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“I trained her,” Feeney agreed, sick inside.
“What would you have done?” Whitney demanded. “Straight, Feeney. You’ve got a dead cop who’s been tagged buying illegals from a suspected dealer who’s under surveillance. There were drugs in his system when he died. Your gut tells you no way, no way he was dirty. And maybe your heart’s telling you, too, because you remember when you were both rookies. But IAD’s got no gut, and it’s got no heart. What would you have done?”
And because he’d had a sleepless night to think on it, to worry the steps, Feeney shook his head. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t want your job. Commander.”
“You’ve got to be crazy to want this job.” Whitney’s wide face relaxed slightly. “Dallas has gone a long way to clearing Frank, and she took you out of it within the first twenty-four hours. She’d hardly had more than a week on this, and she’s already cleared a path. With her reports, I’ve been able to back IAD off. They’re not happy about Frank setting up his own sting, but they’ve eased the pressure.”
“That’s good.” Feeney dug his hands into his pockets as he turned back. “She’s good. Christ, Jack, I hit her hard.”
Whitney’s brows knit. “You should have come to me. Going after her was off, Feeney. I gave the orders.”
“I took it personal. I made it personal.” He remembered how she’d looked at him, her face pale, her eyes blank. He’d seen people with that look before—victims, he thought now, who were used to taking a fist in the face. “I’ve got to fix it with her.”
“She called in a couple minutes before you showed up. She’s doing a follow-through on a new lead. At home.”
Feeney jerked his head in a nod. “I’d like a couple hours personal time.”
“You’ve got it.”
“And I want in on this.”
Whitney sat back, considered. “That’ll be up to Dallas. She’s primary. If we’re opening this up, she chooses her own team.”
“Answer the ’link, will you, Peabody?” Eve continued to scan the data on-screen as her ’link beeped insistently. It was a wonder to her how many names she recognized from the social, political, and professional registers. It was doubtful she’d have recognized quite so many a year before, but connecting with Roarke had broadened her horizons.
“Doctors, lawyers,” she muttered. “Christ, this guy’s been to dinner here. And I think Roarke used to sleep with this woman. This dancer. She’s got a hit on Broadway and a mile of leg.”
“It’s Nadine,” Peabody announced and wondered if Eve was talking to herself or really wanted to share that particular information. She hacked, sneezed, then added in her now raspy voice. “Furst.”
“Perfect.” Eve cleared the screen, just in case, and turned to the ’link. “So, Nadine, what’s the story?”
“You’re the story, Dallas. Two dead people. It’s dangerous to know you.”
“You’re still breathing.”
“So far, so good. I thought you might be interested in some data that’s come my way. We can do a trade.”
“Show me yours, maybe I’ll show you mine.”
“Exclusive one on one, in your home, with you discussing the investigation of both knifings, for the noon broadcast.”
Eve didn’t bother to snort. “One on one reporting the status of my investigation, in my office, for the evening broadcast.”
“The first body was found at your house. I want in.”
“It was found outside on the sidewalk, and you’re not getting in.”
Nadine huffed out a breath. The pout was for her own benefit. She knew better than to think it would budge Eve. “I want the noon.”
Eve checked her watch, calculated, considered. “I’ll clear you into my office. Arrival time eleven forty-five. If I can make it, I’ll be there. If not…”
“Damn it, we need setup time. Fifteen minutes isn’t—”
“It’s enough, Nadine, for someone as good as you are. Be sure your data makes this worth my while.”
“Make sure you don’t look like a rag picker,” Nadine shot back. “Do something with your hair, for God’s sake.”
Rather than respond, Eve ended transmission. “What is this obsession people have with my hair and wardrobe?” She raked a bad-tempered hand through the hair in question.
