Purity in Death Page 11

  We were formed, and are sworn to serve the innocent.

  Some will find our means distressing. Some will find them frightening. No war can, or should be fought without distress or fear.

  But most will find our means just and our ends a victory for all who have been lost in a system that no longer serves the common good.

  By the time this message reaches you, the first execution will have taken place. Louis K. Cogburn was a blight on society, a man who corrupted and addicted our children. He hunted them on the playgrounds and the schoolyards and the parks of our city, luring those young and innocent bodies and minds with illegals.

  He has been charged, he has been tried, he has been sentenced.

  He has been executed.

  Absolute Purity in the matter of Louis K. Cogburn has been achieved.

  He was infected through a technology we have designed and developed. As his soul was blighted, so did we blight his brain, until death.

  There is no danger to you, to the innocent, to the public from this infection. We are not terrorists, but guardians who have vowed to serve our neighbors, whatever the cost.

  Others have been tried, convicted, and sentenced. We will not stop seeking those who profit by and pleasure themselves on the grief and harm of others until Absolute Purity has been achieved in New York.

  We ask you to inform the public of our message, of our goals, and to assure them that we work to protect and preserve the victim who the law cannot serve.

  We hope to consider you our media liaison in this matter.

  —The Purity Seekers.

  “That’s tidy, isn’t it?” Eve commented. “Real tidy. They don’t bother to mention Ralph Wooster, who got his brains bashed in, or Suzanne Cohen, who was beaten unconscious. No talk about a dead cop or one who may be paralyzed. Just how pure and true their goals are to serve the public. What are you going to do?”

  “My job,” Nadine told her.

  “You’re going to air this garbage.”

  “Yes, I’m going to air it. It’s news, and it’s my job to report the news.”

  “Nice bump to your ratings.”

  “I’m going to let that pass,” Nadine said after a moment. “Because you’ve got a dead cop, and another—one I consider a friend—who’s hurt. And I’m letting it pass because, yeah, this is going to be a nice bump to the ratings. You’re here right now, reading this before I go on the air because I respect you, because you’re someone else I consider a friend, and because I happen to believe justice doesn’t have shortcuts. If you don’t respect me and my purpose, then I’ve made a mistake.”

  Eve turned away, kicked a small sofa with enough force to make Nadine wince. “You’re the only reporter I’ve been able to stand, on a professional level, for more than ten minutes.”

  “Oh my. I’m so very touched.”

  “Friendship’s a separate issue. Let’s just stick with the program for now. You’re good at your job, and you play it straight.”

  “Thank you. And right back at you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to do a happy dance knowing you’re going to be broadcasting this crap. Guardians, my ass. You can’t put a damn halo on murder.”

  “Good one. Can I quote you?”

  Fury leaped into Eve’s eyes. “This is off the record.”

  “This is all off the record,” Nadine agreed calmly. “But you’re going to want to go on the record very fast. I need a one-on-one with you, interviews with Whitney, with Tibble, with Feeney, McNab. I need to talk to Halloway’s people. Family, friends, associates. I need a statement from the mayor.”

  “Would you like me to tie a bow around all that for you, Nadine?”

  Nadine fisted her hands on her hips. “This is my area, and I know how to play it. If you want this story balanced, if you hope to spin it your way, I need airtime with all the key players.”

  “Eve.” Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s rigid shoulder. “She’s right. She couldn’t be more right. The majority of viewers will be fascinated by this group. They’ll look at Cogburn and Fitzhugh—”

  “Who’s Fitzhugh?” Nadine demanded. “Are you talking about Chadwick Fitzhugh? Is he dead?”

  “Shut up,” Eve snapped. “Let me think.”

  “Let me finish,” Roarke corrected. “They’ll look at the people this group has executed and think: Well, it’s no more than they deserved. They were parasites preying on our children.”

  “Like you,” she said before she could stop herself.

  Face expressionless, he inclined his head. “If you’re hoping yet I’ll work my way around to indignation over the death of a swine like Fitzhugh, you’re doomed to disappointment. The difference is I saw what happened to a young cop today. What happened to Ian, what might have happened to Feeney. To you. That changes the complexion of this pompous, egocentric, and self-serving statement. But some who hear it will consider this purity group heroes.”

  “Heroism isn’t achieved by remote control,” Eve snapped.

  “If you keep spouting sound bites like that off the record,” Nadine said, “I’m going to break down and cry.”

  “Then show them up for cowards,” Roarke told her. “Let the public see the grief Halloway’s family is feeling because their son was an innocent victim. A cop who died in the line of duty because of something this group started. You let them see McNab, young, eager, wounded. You need to use the media as thoroughly, as skillfully as they will.”

  “I need to find them, I need to stop them, not play Who’s Spinning the Media Wheel now.”

  “Lieutenant.” Roarke squeezed her shoulder. “You need to do both.”

  “I need that disc.”

  Nadine ejected it, held it out. “This is the original. I’ve already made a copy for myself.” She smiled as Eve snatched it out of her hand. “It’s going to be such fun working with you.”

  “I don’t give you anything on record until I’ve cleared this with Whitney.”

  “Go ahead, give him a call. I’d say we could all use some coffee.”

