The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [124]
“Because he researched Lieutenant Eve Dallas. Not because he’d been keeping tabs on a young, abused girl.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. It hardly matters, anyway.” She paused by her desk, lifted a small carved box he’d given her for odds and ends. “You could find the data?”
“Yes, I could find it, if that’s what you want.”
“No.” She set the box down again. “It’s not what I want. What I want is here. There’s nothing back there I need to know. I shouldn’t have let it get to me the way it did. I didn’t realize it had.”
She sighed, and this time she did smile when she turned. “I was too mad at you to think about it. We’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do in a short amount of time. You might as well come with me for now.”
“I thought you wanted to go over the security.”
“I do, but back at Central. I only set up this meet here so I could yell at you in private.”
“Isn’t that odd? I agreed to the meet here so I could yell at you in private.”
“Shows how screwed up we are.”
“On the contrary.” He held out a hand for hers. “I’d say it shows we’re incredibly well suited for each other.”
As trying to squeeze more than two people into Eve’s cramped office violated several laws of physics, she held the briefing in the conference room.
“Time’s short,” she began when her team was seated. “As the homicide cases and the matter of Max Ricker have dovetailed, we’ll be pursuing them both on parallel lines. Lab results, data searches, and probability scans regarding the homicides are in your reports. I haven’t requested a warrant but will do so, with an obligatory DNA test, if the suspect refuses to come in on his own volition. Peabody and I will pick him up, quietly, after the briefing.”
“Probability’s low,” Feeney pointed out, frowning at the printout in his file.
“It’ll get higher, and his DNA will match that of the fingernail found on the Bayliss crime scene. Due to Sergeant Clooney’s years of service to the department, his exemplary record, his emotional state, and the circumstances that built and were built around him, I prefer to bring him in personally, and hope to persuade him to make a full statement. Dr. Mira is on call to counsel him and offer testing.”
“The media’s going to rock and roll over this.”
Eve gave McNab a nod of acknowledgment. “We can and we will spin the media.” She’d already decided to contact Nadine Furst. “A veteran officer with a perfect service record whose son—only son—follows in his footsteps. A father’s pride. A son’s dedication. Because of that dedication, because of that honor to the badge in a squad where a few cops—and let’s keep it at a few for public record—are corrupt, the son is targeted.”
“Proving that—” Feeney began.
“We don’t have to prove it,” she interrupted. “It just has to be said to be believed. Ricker,” she continued. “He was behind it. I don’t question that. Moreover, Clooney didn’t. His son was clean, intended to stay clean. He moved up the ranks to detective. He couldn’t be bought. He was assigned in the early stages of the Ricker op, I have that from Martinez’s notes. Just a peg in the board, but a good cop. A hereditary cop. Put this together,” she suggested and rested a hip on the conference table.
“He’s straight, he’s young, and he’s smart. He’s ambitious. The Ricker task force is a good break for him, and he’s going to make the most of it. He pushes, he digs. Ricker’s sources in the squad relay that information. They’re nervous. Ricker decides to make an example. One night, the good cop stops off in his neighborhood 24/7. He habitually swung by there on his way home after his shift. A robbery’s in progress. Look at the report: That location hasn’t been hit before or since, but it was being hit that night, at just the right time. The good cop goes in and is killed. The proprietor makes a frantic emergency call, but it takes a squad car ten full minutes to arrive on-scene. And the med-techs, due to what’s reported to be a technical delay, don’t arrive for ten more. The kid bleeds to death on the floor. Sacrificed.”
She waited a beat, knowing