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She’d expected this, had her response ready. “Six, sir, as it took time to acquire Detective Peabody’s full and detailed statement, and to determine that the individuals she overheard were, in fact, NYPSD officers. At which time it was my judgment that this matter was best served by attempting to corroborate that statement and those details by locating Keener, and gathering all information possible to present to you.”
She paused a moment, not a hesitation, but a beat to punch a point. “My detective had informed me of a possible homicide. I felt it imperative that I verify.”
“That could work,” Whitney murmured.
Would, she corrected in her head. She’d damn well make it work.
“All actions are on record, sir, for your review. I further determined after the body of Rickie Keener was located, both the scene and the body monitored, to wait approximately oh three hours before so informing you rather than contacting you with this information at three hundred hours. This is a delicate and disturbing process, Commander. I didn’t feel it could be, or should be, rushed.”
He nodded, then he, too, sat. “At ease, Dallas, for Christ’s sake.” He kneaded his brow, then dropped his hands. “Marcus Oberman is one of the finest cops I’ve ever served with. This process, as you call it, will smear his record, his reputation, and his name. And very likely break his heart.”
And here, she thought, may be the stickiest of the sticking points. “I regret that, sir. We will all regret that. However, the daughter isn’t the father.” Her entire life, in many ways, had grown on that single fact.
“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant. I’m aware of that as Renee Oberman has served under me for several years. She is not the cop her father was, but few are. Her record has, so far, been excellent, and her work perfectly acceptable. Her strengths include a forceful personality, an ability to select the right person for the right job, and she’s adept in accessing the details of a situation and streamlining them into a logical pattern. She is, I feel, better suited for administrative and supervisory duties than the street, and—in fact—prefers those duties. She runs her squad with a firm hand and gets results.”
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“A lieutenant running a squad should do work that’s more than perfectly acceptable. In my opinion, sir.”
He nearly smiled. “You would home in. In a department the size and scope of the NYPSD, it’s often necessary to—accept the acceptable. There have been no signs, no forewarnings, no leading indicators of this corruption. Lieutenant Oberman is ambitious and has structured her career, has situated herself on a path to a captaincy. I have no doubt she has her eye on my seat, and very likely has a time line for when she’d drop her ass into it.”
“She’s going to be disappointed.”
He did smile now, huffing out a half laugh. “Even prior to this, I’d have done whatever I could to keep her out of the commander’s chair. She doesn’t have the temperament for it. For the politics, for the grips and grins, for the paperwork and public relations, yes. She’d do well. But she lacks compassion, and she sees her men as tools, and the job as a means to an end.”
He doesn’t like her, Eve realized, and wondered if that made his part of the situation easier or more difficult.
“All that said,” he continued, “we have an explosive situation, with the fuse already lit.” He glanced over as Roarke stepped into the room.
“Jack,” Roarke said with a nod.
“At this time only the five people in this room are aware of this situation. Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Eve agreed. “At this time.”
“Show me the body. More detail.”
“Monitor on-screen,” Eve ordered, and the image flashed.
Whitney sat back, studied. “You chose not to establish TOD or secure any evidence.”
“ID only, Commander. My thoughts were—”
“I know what your thoughts were,” he interrupted. “Run the record, start to finish, on this location.”
Eve followed orders, her face impassive as it played on-screen. Her recorder caught part of the scuffle between Roarke and the street thug.
“Prime move!” McNab’s enthusiasm got the better of him. “Sorry, sir.”
“No need. It was a prime move.” Whitney nodded at Roarke. “Did you break that elbow?”
“Dislocated, I think.”
“Sometimes I miss the streets.” The record moved inside, into the filth. “Sometimes I don’t.”
He lapsed into silence, watching the rest. When it was done, the silence remained for several moments. “I’ll review the rest, but assuming it’s as you’ve already related to me, what’s your next move? You have a next move, Dallas,” he added. “You’ve had enough time to calculate several next moves.”
“My first priority would be to officially discover the body and take the investigation. Through a tip from one of my CIs, or we’ll run it so the record she sees plays that out. I believe that’s less complicated and could be more useful than standard channels. She won’t know who contacted me, and I’ll have no obligation to inform her. In fact, it would be standard for me to protect my own weasel. She believes Keener’s death will be seen and treated as an accidental OD. It won’t be. I’ll hard-line it, give her something to worry about. Or just be pissed off about. I’ll be in her face, and by doing so will have the opportunity to observe her, her squad.”
