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“What’s your answer?”
“I’m afraid, in hindsight, it’s yes.” Mira’s soft blue eyes met Eve’s. “And that’s very difficult. If I hadn’t been influenced by who she was, whose daughter she was, she might not have been cleared for command. She might not now be in the position of power and authority she holds.”
Eve frowned, nodded. “So we can blame you—and the commander, the review board, all her immediate supervisors along the way for boosting her up the ranks.”
Mira smiled a little. “I’m aware I’m not responsible—solely responsible—for her position in the department. But thank you for that.”
“She’s good. She’s closed a healthy number of cases and now runs a squad that does the same. She’s got no bumps, that show anyway. Which tells me something right off because if you’re a cop for going on eighteen years and don’t have a single bump, you’re not doing the job. You’re manipulating the job, your record, sliding around the tough stuff, holding back. Or greasing the right palms.
“But on paper,” Eve concluded, “she’s good.”
“I agree. It could be said she uses intellect, intimidation, and cajolery—whichever the situation calls for—as her primary tools. And those are valuable tools in police work. She’s never wounded or terminated a suspect or any individual on the job. Therefore, she’s never been through Testing, required of any officer who terminates.”
“But’s she’s been screened, and she’s gone through the required psych evals.”
“Yes. I conducted her initial screening and have done several of her annual evals. In the past several years, her evaluations have been conducted by Doctor Addams.”
“Why?”
“Practically speaking, the size of the department requires the use of multiple psychiatrists, psychologists, profilers, and so on. At the time, I thought nothing of it. In fact, didn’t notice. I see a great many officers and techs and department personnel, for a variety of reasons.”
“I get that. I’m asking why she opted to trade in the best, the head of the line, for somebody down the ladder.”
Mira took a moment to drink and, Eve thought, to consider her answer. “I can speculate she didn’t like my analyses, my questions, my style. I can further speculate she preferred a man.”
“Because she believes she can more easily manipulate or influence or deceive males.”
“Yes. She sees her sexuality as a tool. Again, it can be one, a useful one. Women are a threat, competitors. She prefers the company of men.”
“No crime.”
“No. No crime,” Mira repeated, “but perhaps a signal I should have heeded more closely. As she’s implicated in corruption, illegal activities, and a homicide, I can give you opinions, a profile, a broad analysis. I can’t, however, give you specific details gleaned from sessions.”
Eve set the tea aside, tapped her fingers on her knee. “Let me try this. Hypothetically, a child—particularly an only child—whose father is revered in his profession. Demanding, time-consuming profession. He’s, in a very real sense, the gold standard in his field. That child might feel compelled to follow in his footsteps.”
“Yes.” Relaxing a little, Mira leaned back in her chair. “Love for and pride in the parent, a lifetime of exposure to excellence and dedication. The need to feel love and pride reflected from the parent.”
“Alternately, some might feel compelled to do exactly the opposite. Say the parent was a hugely successful businessman. One who acquired wealth and position through hard, honest work, long hours, skill, and dedication. The kid might decide to sit around on his lazy ass, or join a Free-Agers commune and grow tomatoes.”
Mira smiled again. “Yes. Pressure to succeed, the child’s urge to rebel against parental expectation and authority, a desire to forge one’s own path.”
“And another choice might be to go down that same path, but without the same skills, the same purity of purpose, say, the same innate dedication, or whatever it takes, the child might take some shortcuts. Still wants the pride, the glory, the status, but can’t get it Daddy’s way. Or just doesn’t especially want to. Saints can be hard to live up to. Gold standards tough to reach. That’s a pisser. But there are ways to get what you want, ways to build authority, to use that gold standard as an entree, even a shield, while smearing it.”
Eve leaned forward now, punching her point. “There’s some satisfaction there because the fucker shouldn’t be so hard to live up to. Or shouldn’t have expected, demanded so much from the child. Got a saint for a father? Why not be a sinner, reap the rewards, while using the same path, and staying shiny on the outside.”
“That’s an excellent thumbnail,” Mira said after a moment. “There would be more, of course, under the surface, rooted in childhood, in dynamics, in disposition. Some, in this hypothetical theory, would both revere and detest the source—the father. Some would crave the authority and position, and the power and privilege—the respect—that comes with it. Even be willing, perhaps eager, to expend the time and effort to achieve it. In their own way.”
“Okay.” Eve set her hands on her knees. “Let’s get down to it. She’s dirty. Daddy’s the excuse. You can think of a reason if you want,” she said before Mira interrupted. “That’s not how I see it. Maybe she started off sliding on his name, using her brand of manipulation, putting in the time while she figured the angles, searched out the openings. Sucking up to or sucking off whoever was more useful.”
Mira choked a little on her tea. “To put it bluntly,” she managed.
“Sexuality as a tool, prefers the company of men. She wears a girly suit that shows off her tits, mile-high heels to show off her legs. To work.”
Mira brushed lightly at the skirt of her girly suit. “Hmmm.”
“You’re not a cop,” Eve returned. “It’s highly unlikely you’ll be drawn into a footrace today. And okay, neither will she because she sticks to her desk. She’s above the streets in her big, perfect office closed off from her scarily ordered squad.”
“Scarily ordered?” Mira repeated.
