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“I know. I appreciate it anyway.” Nadine spun around as she heard Eve come in. “Well?”
“You’ll get your one-on-ones with me and Whitney asap. The mayor will draft a statement that may be read by the deputy mayor. That’s not decided yet. He or she will do some questions, pending approval. We’re not going to contact Halloway’s family at this hour and add to their distress. If, in the morning, they’re willing to speak with you, we’ll arrange it. The same goes for Feeney. He had a rough one today,” she said before Nadine could speak. “I’m not waking him up for this. You can interview McNab at our place, pending medical clearance. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Chief Tibble will also draft a statement, and consider an interview after he’s reviewed all the data. Take it, Nadine, because that’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Have some coffee. I need to make a call and change into wardrobe. We’ll do the one-on-ones with you and Whitney in studio. One hour.”
She got through it, towing the departmental line throughout the interview. If Nadine wasn’t thrilled with the content of the interview, she knew it wasn’t the words that would make the segment. It was Lieutenant Eve Dallas herself, looking pale and exhausted and absolutely steady.
To Eve’s surprise, Mayor Steven Peachtree arrived just as she was going off-camera. At forty-three, he projected both a youthful and steady image. He was dignified and handsome in a conservative gray suit with a broadcast-ready blue shirt and a tie, perfectly knotted, in tones of both gray and blue.
He came in looking alert and grim with a small entourage of smartly dressed aides he ignored the way you ignore your own shadow.
“Commander.” He nodded to Whitney, and was close enough now that Eve noted the faint smudges of lost sleep under his eyes. “I felt this needed to be addressed personally, and swiftly. I’m told you’ve also been consulting with Chang re official statements.”
“That’s correct. We need unification on this. A solid line.”
“I absolutely agree. The media liaison will have updated statements for all parties by eight hundred. Lieutenant.”
“Mayor.”
“We need swift and decisive action on this matter. My office is to be kept updated on every action taken.” He glanced toward the studio. “We’re going to keep this goddamn mess under control. We’ll feed Ms. Furst and the others no more than what we determine is good for public consumption.”
“We’re not the only ones feeding her,” Eve pointed out.
“I’m aware of that.” His voice managed to be both rich and chilly at the same time. “Whatever they toss out, we’ll spin back. We can count on Chang for that. You’ll work directly with him and Deputy Mayor Franco on media relations.”
He glanced at his wrist unit. Frowned. “Keep me informed,” he ordered, then strode off to the prep room.
“He’s good at this,” Whitney told Eve. “He’ll come off strong, controlled, and concerned. We’re going to need strong image projection to keep this lid from blowing off and spilling the contents all over New York.”
“It seems to me the way to keep the lid on is to identify and stop The Purity Seekers.”
“That’s your priority, Lieutenant. But the job has more than one channel. The memorial service for Detective Halloway is scheduled for tomorrow, ten. Full honors. I want you there.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”
“Today’s meeting has been bumped up to thirteen hundred. Get some sleep,” he added before he walked over to take his turn in the studio. “It’s going to be a long one.”
At home, she fell facedown on the bed for three and a half hours.
The alarm on her wrist unit woke her with its incessant beeping. She crawled out of bed in the dark, stumbled into the shower, and stayed under hot, crisscrossing jets for twenty full minutes.
When she came back in the bedroom, Roarke was just getting up. “Did I wake you? You could catch another half hour.”
“I’m fine.” He gave her face a critical study, then nodded. “And you look considerably better than you did at four this morning. Why don’t you order us up some breakfast while I get a shower?”
“I was just going to grab a bagel at my desk.”
“You’ve changed your mind,” he said as he went into the bath. “Because you’ve remembered that your body needs proper fuel to maintain energy and health and because you’d prefer I not pour a protein shake down your throat as that just starts your day off on the wrong foot. Scrambled eggs would be good, wouldn’t they?”
She bared her teeth, but he was already in the shower.
She ate, she told herself, because she was hungry.
And when Roarke buzzed Summerset on the in-house ’link and asked about McNab, she tried to feel optimistic at the information that the patient had spent a restful night.
Just as she struggled against despair when she watched him ride into her office in an electronic wheelchair.
“Hey!” His face was just a little too cheerful. His voice was just a little too bright. “I’m getting me one of these rides when I’m back on my feet. They rule.”
