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“Yeah.” Peabody blew out a breath. “I don’t sniff daisies. They don’t really smell. I like peonies, if you’re taking notes on flowers to send me for a reward.”
“Sure, I’ll mark that right down on my shopping list.”
“You don’t have a shopping list.”
“Exactly. Did Callaway tap a lawyer?”
“Not yet. He clammed up, like total lockdown. He gave me a bad feeling, so I put him in solitary, and on suicide watch.”
“Good. We want him safe and secure. Whitney, or likely Tibble will be making an official statement. We’re expected to do the media conference deal.”
“I don’t mind. It’ll be good to let people know it’s okay, we did the job. McNab’s working on decrypting Callaway’s electronics. I’m going to wait for him before knocking off anyway. The search team’s back,” she added. “There’s talk about going out for some brew.”
“I’m going to skip it. I just want to … enjoy an evening at home.”
“If you change your mind, they’re hitting the Blue Line. Cops might as well celebrate a big win at a cop bar. Do you want me to do the five’s?”
Tempting … but no. “I’m going to start on it now. Go ahead and get the records for Reo, and a copy of the log of everything taken from Callaway’s apartment. We’re going to want to send somebody in—with correct authorization—to confiscate his office electronics, toss his office.”
“I can tell Reo to take care of that.”
“That works. For now, get a uniform to get over there, seal it. Once the news hits, some big nose is bound to go in there and poke around.”
“I’m all over it. You know, it feels good, Dallas, but …” With a sad little shrug, Peabody looked down at the papers on Eve’s desk.
“You wished it felt better. I’m betting there’s a hit list on his comp, where he planned to target, who he’d earmarked to take out. Once you read that, think about all those people who can just go on living their lives, it will feel better.”
“Yeah. You know, thinking about that, it already does.”
“Then get out of here so I can work.”
She slogged her way through the arrest report, copied, filed, added it to her book. She considered the other journals. Not exactly light reading, she thought, but she wanted to know, to see.
She rose, intended to give herself a lift with another hit of coffee, and turned back to her signaling ’link.
“You’re to report to the main media room, Lieutenant, along with Detective Peabody and any other officer you deem appropriate.”
“On my way.”
Coffee later, she promised herself. Better a nice cool glass of wine, or two. And that so much sex.
Then sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.
She stood, scanned the bullpen. “Good work, all around. That includes Detectives Carmichael and Sanchez, and the other officers who took on the load so we could bag this fucker. Anyone who wants or needs some personal time or leave … Get real. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
She appreciated the moans, the muttered curses. “Commander Whitney’s called for a media conference.” She appreciated the mild panic, the hunched shoulders as perfectly sane cops slid down in their chairs as if it would make them invisible.
“Peabody and I will take that as I have other assignments for the rest of you. When you’ve completed your current paperwork or at end of shift—whichever comes first—get the hell out of here and go have a beer.”
Baxter slapped his hands together. “That’s what I’m talking about! The Blue Line, Dallas. Bring Roarke.”
“So he can pick up the tab? I don’t think so. I’m going home to the quiet.” She caught Reineke’s eye roll to the ceiling.
“Problem, Reineke?”
“What?” He blinked at her, then averted his eyes. “No, sir. No problem here.”
“Good. Peabody, with me.”
