"No, you're not off the fucking case," O'Kelly snapped. "You're not off the fucking case purely because I don't want any smart-arse reporter getting curious about why I gave you the boot. The word from now on is damage control. You don't interview a single witness, you don't touch a single piece of evidence, you sit at your desk and try not to make anything any worse than it already is. We do everything we can to stop this getting out. And the day Donnelly's trial is over, if there ever is a trial, you're suspended from the squad pending investigation."
All I could think was that "damage control" was two words. "Sir, I'm so sorry," I said, which seemed like a better thing to say. I had no idea what suspension involved. I had a fleeting image of some TV cop slapping his badge and his gun on his boss's desk, close-up fading to credits as his career went up in smoke.
"That and two quid will get you a cup of coffee," O'Kelly said flatly. "Sort the tips from the hotline and put them on file. Any of them mention the old case, you don't even finish reading them, you pass them straight to Maddox or O'Neill." He sat down at his desk, picked up the phone and started dialing. I stood there staring at him for a few seconds before I realized I was supposed to leave.
I went slowly back to the incident room-I'm not sure why, I had no intention of doing anything with the hotline tips; I suppose I must have been on autopilot. Cassie was sitting in front of the VCR, her elbows on her knees, watching the tape of me interrogating Damien. There was an exhausted slump to her shoulders; the remote control dangled limply from one hand.
Something deep inside me gave a horrible, sick lurch. It hadn't even occurred to me, until that moment, to wonder how O'Kelly knew. It only hit me then, as I stood in the doorway of the incident room looking at her: there was only one way he could possibly have found out.
I was perfectly aware that I had been pretty shitty to Cassie lately-although I would argue that the situation was a complex one, and that I had my reasons. But nothing I had done to her, nothing I could do in the world, warranted this. I had never imagined this kind of betrayal. Hell hath no fury. I thought my legs were going to give way.
Maybe I made some involuntary sound or movement, I don't know, but Cassie turned sharply in her chair and stared at me. After a second she hit Stop and put down the remote. "What did O'Kelly say?"
She knew; she already knew, and my final spark of doubt sank into something jagged and impossibly heavy dragging at my solar plexus. "As soon as the case is over, I'm suspended," I said flatly. My voice sounded like someone else's.
Cassie's eyes widened, horrified. "Oh, shit," she said. "Oh, shit, Rob…But you're not out? He didn't-he didn't fire you or anything?"
"No, I'm not out," I said. "No thanks to you." The first shock was starting to wear off, and a cold, vicious anger was surging through me like electricity. I felt my whole body trembling with it.
"That's not fair," Cassie said, and I heard a tiny shake in her voice. "I tried to warn you. I rang you last night, I don't know how many times-"
"It was a little late to be concerned about me by then, wasn't it? You should have thought of that before."
Cassie was white to the lips, her eyes huge. I wanted to smash the stunned, uncomprehending look off her face. "Before what?" she demanded.
"Before you poured out my private life to O'Kelly. Do you feel better now, Maddox? Has wrecking my career made up for the fact that I haven't treated you like a little princess this week? Or have you got something else up your sleeve?"
After a moment she said, very quietly, "You think I told him?"
I almost laughed. "Yes, actually, I do. There were only five people in the world who knew about this, and I somehow doubt that my parents or a friend from fifteen years ago picked this moment to ring my boss and say, 'Oh, by the way, did you know that Ryan's name used to be Adam?' How stupid do you think I am? I know you told him, Cassie."
She hadn't taken her eyes off mine, but something in them had changed, and I realized she was every bit as furious as I was. In one fast movement she grabbed a videotape from the table and threw it at me, a hard overhand snap with her whole body behind it. I ducked reflexively; it crashed against the wall where my head had been, spun away and tumbled into a corner.
"Watch that tape," Cassie said.
"I'm not interested."
"Watch that tape right now or, I swear to God, by tomorrow morning I'll have your face plastered across every newspaper in the country."
It wasn't the threat itself that got me; it was more the fact that she had made it, had played what had to be her trump card. It sparked something in me: a harsh curiosity, mixed-or perhaps this is only hindsight, I don't know-with some faint, dreadful premonition. I retrieved the tape from the corner, switched it into the VCR and hit Play. Cassie, her arms clasped tightly at her waist, watched me without moving. I swung a chair around and sat down in front of the screen, my back to her.
It was the fuzzy black-and-white tape of Cassie's session with Rosalind the night before. The time stamp showed 8:27; in the next room, I had been just about to give up on Damien. Rosalind was on her own in the main interview room, redoing her lipstick in a little compact mirror. There were sounds in the background, and it took me a moment to recognize that they were familiar: hoarse, helpless sobs, and my own voice saying over them, without much hope, "Damien, I need you to explain to me why you did this." Cassie had switched on the intercom and set it to pick up my interview room. Rosalind's head went up; she stared at the one-way glass, her face utterly expressionless.
The door opened and Cassie came in, and Rosalind recapped her lipstick and tucked it into her purse. Damien was still sobbing. "Shit," Cassie said, glancing up at the intercom. "Sorry about that." She switched it off; Rosalind gave a tight, displeased little smile.
"Detective Maddox interviewing Rosalind Frances Devlin," Cassie said to the camera. "Have a seat."
Rosalind didn't move. "I'm afraid I'd prefer not to talk to you," she said, in an icy, dismissive voice I had never heard her use before. "I'd like to speak with Detective Ryan."
"Sorry, can't be done," Cassie said cheerfully, pulling out a chair for herself. "He's in an interview-as I'm sure you heard," she added, with a rueful little grin.
"Then I'll come back when he's free." Rosalind tucked her bag under her arm and headed for the door.
"Just a moment, Miss Devlin," Cassie said, and there was a new, hard edge in her voice. Rosalind sighed and turned, eyebrows raised contemptuously. "Is there any particular reason why you're suddenly so reluctant to answer questions about your sister's murder?"
I saw Rosalind's eyes flick up at the camera, just for a flash, but that tiny cold smile didn't change. "I think you know, Detective, if you're honest with yourself," she said, "that I'm more than willing to help the investigation in any way I can. I simply don't want to talk to you, and I'm sure you know why."
"Let's pretend I don't."
"Oh, Detective, it's been obvious from the start that you don't care about my sister at all. You're only interested in flirting with Detective Ryan. Isn't it against the rules to sleep with your partner?"
A fresh spurt of fury shot through me, so violent it took my breath away. "Jesus Christ! Is that what all this was about? Just because you thought I told her-" Rosalind had been shooting in the dark, I had never said a word about that to her or to anyone else; and for Cassie to think I would, to take this kind of revenge without even bothering to ask me-