“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.”
“Have a seat.”
“I’m not required to sit.”
“Okay, fine.” He turned on his recorder. “Webster, Lieutenant, Donald, attached Internal Affairs Bureau in interview with Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Homicide, Cop Central, regarding the matter of Dukes, Donald, Sylvia, and minor son Devin, deceased. Lieutenant Dallas, do you wish to engage your departmental representative, or any outside legal representation for this interview?”
“No.”
“Did you, in your official capacity, visit the home of Donald and Sylvia Dukes”—he read off the address—“at approximately nine A.M. this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did you, at that time, question the aforementioned individuals regarding incidents that involved their deceased minor son, Devin Dukes?”
“Yes.”
He lifted his eyebrows, but whether it was in annoyance or approval of her monosyllabic answers, she didn’t know. Or care.