  “I’ll give you a hand with that.” Roarke strolled out of the room with her.

  Eve took a moment to calm down. She hated knowing Nadine was right. She would have to fight part of this battle on the airwaves.

  She used Nadine’s ’link to wake up her commander.

  “She’s been in there a long time.” Nadine poured a second cup of coffee.

  “You wouldn’t break the story at this time of morning.” Because Nadine was puffing on one of her herbals, Roarke indulged himself with a cigarette. He preferred real tobacco. “You’ll wait until six to maximize the viewing audience and ratings, catch your competitors unprepared, and thoroughly screw up their first-of-the-day broadcasts.”

  “You’re good at this.”

  “I’ve some experience with manipulation.”

  “I’m giving her ten more minutes, then I have to call into the station, block the time, do the prep, call in an electronic’s expert. I don’t suppose you’d—”

  “I think not. That would be skirting right over the line Eve’s already drawn in her mind over this. But I can recommend a couple of names if you don’t have anyone particular in mind.”

  “I was thinking Mya Dubber.”

  “She’s excellent. A solid handle on electronics and a pleasant way of communicating technical jargon in simple terms.”

  “She works for you, doesn’t she?”

  “In a freelance capacity, yes.”

  Unable to sit any longer, Nadine stood up to pace. “She’s cutting me close on this. I’ve got research to do, copy to write, interviews to set up. This story’s going to blow everything else off the air. Who’s next? That’ll be one of the questions. And they’ll keep tuning in until there’s an answer.”

  “And my cop will work herself into the ground to try to beat that answer, so there is no next.”

  “That’s why you have to respect her. And that’s why she always makes a damn good story. Are you two bu
tting heads over this one?”

  He blew out a lazy stream of smoke. “Not heads so much as philosophies. It’s more difficult for her to accept mine than it is for me to accept hers. We’ll work through it.”

  “I appreciate you backing me up on this.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” he stated calmly. “I did it for her.”

  “I know. I appreciate it anyway.” Nadine spun around as she heard Eve come in. “Well?”

  “You’ll get your one-on-ones with me and Whitney asap. The mayor will draft a statement that may be read by the deputy mayor. That’s not decided yet. He or she will do some questions, pending approval. We’re not going to contact Halloway’s family at this hour and add to their distress. If, in the morning, they’re willing to speak with you, we’ll arrange it. The same goes for Feeney. He had a rough one today,” she said before Nadine could speak. “I’m not waking him up for this. You can interview McNab at our place, pending medical clearance. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Chief Tibble will also draft a statement, and consider an interview after he’s reviewed all the data. Take it, Nadine, because that’s the best you’re going to get.”

  “Have some coffee. I need to make a call and change into wardrobe. We’ll do the one-on-ones with you and Whitney in studio. One hour.”

  She got through it, towing the departmental line throughout the interview. If Nadine wasn’t thrilled with the content of the interview, she knew it wasn’t the words that would make the segment. It was Lieutenant Eve Dallas herself, looking pale and exhausted and absolutely steady.

  To Eve’s surprise, Mayor Steven Peachtree arrived just as she was going off-camera. At forty-three, he projected both a youthful and steady image. He was dignified and handsome in a conservative gray suit with a broadcast-ready blue shirt and a tie, perfectly knotted, in tones of both gray and blue.

  He came in looking alert and grim with a small entourage of smartly dressed aides he ignored the way you ignore your own shadow.

  “Commander.” He nodded to Whitney, and was close enough now that Eve noted the faint smudges of lost sleep under his eyes. “I felt this needed to be addressed personally, and swiftly. I’m told you’ve also been consulting with Chang re official statements.”

  “That’s correct. We need unification on this. A solid line.”

  “I absolutely agree. The media liaison will have updated statements for all parties by eight hundred. Lieutenant.”

  “Mayor.”

  “We need swift and decisive action on this matter. My office is to be kept updated on every action taken.” He glanced toward the studio. “We’re going to keep this goddamn mess under control. We’ll feed Ms. Furst and the others no more than what we determine is good for public consumption.”

  “We’re not the only ones feeding her,” Eve pointed out.

  “I’m aware of that.” His voice managed to be both rich and chilly at the same time. “Whatever they toss out, we’ll spin back. We can count on Chang for that. You’ll work directly with him and Deputy Mayor Franco on media relations.”

  He glanced at his wrist unit. Frowned. “Keep me informed,” he ordered, then strode off to the prep room.

  “He’s good at this,” Whitney told Eve. “He’ll come off strong, controlled, and concerned. We’re going to need strong image projection to keep this lid from blowing off and spilling the contents all over New York.”

  “It seems to me the way to keep the lid on is to identify and stop The Purity Seekers.”

  “That’s your priority, Lieutenant. But the job has more than one channel. The memorial service for Detective Halloway is scheduled for tomorrow, ten. Full honors. I want you there.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  “Today’s meeting has been bumped up to thirteen hundred. Get some sleep,” he added before he walked over to take his turn in the studio. “It’s going to be a long one.”

  At home, she fell facedown on the bed for three and a half hours.

