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“Dallas, hey, Dallas!” Nadine Furst nipped her elbow. “What’s the deal? Why were you called in? What’s your connection to Theodore McNamara?”
“I’m a cop. He’s dead.”
“Come on, Dallas.” Even in the harsh light, Nadine managed to look vivid and camera-ready. “They don’t trot you out for every murder in the city.”
She flashed an angry look at Nadine. “Nobody trots me out. Now step back, Nadine, you’re in my way.”
“All right, okay. But the word is it looks like a robbery/murder. Is that your take?”
“I don’t know anything yet. Now friend or not, you move or I bust you for obstruction.”
Nadine shifted aside. “Something’s up,” she whispered to her camera operator. “Something big. Pay attention. I’m going to call my contact at the morgue, see what I can wheedle out. Watch Dallas,” she added. “If she’s here, she’s the center.”
Eve pushed her way through reporters and gawkers. She caught a whiff of the river now, a sour smear on the air. The crime scene team was at work, the fluorescent yellow initials on the backs of their jackets searing through the hard white lights. The beam of the powerful portables spilled out onto the pitch-black surface of the river so that it gleamed like oil.
Outdoor, night-time murder, Eve thought, was black and white.
She signalled to a uniform. “Who’s primary?”
“Detective Renfrew. Short guy, dark hair, brown suit and tie,” she added with just a hint of a sneer in her voice. “That’s him. Standing with his hands on his hips looking at the water like the perp’s going to swim by doing the backstroke.”
Eve studied his back. “Okay. Draw me a picture here.”
“Couple of dock hands spotted the floater. Said they were taking their union-sanctioned break, and you have to figure they were using the river for a toilet. Called it in at twenty-two thirty. Nine-eleven caller IDed himself as Deke Jones. Body hadn’t been in long or else the fish weren’t very interested. Severe head and facial wounds. No clothes, no jewelry, no nothing. IDed him by his prints. Took him off in the dead wagon about fifteen minutes ago.”
“This your patrol area . . . Officer Lewis?”
“Yes, sir. My partner and I responded to the nine-eleven. We were on-scene within three minutes. Dock workers were gathered around like a dirt clod, but nobody’d touched the body. And, Lieutenant? I mentioned this to the detective, but he didn’t seem interested. There’s a report of a car fire about a half mile from here. Late model lux sedan, no passengers. The way this current runs, it could be the dumping point.”
“Okay. thanks. Renfrew’s going to give me grief, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.” Lewis agreed. “He surely is.”
Eve wasn’t feeling patient, she wasn’t feeling diplomatic, but she told herself she’d have to be both.
Renfrew turned at her approach. His gaze skimmed over her face, dipped briefly down to her badge.
“No one called Cop Central into this.” His shoulders went up and back, like a boxer bracing for the first round.
She had a good inch on him in height, and watched as he flexed his body forward on his toes to compensate.
Oh yeah, she thought, noting his combative stance, he was going to give her grief. “I didn’t get the tag from Central. I’m not looking to trespass on your turf, Detective Renfrew. Your victim’s connected to one of my cases. I think we might be able to help each other out.”
“I don’t need your help, and I’m not interested in getting the fast shuffle from Central on my case.”
“Okay, you can help me out.”
“You’re on my crime scene, and that makes one too many badges around here. I’ve got work to do.”
“Detective, I need to know what you’ve got at this point.”
“You think you can pull rank on me?” He rocked higher on his toes, jabbed a finger at her. “Waltz in here and take over a high-profile murder so you can get your face splashed all over the screen again? Forget it. I’m primary here.”
Eve imagined grabbing the finger he had in her face, bending it back until the bone snapped. But she kept her voice level. “I’m not interested in screen time, in pulling rank, or in taking over your case, Renfrew. I’m interested in finding out why a man I had scheduled for formal interview tomorrow ends up dead in the river. I’m asking you to reach out with some courtesy and cooperation.”
“Courtesy and cooperation. Fuck that. How much courtesy and cooperation did you show when you tore into the One-twenty-eight a couple months ago? I don’t reach out to cops who turn on cops.”
“Sounds like you’ve got issues, Renfrew. The One-two-eight was a mess, and a cop was killing cops.”
