Sergeant Dwier.” She held out a hand. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Metcha,” he said over his pretzels, then washed them down with a deep sip of beer.
“They spring you early from court?”
“Yeah. Supposed to get to me today. Didn’t. Now I gotta give them more time tomorrow. Fricking lawyers.”
“What’s the case?”
“Assault with deadly and theft.”
“Mugging?”
“Yeah. Guy mugs this suit coming out of a late meeting over on Lex. Gets his wrist piece, his wallet, wedding ring, and what all, then bashes him upside the head anyhow ’cause the guy asks him not to take the wedding ring. Got him cold hocking the wrist piece. Mope says, Oh hey, this? I found this on the street. Vic picks his face outta lineup, mope says, Mistaken identity. Got some bleeding heart PD who’s trying to push that. Claiming the vic, seeing as he got his brains rattled, can’t properly ID. Saying the wrist piece can’t be directly tied to the crime as it’s a common brand and style.”
“How’s it shaping up?”
“Shit.” He popped more pretzels, chomped down. “Waste of my time and the tax dollar. Mope’s got three priors. Figure they’d plead down if the PD wasn’t so green and stupid. You drinking?”
“Yeah, I’ll have a beer.” She signaled the bartender by holding up two fingers. “I appreciate you taking the time here, Dwier.”
“Don’t mind wasting it over a beer. You read the files. Data’s there.”
“Sometimes the files miss impressions.”
“You want my impression of Fitzhugh and George? They’d have to crawl up to reach scum level. Fitzhugh . . .” Dwier polished off the first beer. “Arrogant bastard. Never even broke a sweat when we hauled him in. Just sat there, smirking, hiding behind his high-dollar lawyers. Smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but you could see it in his eyes. He sat there thinking, You cops can’t touch me. Turned out he was right.”
“You talked to the vics, to their parents?”
“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “It was tough. Sex crimes are always dicey, but when it’s minors . . . You know how it is?”
“Yeah.” She’d been a minor. And when she’d been in that hospital bed, broken, she’d read in the eyes of the cop who’d tried to talk to her what she was reading in Dwier’s now. A weary pity.
“Any of the family members strike you as the type to go after Fitzhugh? Anyone talk about seeking revenge outside the law?”
“You blame them?”
“This isn’t about my personal feelings or yours, it’s about an investigation. Fitzhugh was executed, so was George, so were the others. It’s my job to find out who’s pulling the switch.”
“I wouldn’t want your job.” He snagged the second beer. “Nobody who worked the Fitzhugh case, or the George, is going to cry any tears over this.”
“I’m not asking for tears, I’m asking for information. I’m asking a fellow officer to reach out.”
He brooded into the beer, then took the first foamy sip. “I can’t say as any of the vics or family members acted in any way you wouldn’t expect. Most of these people were shattered. Kids he raped ran the gamut from embarrassed, scared, and guilty. Family that came in, filed the complaint was torn to pieces. Kid was shaking in his socks. But they wanted to do the right thing. They wanted him put away so he couldn’t get his hands on the next kid.”
“Can you give me a name?”
His gaze shifted to hers. There was no pity in it now. “Names are sealed. You know that.”
“Child Services put a TRO on my warrant to open the sealeds. I’ve got a terrorist organization with technology superior to anything my experts have seen executing at will. There are connections between the victims, and I think one of those connections is their victims.”
“I’m not giving you names. And I’ll tell you straight, I hope they squash your warrant. I don’t want to see those people pulled through this crap again. You’ve got a job to do, and word is you’re good at it. I can’t give you more help than I have. I appreciate the beer.”
“Okay.” She stood up, pulled out credits. “Do you know Clarissa Price at Children’s Services?”