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“Who’s next?”
“That’s the question.”
“You wanna walk me through?”
It was generous of him. He had his own work, but he’d listen, he’d bounce things off her, let her bounce them off him. And it might come to that.
“Actually, I had something else. Unrelated. Or maybe, in a way, it’s not altogether unrelated. This is what you want, right? What you worked for. This department, this desk, the bars.”
Watching her, Feeney dipped his hand into a bowl and popped a candied almond.
“I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.”
“That’s just right.” She nodded, pacing, jiggling credits. “You were a hell of a murder cop, Feeney.”
“Knew how to train ’em, too.”
She smiled a little. “That’s just right.”
“Medal of Honor,” he said, and his basset hound face lit up. “Ain’t that a kick in the head.”
“Yeah, it is. I guess word’s out.”
“They don’t hand those out like gumdrops, kid. You did real good. And your man’s getting something shiny, too. I’m real proud of both of you.”
“Thanks.” And that meant more than any medal. “It feels weird.”
“It’s the bullshit around it feels weird,” he corrected, with precision accuracy. “But they gotta throw the confetti and blow the horn, Dallas. It’s a boost for the department, and not just the PR blah-de-blah. For morale.”
She hadn’t wound her way through to that, but could see it now. Feeney saw it from the starting gun, she thought. And that’s why he was who he was.
“I could do without the confetti and the blah-de-blah, but you’re right. Feeney … You could’ve taken Homicide captain when the bars came to you. But you didn’t.”
“I’d had enough DBs for a while.”
She shook her head. “That’s not it, not really, is it?”
“It played a part. I needed a break from them,” he admitted. “See them in your sleep, don’t you?”
She thought of Lori Nuccio—one of many. “God, yes.”
“I needed a break from that. Oh, we still get them, but mostly as support, not primary. Mostly, maybe even more, I wanted the e-work.”
“You’re the best there is.”
He popped another nut. “You don’t hear me arguing with that. It keeps my juices going. And you’re proof I’ve got a knack for training. I had a choice between EDD and Homicide. I went with my gut, so I’m here. I’ve got my boys.”
He nodded toward his bullpen, where regardless of body shape, his boys worked to their own drummer.
“I was a good murder cop. I’m a better e-man.”
Not altogether satisfied, she sampled some of the nuts from his bowl. “Do you miss the field? I know you still spend plenty of time out in it, but—”
“I spend a lot with my ass in the chair. I’m good with that. Where’s this going?”
“Whitney offered me captain.”
First his mouth dropped open, then it rebounded into a wide, wide grin as he slapped a hand on his desk. “About fucking time.”
