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While she was working, Roarke was walking into Commander Whitney’s office. Whitney rose, offered a hand.
“I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice,” Roarke began.
“It’s not a problem. Can I offer you coffee?”
“No. I won’t keep you long.” Roarke opened his briefcase, took out a file. He’d kept his lawyers busy through the night. “I understand there’s some concern regarding the Copperfield/Byson investigation, and the ethics of my relationship with the primary.”
“Why don’t you sit down?”
“All right. What you have there,” Roarke continued in the same cool tones, “is a document my attorneys have drafted that binds me from utilizing any of the data I may come across through the primary in the course of her investigation.”
Whitney flicked a glance down at the file, then shifted his eyes back to Roarke’s. “I see.”
“It also stipulates that should I be given access to any of that data, I’ll be given it blind. Figures only, without names or organizations. Th
e document is quite detailed, and the penalties, should I break any of the stipulations therein, are quite stiff. Naturally, you’ll want your legal department to vet it, and should there be any changes or additions requested, those changes and/or additions can be discussed with my legal reps until the document suits all parties.”
“I’ll see that it’s done.”
“All right, then.” Roarke got to his feet. “Of course, legalities and documents don’t take into account the fact I may lie and cheat my way around the stipulations, and use my wife and two brutally murdered people for my own financial gain. But I would hope this department, and this office, understands—clearly understands—the primary in this investigation would never allow it.”
Roarke waited a beat. “I’d like to hear you say you don’t question the lieutenant’s integrity. In fact, I bloody well insist on it.”
“Lieutenant Dallas’s integrity is not at issue for me. And is not in question.”
“Just mine, then?”
“Officially, this department and this office must insure the privacy of the citizens of New York—that information generated or uncovered during the course of an investigation is not utilized for harm, for personal gain, or in any illegal capacity.”
“I thought you knew me better than that,” Roarke shot back, barely able to hold on to the slippery edge of his fury. “At least well enough to be sure I’d do nothing to reflect poorly on my wife, to put her reputation or her career on the line.”
“I do.” Whitney nodded. “I know you well enough to be absolutely sure of that. So, unofficially, all this is bullshit.” Whitney flicked his fingers at the file sharply enough to scoot it over the surface of his desk. “Bureaucratic, political, ass-kissing bullshit that infuriates me nearly as much as you. I can offer you my personal apology for it.”
“You should have offered her one.”
Now Whitney raised his brows. “Lieutenant Dallas isn’t a civilian, and is under my command. She knows the departmental line. I don’t apologize for informing a subordinate of a potential problem within an investigation. Nor would she, I expect, in my place.”
“She intends to bring me in, officially as expert consultant, civilian.”
“She would, wouldn’t she?” Whitney sat back, frowned. “Thumb her nose at anyone who’d question her integrity or yours. Still…” Now he tapped his fingers, thinking it through. “That would also put you under the department’s aegis throughout the investigation, which goes some way of covering us. And your document, which I’d assume is as complicated as it is detailed, should take care of the rest.
“Some media spinning if we need it.”
“That can be handled,” Roarke told him.
“I’ve no doubt about it. I’ll have this vetted by Legal, and run it through with Chief Tibble.”
“Then I’ll let you get to it.”
Whitney rose. “When you speak to the lieutenant, tell her I have every confidence this case will be closed in a timely fashion.”
And that, Roarke thought, was as close to an apology as Eve would get. “I’ll do that.”
When Peabody poked her head into Eve’s office, Eve was pinning names to the back side of her board. “Baxter and I have been through the lot,” she told Eve. “Nothing pops out of line, and Copperfield and Byson didn’t share any clients.”
“You gotta go under it,” Eve said half to herself. “Forget the numbers for now, look at names. Look at people. Numbers make you crazy anyway.”
“I kind of like them.” Peabody moved in, squeezing around the desk to view the back of the board.
