Purity in Death Page 4

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you walked into the same situation today, would you again deploy your weapon?”

  He shuddered, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s the core of it.” She passed him the coffee. “You hold on to the core of it, you’ll get through the rest. Don’t try to out-think Testing. You haven’t got the brass for it yet. Answer correctly, answer truthfully. And however they twist the question of justification, you deployed your weapon justifiably, to preserve the life of a civilian and your own.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jesus, Trueheart, you’re an agreeable bastard. At what distance were you from the subject when you deployed?”

  “I think—”

  “Don’t think. How far?”

  “Six feet, maybe five and a half.”

  “How many jolts did you give him?”

  “Two.”

  “Did your weapon, at any time during the altercation, come in direct contact with the subject?”

  “Contact?” He looked baffled for a moment. “Oh, no, sir. I was down and he was moving away when I deployed. Then he turned, moving toward me when I deployed the second time.”

  “What did you do with the drop piece?”

  “The . . .” Pure shock jolted over his face. She watched it turn pink with what could only be indignation. “Sir, I had no secondary weapon, nor do I own one. I had only the street stunner, which I’m authorized to carry and which you took into evidence at the scene. Sir, I resent—”

  “Save it.” She leaned back. “If they don’t ask you that question in Testing, I’ll be surprised. You can bet your ass IAB will ask it. And they’ll push. So save the moral outrage for them. Don’t you drink coffee, Trueheart?”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked miserably into the cup, then lifted it, sipped. His breath sucked in. “This isn’t coffee.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s real coffee. Got a lot more going for it than that veggie crap, doesn’t it? You could use the extra kick today. Listen to me, Troy. You’re a good cop and with some seasoning you’ll be a better one. Terminations aren’t supposed to be easy. We shouldn’t be able to shrug off the taking of any life like it was nothing or we skirt too close to being what we’re here to put away.”

  “I wish . . . I wish there’d been another way.”

  “There wasn’t, and don’t forget that. It’s okay to be sorry, even a little guilty. But it’s not okay to feel anything less than absolutely confident that you did what had to be done given the circumstances. You let them see you’re not sure, and they’ll rip you up like a leopard does a gazelle.”

  “I had to do it.” He held the coffee tight in both hands as if he were afraid it would jump out of his grip. “Lieutenant, I played it in my head a hundred different ways last night. I couldn’t have done anything else. He’d have killed that woman. He’d probably have killed me and anyone else who got in the way. But I made mistakes. I should’ve called for backup before entering the building. I should have called it in to Dispatch instead of tagging you.”

  “Yeah, those are mistakes.” She nodded, pleased he’d thought it through, picked it apart. “Neither of which would have changed the termination. But they were mistakes that may cost you a little shine. Why didn’t you call for backup?”

  “I reacted. The woman appeared to be in immediate jeopardy. I did shout orders for someone to call nine-eleven once I was inside, but I should have done so personally. If I’d been unsuccessful in stopping the perpetrator, had no backup en route, more lives could have been lost.”

  “Good. Lesson learned. Why did you call me instead of Dispatch?”

  “I was . . . Lieutenant, I wasn’t thinking straight. I realized both men were dead, that I had terminated the assailant, and I—”

  “You were disoriented from the blows you received,” she said briskly. “You had some concerns that you might lose consciousness. Your immediate thought was to report the homicide and the termination, and you did so by contacting the Homicide lieutenant you have worked with in the past. Are you getting this, Trueheart?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You were in physical and mental distress. The lieutenant, to whom you relayed your situation, ordered you to secure the scene and stand until her arrival. You did so.”

  “It wasn’t procedure.”

  “No, but it’ll hold. Be sure you do. I didn’t bring you in off sidewalk detail to watch you wash out.”

  “I’ll get mandatory thirty-day suspension.”

  “Possibly. Probably.”

  “I can take it. I don’t want to lose my badge.”

