Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(24)

“Because your pants are loose.”

“Well, that, but mostly for Trueheart. I’m proud to wear it for Trueheart.”

Eve took out the box that held her medals and thought, Yes. For Trueheart.

—

She caught Baxter—who’d traded his usually snappy suit for dress blues—already seated in the front row.

“Cutting it close, LT.”

“I’ve got time. You need to switch with me, stand up there with Trueheart.”

Baxter got to his feet. “I appreciate the offer, sincerely. But he deserves his lieutenant. I’m going to sit here, front row center—saved you a spot, Peabody—and bask. His mom’s right over there, and his girl. You should say something to her. Them.”

“I will, after.”

She went around the back, through a river of blue, and spotted Commander Whitney standing aside in conversation with Chief Tibble.

She started toward Trueheart, who was looking young, a little pale, and daisy fresh, but Whitney signaled her over.

“Commander. Chief Tibble. It’s a good day.”

“It is.” Whitney scanned the lineup, a broad-shouldered man beside Tibble’s longer length.

“It’s good you could be here, Chief. It means a lot to the men and women being promoted.”

“And to me. Before we get to that, to acknowledging them, I’d like the status on Senator Mira.”

“Detective Peabody and I just got back from interviews at his institute. As far as we can ascertain no one there knew he was missing. He didn’t give the name of the individual he arranged to meet at the property in SoHo to his admin, and dismissed his driver on arrival there. I’ve reached out to Detective Hanson in Missing Persons, and he should be following up at the Institute by now. Peabody and I will begin questioning certain women the senator had relationships with over the past year. I have information he took them, regularly, to the Institute’s suite at the Palace Hotel.”

Tibble’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “The media’s going to tear into that like lions on an antelope. Not our problem. No ransom demands as yet?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“I don’t have to tell you to dot all the i’s. This will hit the media soon, one way or the other. They’ll rip through him, but they’ll spotlight the department and the investigation.”

“Understood, sir.”

“For now, we’ll honor our officers. I’ve heard good things about your boy, Lieutenant.”

“My boy, sir?”

Tibble smiled, deepening the lines fanning out from his eyes. “Trueheart. You did well there.”

“Detective Baxter trained him. He did well.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him so. Excuse me.”

When Tibble moved off, Whitney turned to Eve, his dark, wide face sober. “It isn’t prudent or professional to tell a former senator’s wife to kiss your ass.”

“No, sir. I apologize for any difficulty my lapse caused you and the department.”

“My wife told her to shove it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Though his tone remained quiet and serious, humor, bright and unmistakable, fired up in his eyes. “Anna served on a couple of charity committees with Mandy Mira. In general, my wife’s anger is shown in cold disdain.”

“I’m aware,” Eve said before she could stop herself, but Whitney only chuckled.

“However, Mandy Mira flipped the switch, and among other unkind suggestions, Anna told her to shove it. She won’t serve on any committee or function with the senator’s wife any longer. She was delighted when she overheard my conversation with Mandy Mira last night, and enjoyed talking to our own Mira about the incident when Charlotte contacted me about it. Officially, I can’t condone your behavior.”

“No, sir.”

“Consider yourself reprimanded.” His face settled back into commanding lines. “Now, let’s give some good cops their moment, and get back to work.”

—

Eve stood on the stage with other ranking officers and those being promoted. She stood at parade rest through the speeches—mercifully brief—from Tibble, from Whitney. A scan of the audience showed every single member of her division in attendance, and, though she wondered who the hell was manning the ship, it made her proud to know every one of them—detectives, uniforms—took the time to be there for Trueheart.

She picked out Feeney, McNab, Mira, who like Trueheart looked a little pale, and to her surprise, Morris. As each officer’s name was called he or she stepped up to Whitney for the presentation, a few personal words from the commander, the photo op.

She could pick out family members by their glistening eyes during the applause.

“Troy Trueheart, Detective, third grade.”

Applause broke out hard and fast, and she managed to keep her face sober—even through the whistles and foot stomping from her division. She watched him cross the stage, a little flushed rather than pale now, and accept his gold shield.

“Lieutenant Dallas saw your potential,” Whitney said quietly to Trueheart. “Detective Baxter nurtured it. But it’s what you are that’s earned this shield. Congratulations, Detective.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, Commander. I won’t disappoint them, or you.”