Kindred in Death (In Death #29)(105)

“The kid looked like him.”

Her eyes went to slits. “And how do you know that, Officer Cunningham? Just how have you come by any descriptive data on the suspect?”

“Word gets around.”

“So, on one hand word gets around that the investigation is stalled, and on the other word gets around that we have a description of a suspect. You decide to join those hands together and f**k up my op. A man who’s killed two people is now in the wind due to your actions. The investigation is compromised, the department is now vulnerable to a civil suit not only from a kid you tossed to the ground, but from this establishment, and any other individuals who may have been injured or just decide to claim emotional hardship. You ass**les.”

“Look, I don’t have to take this.” Cunningham surged up. “I got a look at the sketch, and the kid looked like him, even dressed like he did. I acted, which is more than Homicide’s been doing since the captain’s girl got raped and murdered Sunday.”

Eve stepped forward. “Sit your fat ass down or I’ll put it down.”

“Like to see you try.”

“Cunningham, for Christ’s sake, for Christ’s sake.” Still on the sofa, Harrison rubbed a hand over his face.

“Officer Cunningham, you’ve earned yourself a thirty-day rip for insubordination. Further determination of your status will be determined. You will sit when I tell you to sit, or you’ll be looking at sixty days right off the top.”

“The captain’s my boss,” he said, but he sat.

“And I am your superior—in so many ways. But yeah, the captain’s your boss. Your actions today have destroyed an operation that could have—damn well would have—seen to it that the man who raped and murdered Deena MacMasters was in custody right f**king now. Who showed you the sketch?”

Cunningham jutted up his chin. “I don’t say nothing more until I have my rep.”

“Your choice.” She looked at Harrison. “You?”

“I didn’t see the sketch, LT. I heard about it, but I didn’t see it. Cunningham took the kid down, shouted out he had the bastard and needed assistance. I assisted.”

“Write it up, call your reps. Get out of my sight.”

When they filed out, Baxter came over, took the cold wrap, twisted to activate. “Use it. Your eye’s going black.”

She twisted, imagining for one happy moment the cold wrap was Cunningham’s neck. “Jesus Christ, Baxter.”

“We’re in the soup, and goddamn. I’d kick Cunningham’s ass, but it’s a waste of time. For what it’s worth, I got a decent view on how it went—and it went quick. Harrison’s telling it straight. He moved in to assist another officer. I can’t see hanging him for it.”

“That won’t be up to me.”

“I’d just caught sight of the bastard. Pauley. Just made him, then the place went up like somebody yelled ‘bomb.’ I couldn’t get to him, got pushed back, trapped in a corner. Trueheart carried some old woman out of it. She got knocked cold. We had him, Dallas. We’d’ve had him.”

“Means jack now.” She dragged her hand through her hair. “And now I have to go get my ass fried like I just fried Cunningham’s.”

“It’s not right. Not f**king right.”

“My op. My soup.”

Peabody was waiting when Eve stepped out. “The commander’s in the meditation room, this level. We can go over now.”

“I’ll go over. Inform the team we’ll debrief at the conference room in one hour.”

“I’ll inform the team, and we’ll go over. You’re rank, but we’re partners. I’m in this, too.”

“No point in both of us getting our asses kicked over it.”

“There is to me.”

“Fine. It’s your ass.”

“Every square inch. Trueheart! Inform the team we debrief in one hour at Central, conference room. It’s heady to outrank someone,” Peabody said as they continued on. “At least I outrank him for the moment.”

“Whitney’s not going to bust you down to uniform. One of us leaked the sketch, and my money’s on a uniform there. So, after we’re roasted, we do some roasting ourselves. Either way, it comes down to a FUBAR on this op.”

She stopped outside of the meditation room. “Last chance.”

“No. I’m in.” Peabody opened the door herself.

Jonah and Carol MacMasters sat together on a small sofa. From her chair, Anna Whitney leaned forward and poured tea from a delicate pot into delicate cups. Whitney turned from the window.

“We’ll speak elsewhere,” he said, but before he could move away from the window, Carol sprang up.

“How could you let this happen? How could you? At Deena’s memorial?”

“Carol, stop. Stop.” MacMasters got to his feet.

“It’s a disgrace.”

“Yes, it is.” He took his wife by the shoulders. “And it was my men who caused it, not the lieutenant’s. It was my men.”

“Regardless of that, this was my operation,” Eve said, “and my responsibility. I have no excuse, Mrs. MacMasters, and my apologies are hardly adequate.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Her eyes burned with a fury Eve imagined hurt less than grief. “You take responsibility?”