  “You’re not going to lose your badge. Report to Testing, Officer Trueheart.” She got to her feet. “And show them what you’re made of.”

  She put in another nagging call to Morris, then decided to swing into EDD before she nabbed Peabody and headed to the morgue.

  EDD always baffled her. How anybody got anything done when they were all pacing around talking on headsets or burrowed in cubes arguing with computers was beyond her.

  And they rarely dressed like cops. McNab, the skinny fashion plate who was currently engaged in activities on and off shift with Peabody that Eve didn’t like to think about, might have been the most outrageous of the bunch. But he didn’t win by much.

  She retreated as quickly as possible into Feeney’s dull, workingman’s office.

  His door was open. He rarely shut it, even when he was, as now, scouring a subordinate over some screw-up.

  “You think the units in here are for your amusement and entertainment, Halloway? You figure you can kick back and play a little Space Crusader on the taxpayers’ nickel?”

  “No, sir, Captain, I wasn’t—”

  “This department isn’t your frigging toy box.”

  “Captain, it was my lunch break and—”

  “You got time for lunch?” Feeney’s basset hound face registered shock, amazement, and a secret joy. “Well, that’s fascinating, Halloway. I can promise you for the next little while lunch breaks are going to be a fond, fond memory. You may not have noticed, since you’ve been so busy saving the virtual universe while you tuck into a sandwich, but we’re jammed in here. Crime’s soaring like the temps out there, and we, being duly sworn servants of the law, have to buckle our asses in and save the city before we move on to space and goddamn alien invaders. I want a report on the Dubreck hacker on my desk in thirty.”

  Halloway seemed to shrink inside his lime green jumpsuit. “Yes, sir.”

  “When you’re done with that you hook up with Silby on the ’links from the Stewart break-in. And when you’re done with that, I’ll let you know. Scram.”

  Halloway scrammed, flicking one mortified glance at Eve as he scrambled out and back toward his cube.

  “Does the heart good,” Feeney said with a sigh, “to peel the skin off a skinny butt in the morning. What’s up with you?”

  “What was his score on Crusader?”

  “Got up to fifty-six mil on Commando level.” Feeney sniffed. “Damn near nipped my record and that’s been standing for three years, four months, and twenty-two days. Little putz.”

  She strolled in, sat on the corner of his desk, and copped a handful of the candied almonds he kept in a bowl. “You hear about Trueheart?”

  “No. Been buried.” His baggy face creased with concern. “What?”

  She told him, leaving out nothing as they both munched on nuts. Feeney dragged a hand through his explosion of ginger hair. “Gonna be tough on him.”

  “Builds fucking character,” she muttered. “He’s giving it to me straight, Feeney. Kid would sooner swallow a live rat than lie to me. But it doesn’t hold up. I brought Cogburn’s data and communication center in. I was hoping you could bump it up to priority. Look, I know you’re swamped,” she added before he could speak. “But I want all the ammunition I can get for this. And there’s something on there. I know there is. This Purity business smells bad.”

  “Can’t give you McN
ab. Already got him juggling. Halloway,” he said and brightened. “I just don’t think that boy has enough to do. I’ll put him on it. A little overtime should be good for him.”

  “And help protect your high score.”

  “Goes without saying.” But the humor on his face faded quickly. “IAB’s going to take some hard shoves at that kid.”

  “I know it. I’m going to see if I can deflect a few of them.” She pushed off the desk. “I’m going to go harass Morris. If my hunch holds up, Trueheart’s off the sharpest hook.”

  Chapter 3

  When Eve swung back into Homicide to snap up Peabody, several of the detectives in the bullpen sent meaningful looks her way.

  “Rat in the hole,” Baxter commented as he walked past her, and jerked his head toward her office.

  “Thanks.” She hooked her thumbs in the front pockets of her trousers and headed into her office.

  Lieutenant Don Webster sat in her single spare chair, his polished shoes kicked up on her cluttered desk. He was drinking her coffee.

