And now Jack Coffey learned that a hacker had used that computer to generate an automated mailing to every precinct. All of these women had received printed invitations to this party. And the sealed envelopes had been handed out this morning – by their own sergeants.
Joe Goddard rocked back on his heels. ‘We only know this was planned by a hacker with world-class skills . . . and she doesn’t leave tracks.’ The chief was not a man to waste words on rhetorical questions, and yet he asked, ‘You got any theories, Jack?’
‘Nope.’ Well, yeah. If he had to guess – at gunpoint – he might think that Mallory had ransacked the department data bank, looking for Charles Butler’s rebuttal evaluation – the one never filed. It had probably taken her all of three minutes to figure out why the chief of D’s was sitting on her failed psych evaluation. She had a natural gift for recognizing extortion potential. Lieutenant Coffey stared at his shoes. He had underestimated her so badly. And now she was gunning for Joe Goddard.
The chief of detectives was still waiting for a better answer – one that would probably come as a three-o’clock-in-the-morning epiphany: Mallory wanted Goddard to know that she had done this. Contrary to what the computer techs believed, there were footprints everywhere. This massive show of force, this overkill, was all Mallory, summoning hundreds of guns into play for one warning shot. Joe Goddard should not mess with her one more time – or there would be war in Copland. But that understanding would come later. Just now the man was tapping his foot – waiting.
‘No idea.’ Jack Coffey folded his arms. ‘Not a clue.’ And then, since they both knew this was a lie, he told the truth. ‘No one’s gonna look at one of my people for this – sure as hell not Mallory. She wouldn’t be caught dead at an all-girl turnout. There’s not one feminist bone in her body.’ She had no need of one. Only a rare and suicidal man might suggest that his detective was of better use barefoot and pregnant.
His point was made. His boss was nodding. And Mallory was going to get clean away with this.
The lieutenant’s thoughts turned back to his pathetic paper-napkin map as evidence of her lost-soul state of mind. Riker had tried to tell him that he was wrong about the road trip, her unauthorized vacation from the job. And the proof? Mallory was getting away with that, too.
Yeah, her partner was definitely laughing his ass off right about now.
In a building across the street from One Police Plaza, the two detectives stood before a fourth-floor window that overlooked the demonstration. Riker had been braced for trouble all the way downtown, and now his partner broke her long, frosty silence.
‘That’ll be the day,’ said Mallory, ‘when I can’t pass a psych evaluation.’
Riker bowed his head, an act of contrition. He should have known better. It should have been obvious that Dr Kane’s finding of sociopathy was bogus – even if that twisted, frightened shrink had accidentally gotten this one thing right.
‘Here they come.’ Mallory handed him her field glasses.
He focused the lenses on the entrance as a small gang of suits, union reps and lawyers, exited the building with seven female officers in dress blues. They all raised their fists in victory. Riker expected cheers, but the demonstrators remained silent and standing at attention. The now unemployed Dr Kane was the next one through the door. He saw the barrier of uniforms, so many of them. The man clutched his breast and paused long enough to lose his mind before he ran back inside. And now Riker got the joke. The female officers broke ranks, standing at ease and then laughing as they peeled away from Dr Kane’s wide-awake nightmare, a mob of mighty women with guns.
And people said Mallory had no sense of humor. Hah.
All that worry for nothing. Riker looked down at his watch. They had a suspect in custody and awaiting interrogation. ‘We gotta get moving.’
Mallory idly jingled the car keys. ‘I know what you did.’ Her head did not turn his way. It swiveled. Like a cannon. And she said, ‘But I don’t know how you did it.’
Riker sensed that this was no prelude to a warm, fuzzy moment. He held up both hands in a don’t-shoot-me posture. ‘I get it, okay? You never needed any help.’ Did this mollify her? Well, no, of course not. He knew why she had dragged him down here, why he had to see her handiwork up close, a damn army in the service of the ultimate control freak.
‘I know what Goddard was using for leverage on us – on me,’ she said. ‘Now tell me what kind of dirt you used on him.’
Tough one.
Extortion or no, a deal was a deal, and he was honor-bound to keep it. If he ratted out the chief of D’s, he would lose her respect. And if he didn’t? Well, the lady carried a gun. And so he said, ‘Shoot me.’
Willy Fallon sat in the interrogation room with her cut-rate attorney, a baby-faced man in a cheap suit. According to Mallory’s background check, he had graduated near the bottom of his law-school class.
Counselor and client had been kept waiting for an hour before the detectives sauntered in. Riker held up a sheet of paper and began to read a list of the state’s grievances.
In response to the first charge of murdering Rolland Mann, Willy shouted, ‘He tried to kill me first!’
Well, that was predictable, and so Riker said his scripted lines, and his delivery was rough. ‘That’s gonna be a hard sell to a jury. This is what they’ll see.’ He showed her a picture on the small screen of a tourist’s cell phone. ‘Here you are squeezing the poor bastard’s balls.’ Now he clicked to his favorite shot. ‘And here you are again, kicking his ass in front of the bus. Don’t tell us you didn’t see that bus coming. It’s a double-decker.’
The attorney chimed in, ‘That’s not murder. At best you’ve got an assault with mitigating circumstances.’
The detectives stared at this man, as if he might be speaking some off-planet language.
‘I’m trying to work with you guys,’ said the lawyer. ‘Okay? Now my client’s a first-time offender.’
‘No,’ said Riker, ‘she’s not. And we got a few more charges. One of her victims was only ten months old. Willy threw the kid on the subway tracks. So, Counselor – what are we calling attempted murder today? You got mitigating circumstances for that one? Did the baby say something rude to Willy?’
After an exchange of whispers with his client, the lawyer smiled. ‘I’m still willing to work with you.’
Riker pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and showed it to his partner. ‘I say he’s gonna tell us the joke about sending her to drug rehab instead of jail.’
Mallory shook her head – no bet. She laid out an evidence bag filled with capsules and pills. And then she said, so politely, almost apologetically, ‘Your client’s stash is evidence for another charge.’
‘Willy drugged a guy,’ said Riker. ‘Not the one she pushed in front of a bus. This was a completely different guy – the one she tried to push in front of a train.’
‘That’s related to the drug charge.’ Mallory’s comment was low-key, as if she had no stake in this game. She was the soul of sanity and clarity – and no hard feelings, by the way. ‘Toby Wilder was given a lethal dose of narcotics.’