“You didn’t answer the question,” he murmured. “Never mind. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.” His voice was clipped now, cool, and he turned the monitor toward her. “Speaking of your work, you might like to see what the media is saying.”
Eve read the first headline with a kind of weary resignation. Mouth grim, she scanned from paper to paper. The banners were all similar enough. Renowned New York prosecutor murdered. Police baffled. There were images, of course, of Towers. Inside courtrooms, outside courthouses. Images of her children, comments and quotes.
Eve snarled a bit at her own image and the caption that labeled her the top homicide investigator in the city.
“I’m going to get grief on that,” she muttered.
There was more, naturally. Several papers had printed a brief rundown of the case she’d closed the previous winter, involving a prominent U.S. senator and three dead whores. As expected, her relationship with Roarke was mentioned in every edition.
“What the hell does it matter who I am or who I’m with?”
“You’ve leaped into the public arena, Lieutenant. Your name now sells media chips.”
“I’m a cop, not a socialite.” Fuming, she swiveled to the elaborate grillwork along the far wall. “Open viewing screen,” she ordered. “Channel 75.”
The grill slid open, revealing the screen. The sound of the early broadcast filled the room. Eve’s eyes narrowed, her teeth clenched.
“There’s that fang-toothed, dickless weasel.”
Amused, Roarke sipped his coffee and watched C. J. Morse give his six o’clock report. He was well aware that Eve’s disdain for the media had grown into a full-fledged disgust over the last couple of months. A disgust that stemmed from the simple fact that she now had to deal with them at every turn of her professional and personal life. Even without that, he didn’t think he could blame her for despising Morse.
“And so, a great career has been cut off cruelly, violently. A woman of conviction, dedication, and integrity has been murdered on the streets of this great city, left there to bleed in the rain. Cicely Towers will not be forgotten, but will be remembered as a woman who fought for justice in a world where we struggle for it. Even death can’t dim her legacy.
“But will her killer be brought to the justice she lived her entire life upholding? The Police and Security Department of New York as yet offers no hope. Primary investigating officer, Lieutenant Eve Dallas, a jewel of the department, is unable to answer that question.”
Eve all but growled when her image filled the screen. Morse’s voice continued.
“When reached by ’link, Lieutenant Dallas refused to comment on the murder and the progress of the investigation. No denial was issued as to the speculation that a cover-up is in process . . .”
“Why that smarmy-faced bastard. He never asked about a cover-up. What cover-up?” The slap of her hand on the arm of the chair made Galahad leap away to safer ground. “I’ve barely had the case for thirty hours.”
“Ssh,” Roarke said mildly and left her to spring up and stalk the room.
“. . . the long list of prominent names that are linked with Prosecutor Towers, among them Commander Whitney, Dallas’s superior. The commander recently refused the offer of the position as Chief of Police and Security. A long-standing, intimate friend of the victim—”
“That’s it!” Furious, Eve slapped the screen off manually. “I’m going to slice that worm into pieces. Where the hell is Nadine Furst? If we’ve got to have a reporter sniffing up our ass, at least she’s got a mind.”
“I believe she’s on Penal Station Omega, a story on prison reform. You might consider a press conference, Eve. The simplest way to deal with this kind of heat is to toss a well-chosen log on the fire.”
“Fuck that. What was that broadcast anyway, a report or an editorial?”
“There’s little difference since the revised media bill passed thirty years ago. A reporter has the right to flavor a story with his opinion, as long as it’s expressed as such.”
“I know the damn law.” The robe, brilliant with color, swirled around her legs as she turned. “He’s not going to get away with insinuating a cover-up. Whitney runs a clean department. I run a clean investigation. And he’s not going to get away with using your name to cloud it, either,” she continued. “That’s what he was leading up to with that excuse for news. That was next.”
“He doesn’t worry me, Eve. He shouldn’t worry you.”
“He doesn’t worry me. He pisses me off.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath to settle herself. Slowly, very slowly and very wickedly, she began to smile. “I’ve got the perfect payback.” She opened her eyes again. “How do you think that little bastard would like it if I contacted Furst, gave her an exclusive?”
Roarke set aside his cup. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Never mind.” He rose and went to her instead. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her hard. “I’m crazy about you.”
“I take that to mean you think it’s a pretty good idea.”
“My late unlamented father taught me one valuable lesson. ‘Boy,’ he would say to me in the thick brogue of a champion drunk, ‘the only way to fight is to fight dirty. The only place to hit is below the belt.’ I have a feeling you’ll have Morse nursing his balls before the day’s out.”