  “Hey, Dallas. Been a little while.”

  “But somehow never long enough.” She knocked his feet off her desk. “Is that my coffee in that mug?”

  He took a long sip, let out a happy sigh. “It must be nice, being able to call up the real thing whenever you’re in the mood. How is Roarke these days?”

  “Is this a social call? Because I don’t have time to chat. I’m on duty.”

  “Not social, but it could be friendly.” He moved his shoulders when her expression stayed set and stony. “Or not. Gotta say though, you’re looking just swell.”

  She reached behind her, shut the door. “You’d have gotten the report of the incident occurring yesterday between nineteen hundred and nineteen-thirty involving a uniformed officer assigned to Central who, while off-duty, responded to—”

  “Dallas.” Webster held up a hand. “I got the report. I know the incident. I know Officer Troy Trueheart—hell of a name, huh—is in Testing at this time. Internal Affairs will interview the subject and investigate the termination after the results of said Testing are evaluated.”

  “He’s twenty-two years old. He’s still green but he’s solid. I’m asking you to go easy on him.”

  Irritation settled over his face. Toughened it. “You think I get up in the morning thinking about how many cops I can destroy that day?”

  “I don’t know what you or the rest of your pack think about.” She started to order coffee for herself, then spun around. “I thought you were coming back. I thought you’d decided to be a cop again.”

  “I am a goddamn cop.”

  “After all that dirt came out from inside IAB—”

  “That’s why I stayed in.” He said it quietly, and cut off her tirade. “I thought about it.” He pushed a hand through his wavy brown hair. “I thought about it long and hard. I believe in the Bureau, Dallas.”

  “How? Why?”

  “Checks and balances. We need checks and balances. When there’s power there’s corruption. They go hand-in-hand. A wrong cop’s got no right to a badge. But he deserves having another cop see it’s taken from him.”

  “I’ve got no use for dirty cops.” Annoyed with the world in general, she took the coffee mug from him and drank. “Damn it, Webster, you were good on the street.”

  It gave him a quick zip to hear her say it. To know she meant it. “I’m good in the Bureau. I think I make a difference.”

  “By hammering at a rookie like Trueheart because he did what he had to do to protect a civilian and himself?”

  “You know, the first thing I did when I went back into IAB was move out all the racks, thumbscrews, and other torture devices. I read the report, Dallas. It’s clear there was immediate jeopardy. But there are holes, and there are questions. You know it.”

  “I’m looking into it. Let me clear it up.”

  “You know. I’d love to do you a favor, just so you’d owe me one. But he has to be interviewed, he has to make a statement. He can have his rep there. He can have you there. Jesus, Dallas, we’re not looking to fuck this kid over. But when a uniform terminates using his weapon it has to be reviewed.”

  “He’s clean, Webster. He’s goddamn spanking clean.”

  “Then he’s got nothing to worry about. I’ll take it personally if that means anything to you.”

  “I guess it does.”

  “You tell Roarke you were tagging me for this? Or is he going to get riled up so I have to kick his ass again?”

  “Oh, is that what you were doing when you had to be carried out of the room unconscious?”

  “I like to remember it that I was just getting my second wind.”

  Webster rubbed a hand over his jaw. He could still remember what Roarke’s fist had felt like plowing into it. Like a well-aimed brick.

  “Whatever works for you. And I don’t report to Roarke.”

  “You go on thinking that.” He took the coffee back from her, finished it off. “You’re so married I see little lovebirds circling over your head.”

  It mortified, right down to her toes. “Roarke’s not the only one who can knock you unconscious.”

  “I really like the look of you.” He grinned when her eyes narrowed. “Just looking,” he assured her. “No touching. Learned my lesson there. You can trust me to keep it clean, personally and professionally. That good enough for you?”

  “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have called you.”

  “Check. I’ll be in touch.” He opened the door, glanced back. He really did like the look of her—lean and tough and sexy. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Alone, she shook her head. She could hear the noise level drop into silence from the bullpen as Webster walked through it. He’d chosen a very hard road, she thought. A badge who policed other badges was regarded with suspicion, derision, and fear.