  The alarm on her wrist unit woke her with its incessant beeping. She crawled out of bed in the dark, stumbled into the shower, and stayed under hot, crisscrossing jets for twenty full minutes.

  When she came back in the bedroom, Roarke was just getting up. “Did I wake you? You could catch another half hour.”

  “I’m fine.” He gave her face a critical study, then nodded. “And you look considerably better than you did at four this morning. Why don’t you order us up some breakfast while I get a shower?”

  “I was just going to grab a bagel at my desk.”

  “You’ve changed your mind,” he said as he went into the bath. “Because you’ve remembered that your body needs proper fuel to maintain energy and health and because you’d prefer I not pour a protein shake down your throat as that just starts your day off on the wrong foot. Scrambled eggs would be good, wouldn’t they?”

  She bared her teeth, but he was already in the shower.

  She ate, she told herself, because she was hungry.

  And when Roarke buzzed Summerset on the in-house ’link and asked about McNab, she tried to feel optimistic at the information that the patient had spent a restful night.

  Just as she struggled against despair when she watched him ride into her office in an electronic wheelchair.

  “Hey!” His face was just a little too cheerful. His voice was just a little too bright. “I’m getting me one of these rides when I’m back on my feet. They rule.”

  “No racing in the corridors.”

  He grinned at her. “Too late.”

  “We’ll wait for Feeney before I start the briefing,” Eve began.

  “We caught the morning report on 75, Lieutenant.” Peabody’s eyes were shadowed, and more than a little desperate when they met Eve’s behind McNab’s back. “I’d say we got a good start on the briefing.”

  “I need coffee.” She gestured for Roarke to distract McNab, then jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. “You’ve got to hold up better than this,” she told Peabody the minute they were out of earshot. “He’s not stupid.”

  “I know. I’m okay. It’s just, when I see him in that chair, I get a little shaky. There’s no change. They said he should start to feel a tingling, like you do when your foot’s asleep and starts to wake up. That would signal the nerves are coming back. But he’s not, they’re not.”

  “Recovery time varies. I’ve taken a full body blast and had no appreciable numbness within minutes. And I’ve had a glancing stream hit my arm and put it down for hours.”

  “He’s scared. He’s pretending he’s not, but he’s really scared.”

  “If he can pretend he’s not, so can you. And if you want to do something about the people who put him in that chair—temporarily—then you need to pull it in and focus.”

  “I know.” Peabody drew a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. “I can handle it.”

  “Good, then get started by handling the coffee.”

  She walked back out, stopped cold when she saw Feeney in her office doorway. His face was a picture of misery, sorrow, and fury as he stared at the back of McNab’s chair.

  Eve started to make a sound, anything that would snap him back, but before she could, he hit some internal switch. His face cleared.

  “What’s all this?” He came in scowling at McNab. “This looks like malingering to me. Trust you to manage to get a toy out of it all.”

  “Iced, huh?”

  “First time you run over my foot, I’m flattening you. Baxter’s on his way in. Got coffee?”

  “Yeah.” Eve nodded. “We got coffee.”

  By nine-thirty, she’d given the team the basic details. By nine forty-five she’d filled in the gaps, and by ten she’d added a basic theory.

  “At least one of the key people in this group has been personally affected by a crime, most likely a crime against a child. Most probably more than one of them. You need like minds to get something like this off the ground. They have superior and as yet unknown electronic abilities, and
must have some sort of medical consultant. It’s also likely they have contact of some sort with the police or with the judicial system. Or both.

  “They’re organized, they’re articulate, and they’re media savvy.”

  “When you’ve got a group like this,” Baxter said, “you’ve got those like minds. But you almost always have one or more who’s in it for the thrill, the blood, or because they’re just seriously wacko.”

  “Agreed. You can start a search for serious wackos who fit another of the group’s profile. They will contact Nadine again,” she continued. “They want public attention, and approval.”

  “They’re going to get it.” Feeney slurped at his coffee. “This is just the sort of thing that gets people riled up, arguing in the streets, making up T-shirts, taking sides.”

  “We can’t stop the media train, so we do our best to steer it onto our tracks. Nadine wants to interview both you and McNab. You can blow,” she said before Feeney could do just that. “But you won’t be saying anything I didn’t already say or think. The point is, the department believes this will be helpful.”

  “You think I’m giving this airtime?” Feeney slammed his cup down. “You think I’m going to go on-screen and yammer about what happened yesterday, talk about that boy?”

  “What you’ll say will help people understand what happened with Halloway.” Roarke spoke quietly. “It will make them see him as he was—a good cop who was doing his job. Who was killed in the line of duty by a group of people who want to be perceived as guardians of justice. You’d make them see him as a person.”

  “I’d like to talk about it.” McNab was strapped into the chair. It was something he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t just sitting, but secured in. So he wouldn’t slump down like a ragdoll, tumble out like a baby.

  It burned in his belly along with the fear that he would be strapped in a chair the rest of his life. “If people listen they’d understand he wasn’t the one who put me down. It was whoever infected that unit he was working on. Halloway didn’t put me in here, and he doesn’t deserve anyone thinking he did. So I’d like to do the interview. I’d like to say what I have to say.”