Protector - Laurel Dewey [11]
“Yes, sir,” Chris said as he quickly popped up and maneuvered his wiry body between the chairs.
“Oh, Chris,” Weyler said, “are you working outside duty tonight?”
“There’s a possibility of a security gig at a downtown club. Why?”
“The press is going to be all over last night’s double homicide. I’d like you to be the media point person.”
“Thank you, sir,” Chris responded, bloated with new-found confidence.
“Keep it low-key about the kid. Until she’s willing to talk to us, it’s anybody’s guess where this thing’s going to go.”
“Consider it done,” Chris affirmed as he left the office.
Weyler leaned back in his chair, carefully eyeing Jane. She had a good idea of what was coming and could feel her gut tightening. From the outside, however, she sat stone-faced, arms crossed over her chest and looked Weyler straight in the eye. “Well, Detective Perry, I do not seem to have a psych counsel assessment for you. Now, I know I asked you . . . let me rephrase that, I know that I told you to make an appointment with psych. And yet, you failed to do as I requested—”
“I don’t need to see a fu—” Jane caught herself. “I don’t need to see a psychologist. I’m not weak. Trust me, I’ve experienced a lot worse. What I need is to figure out what happened ten days ago. So, if you’ll excuse me, that’s exactly what I plan to do.” Jane dropped her paperwork into her satchel and stood up.
“Sit down, Detective Perry,” Weyler said with a strict tenor. Jane stood firm. “Sit down . . . Jane,” Weyler said, this time with more equanimity. Jane reluctantly obliged. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. I understand from the boys downstairs that your father won’t be able to return to his home.”
Jane was caught off guard by Weyler’s remark. Between the nightmares and booze binge, she’d conveniently forgotten about her ailing father. “Yeah, that’s right. How did you . . . What? Is there a direct line from that hospital to Headquarters?”
“You can blame his old detective buddies for that direct line.”
“Well, he’s not recovering from the heart attack and stroke as they had hoped.” Jane tried to act like she cared. “And the whole failing liver thing, that’s not helping matters. So, he’s pretty much . . . screwed. I’m meeting Mike tonight at his house to figure out what to do with all the furniture and the other shit.”
“I’m sorry,” Weyler said.
“Hey, it is what it is,” Jane said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Look, I—”
“Is he able to get around?” Weyler questioned, pressing further.
Jane was growing uncomfortable with Weyler’s interest in her father.
She rested her right elbow on the arm of the chair and pressed her fingers against her right temple, next to a scar—just one of her many battle wounds—that was partially hidden under her hairline. “To be honest with you, I don’t know. I went to see him once and he was asleep so I left.” Jane let out a deep breath.
Weyler scrutinized Jane’s demeanor. “Are you alright, Jane?”
She knew she wasn’t but she figured she could fake it. “I’m fine, boss.” The words echoed with a disingenuous tenor.
Weyler leaned forward, seriously concerned. “What’s going on?”
Jane regarded Weyler with a forthright look but it fell like a glass curtain across her face. “Nothing’s going on that’ll prevent me from moving forward with solving the Stover case.”
Weyler’s penetrating stare was relentless. “Part of my job is to watch over you people, make sure you represent DH with intelligence and mental coherence. You have the intelligence part down in spades. It’s the mental coherence part that concerns me.”
Jane fell back into the chair, her eyes now meeting Weyler’s glance with conviction. If she could get out of his office and start focusing on the case, she was sure everything would resolve itself. “Look, I’m under some stress, okay?” she said, her voice shaking. “First day back and all. It’s to be expected, right?” Jane was trying to convince herself more than Weyler. “But once I get back in the swing of it—”
“You get the job done better than anyone. But it seems that lately, you are displaying