  A slippery line to walk. She supposed, all in all, she liked him well enough to hope he kept his balance.

  She checked her wrist unit, judged how much longer Trueheart would be in Testing. More than enough time, she thought, for her to browbeat Morris for results on Cogburn.

  They were stacked and racked and packed in the morgue. Rarely in eleven years on the job had Eve seen so many corpses in one place at one time.

  A trio of the bagged and tagged were laid out on gurneys and shoved against the wall outside of one of the autopsy suites.

  Take a number, she thought. Too late to be protected, but you’ll be served eventually.

  As Eve strode down the bright white corridor of the dead, Peabody hustled beside her.

  “Man, this place is always a little spooky, but this is beyond. You know how you half expect one of these bags to sit up and grab at you?”

  “No. Wait out here. If one of them makes a run for it, give me a call.”

  “I don’t think that’s particularly funny.” And watching the still black bags warily, Peabody took her post at the door.

  Inside Morris was busy at work, a laser scalpel midway through the Y cut on one of the six bodies splayed out on tables.

  He wore goggles over his pleasant face, a plastic hood over his long, dark braided hair, and a clear protective coat over a natty navy blue suit.

  “What’s the point in having voice mail if you don’t talk to it?” Eve demanded.

  “A lot of unexpected company dropped in this morning, due to an airtram collision. Didn’t you catch the report? Bodies dropping out of the sky like flying monkeys.”

  “If they could fly they wouldn’t be bagged and tagged. How many?”

  “Twelve dead, six injured. Some jerk in an airmini rammed it. Tram pilot managed to hold the controls most of the way down, but people panicked. Add to that the knife fight at a club that took both participants and one bystander, the Jane Doe female found stuffed in a recycler, and your everyday bashings, bludgeonings, and brutalities and we’ve got ourselves a full house.”

  “I’ve got a police termination with some questions. Rookie unifor
m stuns crazy guy, crazy guy dies. No sign of stunner contact on vic. Stunner confiscated from officer was set on low.”

  “Then it didn’t kill him.”

  “He’s dead as the rest of your guests.”

  Morris completed his Y cut. “Only way a noncontact zap with a uniform stunner would take out a man, crazy or not, would be if said potential crazy man had a respiratory or neurological condition of such seriousness that the electronic jolt acerbated it and led to termination.”

  It was exactly what she’d wanted to hear. “If that’s the case, it’s not actually a termination by maximum force.”

  “Technically, no. However—”

  “Technically will do. Be a pal, Morris, take a look at him. It’s Trueheart.”

  Morris looked up and shoved the goggles up. “The kid with the peach fuzz on his face that looks like a screen ad for toothpaste?”

  “That’s the one. He’s in Testing. IAB’s next. And something doesn’t hang about the way this went down. He could use a break.”

  “Let me look him up.”

  “He’s over there. Number four in line.” She jerked a thumb.

  “Let me pull the report up.”

  “I can—”

  “Let me read it.” Morris cut her off with a wave of the hand and moved over to the data center. “Name of crazy dead guy?”

  “Cogburn, Louis K.”

  Morris called up the field report. As he read, he hummed to himself. It was some catchy little tune, vaguely familiar to her. And it started playing around in her head in a way that told her it would be stuck there for hours.

  “Illegals dealer,” Morris began. “Could’ve been over-sampling, heart or neurological damage possible. Bleeding from ears, nose, broken blood vessels in the eyes. Hmm.”

  He moved to the table where Louie K. was laid out, skinny and naked. He refit the goggles, lowered his face so close to Louie’s it looked as though he was about to kiss the dead.

  “Record on,” he said and began to dictate preliminary data, visual findings.

  “Well, let’s open him up, see what we see. You going to hang for this?”

  “Yeah, if it’s quick.”