“Just flirting, or following up on the flirting?”
“That’s where the girl was less certain. She’s personally witnessed Chelsea make out with guys at bars-not last night, but in the past. I think she suspects things have gone further from time to time, but doesn’t know for sure and didn’t want to be too catty under the circumstances.”
“We don’t have long before this one breaks.” The local crime reporters always had a way of learning about cases involving photogenic young women whose pictures made good front-page coverage. Add in a tourist at a trendy nightclub in Manhattan’s premier party district, and Chelsea Hart’s story became irresistible.
“And we need to get to the parents before that poor chump of a boyfriend goes to the airport and sees that his girl’s not on the plane,” Rogan added. “And we definitely need to get the Lou on board.”
The idea of Lieutenant Dan Eckels being on board with anything having to do with Ellie was a long shot. To say that Ellie wasn’t her lieutenant’s favorite detective was like saying the Hatfields and McCoys weren’t the friendliest of neighbors.
“At least you can fuel up before you face your maker.”
Jack Chen turned the hallway corner, juggling a pastry bag and a cardboard tray filled with three Styrofoam cups of coffee. Ellie recognized both as coming from a deli on Third Avenue. She took one of the cups and removed a cherry Danish from the bag, along with a napkin, while Chen handed five dollars and some coins back to Rogan. Rogan waved him off, and Chen thanked him before heading off to deliver the rest to the girls down the hall.
Ellie took a much-needed first sip of the black coffee.
“I’ll meet you back out here in ten?” Rogan said.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m going in there to prepare these girls to sit down with a sketch artist,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “You, however, are going to tell Eckels about your morning jog.”
CHAPTER 7
ELLIE STUDIED HER LIEUTENANT for ten full seconds through the open slats of the blinds covering the window between his office and the squad room. Dan Eckels’s short, chunky frame rested in his black leather armchair, and as far as she could tell, he was staring into space, doing absolutely nothing. She tapped her knuckles three times against his closed door.
“Enter.”
Eckels’s square face darkened when he looked up to find Ellie in the threshold of his office.
“Morning, Lou. I come bearing pastry.” She extended the napkin-wrapped Danish in his direction.
“Is that powdered sugar on there, Hatcher, or did you get carried away this morning with a little arsenic?”
“They always say you’ve got a wicked sense of humor.” They didn’t. No one. Ever. Ellie suppressed a stomach growl and tried not to think about how much she would have enjoyed that cherry pastry.
Eckels met her fake smile with his. It wasn’t a look that worked for him. With his salt-and-pepper hair, block-shaped head, and low forehead, the grin created an unfortunate Frankenstein effect.
“Let me guess. You and this heart-attack-inducing breakfast ball are here to explain why you and Rogan were already well into a call-out when I arrived here at seven o’clock.”
“Something like that.” She explained how she came upon the crime scene that morning before the first blue-and-white had even arrived. “I was already there, Lou. What was I supposed to do? Miss the opportunity for us to get a head start on the investigation just so I could finish my run?” She said it as if she’d really been looking forward to that last mile.
“You know what your problem is, Hatcher? You’re a smart-ass, just like Flann McIlroy.”
Ellie dropped the sunny smile. The last time she saw Detective Flann McIlroy, he was dying in her arms on a cabin cruiser at City Island, gunshots in his stomach and throat. “McIlroy was a great cop.”
“He was a good investigator. He knew how to follow his gut. Problem was, his instincts could be back-assward, and he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t listen to anyone. He thought he was smarter than everyone else.” Eckels pointed to imaginary people standing around his office. “Thought he could go his own way as long as he shined on all the stupid people around him.”
“I’m not like that, sir, and I’m not shining you on.”
“But you do think I’m stupid,” Eckels said, rocking back in his chair.
“Of course not, sir.” Ellie hadn’t realized until that moment the kind of insecurity Dan Eckels must live with.
Eckels locked eyes with her, sucking his teeth. Ellie held up both palms. “No bullshit, Lieutenant. I’m here to pull my weight. And I won’t bring you breakfast anymore. For the sake of your heart. And, well, I really can’t stand being a kiss-ass.”
“Jesus H.,” Eckels grunted, letting his weight drop forward. “Just go ahead and tell me what you’ve got.”
She drew him the bare-bones picture they’d gathered so far.
“A college student killed on spring break in Manhattan? Please tell me the girl’s a bow-wow.”
Ellie shook her head. “She was very pretty. And blond. I hear the public likes crime stories about midwestern blondes.”
The self-deprecating crack about her own personal brushes with the media was enough to get another creepy smile out of him.
“I was tempted to reassign this case to another team, Hatcher, the way you grabbed it. But you know something? You want to be in the middle of the shit storm? Then go for it. You weaseled your way into this squad after only five years on the job? We’ll see how much the brass loves you when your clusterfuck’s on the front page of every paper in the country.” He unfurled the imaginary headline with outstretched hands: “Murder in the Big Apple.”
“I won’t say I wasn’t warned.”
“Keep me in the loop, Hollywood. McIlroy never did.”
“Not a problem, sir.”
She turned to leave his office, but Eckels wasn’t finished. “How are things with Rogan?”
“Good. Real good so far. Thanks.”
“Just so you know, you’d be paired with that lazy fuck Winslow if Rogan hadn’t saved you. Don’t be a pain in his ass.”
Ellie let the door fall closed behind her.