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Halloway scrammed, flicking one mortified glance at Eve as he scrambled out and back toward his cube.
“Does the heart good,” Feeney said with a sigh, “to peel the skin off a skinny butt in the morning. What’s up with you?”
“What was his score on Crusader?”
“Got up to fifty-six mil on Commando level.” Feeney sniffed. “Damn near nipped my record and that’s been standing for three years, four months, and twenty-two days. Little putz.”
She strolled in, sat on the corner of his desk, and copped a handful of the candied almonds he kept in a bowl. “You hear about Trueheart?”
“No. Been buried.” His baggy face creased with concern. “What?”
She told him, leaving out nothing as they both munched on nuts. Feeney dragged a hand through his explosion of ginger hair. “Gonna be tough on him.”
“Builds fucking character,” she muttered. “He’s giving it to me straight, Feeney. Kid would sooner swallow a live rat than lie to me. But it doesn’t hold up. I brought Cogburn’s data and communication center in. I was hoping you could bump it up to priority. Look, I know you’re swamped,” she added before he could speak. “But I want all the ammunition I can get for this. And there’s something on there. I know there is. This Purity business smells bad.”
“Can’t give you McN
ab. Already got him juggling. Halloway,” he said and brightened. “I just don’t think that boy has enough to do. I’ll put him on it. A little overtime should be good for him.”
“And help protect your high score.”
“Goes without saying.” But the humor on his face faded quickly. “IAB’s going to take some hard shoves at that kid.”
“I know it. I’m going to see if I can deflect a few of them.” She pushed off the desk. “I’m going to go harass Morris. If my hunch holds up, Trueheart’s off the sharpest hook.”
Chapter 3
When Eve swung back into Homicide to snap up Peabody, several of the detectives in the bullpen sent meaningful looks her way.
“Rat in the hole,” Baxter commented as he walked past her, and jerked his head toward her office.
“Thanks.” She hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her trousers and headed into her office.
Lieutenant Don Webster sat in her single spare chair, his polished shoes kicked up on her cluttered desk. He was drinking her coffee.
“Hey, Dallas. Been a little while.”
“But somehow never long enough.” She knocked his feet off her desk. “Is that my coffee in that mug?”
He took a long sip, let out a happy sigh. “It must be nice, being able to call up the real thing whenever you’re in the mood. How is Roarke these days?”
“Is this a social call? Because I don’t have time to chat. I’m on duty.”
“Not social, but it could be friendly.” He moved his shoulders when her expression stayed set and stony. “Or not. Gotta say though, you’re looking just swell.”
She reached behind her, shut the door. “You’d have gotten the report of the incident occurring yesterday between nineteen hundred and nineteen-thirty involving a uniformed officer assigned to Central who, while off-duty, responded to—”
“Dallas.” Webster held up a hand. “I got the report. I know the incident. I know Officer Troy Trueheart—hell of a name, huh—is in Testing at this time. Internal Affairs will interview the subject and investigate the termination after the results of said Testing are evaluated.”
“He’s twenty-two years old. He’s still green but he’s solid. I’m asking you to go easy on him.”
Irritation settled over his face. Toughened it. “You think I get up in the morning thinking about how many cops I can destroy that day?”
“I don’t know what you or the rest of your pack think about.” She started to order coffee for herself, then spun around. “I thought you were coming back. I thought you’d decided to be a cop again.”
“I am a goddamn cop.”
“After all that dirt came out from inside IAB—”
