"We can't do-" Shiu began.
Wincing, Juhle held up a hand. "Kidding, Shiu. Back off."
"But all kidding aside," Lanier said, "we've already got some issues-well, especially you, Dev, are not going to get any slack here. Whatever you get has got to be rock solid."
Juhle's eyes turned dark. "What the fuck does that mean?" He shot an I-dare-you look at his partner.
Lanier pushed off from the back wall and wheeled his chair forward, up to the desk, and put his arms on his blotter. "That means that there are some people in positions of authority who were not completely convinced by your exoneration on the OI." The officer-involved shooting that had cost Juhle three months of administration leave but had finally resulted in his merit citation.
"Well, how can I put this? Fuck them."
Shiu straightened up more, tightened down his jaw. Even Lanier seemed to wince. Profanity was tolerated in the field, but Deputy Chief of Inspectors Abe Glitsky frowned on it in the various units under his command.
Immune to this sensitivity, Juhle didn't slow down. "I mean it, Marcel. Who are they? No, I know who they are. Maybe I should…"
"Maybe not, Dev. Maybe nothing, okay? We both know who they are, and they're wrong, and you're up for cop of the year, okay? You want my opinion, I hope you get it. And you might as long as you don't say 'fuck' too often around Glitsky. But my point is that these couple of supervisors have the ear of the mayor and the chief. And not only is this the biggest case in the world, but we've finessed the FBI to keep the hell away from it because it's not political. So it's all yours, both of you guys, and welcome to it. But don't come to me without any evidence, please. If Parisi did it, show me something that'll prove it. Or at least find something that eliminates everybody else?"
"You want us to prove a negative?" Juhle asked. "That can get tricky."
"Don't get smart, Dev. You know what I want. I want more. If it's on Parisi, fine. But we don't even have next of kin on one of the victims if I'm not mistaken. To the critical soul, this might bespeak a lack of vigor in the investigation. Am I making myself clear?" His eyes went to Shiu. "You really don't have any other suspects?"
"I don't know who they'd be at this point, sir."
"You don't. Not with all these union hassles? Nobody the judge had ever ruled against? Maybe the girlfriend had another boyfriend? Don't I remember the wife has a sister? What was she doing Monday night? I don't know squat about this case, and I can think of half a dozen questions you haven't even asked yet."
"I have asked them, Marcel," Juhle said. "I've asked every goddamn question you just gave us, and the other half dozen you didn't mention on top of those. And for the record, we went down to the judge's chambers first thing and spent a fascinating few hours talking to his staff, and found out that he's got lots of cases with people who are mad at him. Not just the CCPOA. And believe me, they're all rattling around in my brain every single second. And sure, I might be wrong, but it's good police work to follow the clearest trail." He paused to grab a breath.
Shiu stepped into the breach. "And that, with respect, sir," he said, "looks like Parisi."
Lanier held up a hand. "I've heard. I get your message. But traditionally we like those little links in what we call the chain of evidence that maybe-"
Juhle had heard enough. He was already on his feet, interrupting. "You want us to shake some more trees, Marcel, sure, we'll do it. But there's no more evidence in those directions than there is with Parisi. It's going to look like what we're really doing is covering our ass."
Lanier blew his frustration out at them. "There are worse ideas," he said. He gestured toward his closed office door. "Keep me up on developments. My door's always open."
23
Betsy Sobo's oversize tortoiseshell glasses didn't fool Hunt. With the dorky specs, the tousled dirty-blond hair, only the barest touch of makeup around the eyes, and no lipstick, the young associate in the family-law division of Piersall obviously tried to pass herself off in her professional life as plain, even bookish. Today, she was even dressed in the Catholic school uniform of a plaid skirt and white blouse, black leggings, no-nonsense black shoes. It was a nice try, but Hunt thought she could be in sackcloth and ashes and draw admiring stares.
She'd stood up to meet him and shake his hand, then had gone back behind her desk. Hunt sat across from her on a folding chair, which was about all that fit in her office after she'd squeezed in her bookcase and files. She had six feet of window behind her, a nice view over downtown to the east. Hunt asked her permission to record their conversation, and she said yes.
"I talked to someone last night about this," she was saying. "A woman. Another attorney."
"Amy Wu?"
"I think that was it. I don't think I helped her much. I told her I didn't know what Andrea wanted to talk to me about."
"But she called you herself to set up this appointment? I just talked to her secretary, and she said it wasn't her."
"Yes. She called me herself."
"To ask if you could give her a half hour or so of your time?"
"Right. But that's about all. I said sure."
Hunt leaned forward. "According to Carla, she called you just after she'd seen Judge Palmer for lunch, isn't that right? So my thought is that maybe she dropped a hint of something we haven't heard about yet."
"I don't know what that would be. And wouldn't she have mentioned whatever that was to Gary -Mr. Piersall-at their meeting?"
"She might have," Hunt said, "but I don't think she did. I think what she wanted to talk to you about was different. I talked to Mr. Piersall last night, and apparently the big topic between him and Andrea was this order the judge was threatening to sign. He and Andrea didn't talk at all about union benefits."
"But I'm not even sure that's what she wanted to talk to me about. I just assumed."
"Is there anything specific she might have said that made you assume that?"
"I don't know what it could have been." Taking a breath, Sobo put her elbow on the desk and rested her forehead on the fingers of her left hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Okay. She said that Mike Eubanks-he's the partner for our unit-he told her to call me. And if Mike told her, it would have been benefits."
"There you go," Hunt said.
"Then she said, 'This person I met at lunch.' And then she stopped and said she only had a minute but there were some pretty big players involved and she didn't want to start anything unless she was solid on the law."
Hunt didn't move for a long moment. "And that would have been family law, right? She said somebody she met at lunch. Those words?"
"I think so. Yes. Pretty close."
"As in met for the first time? Rather than just met for lunch."
"Maybe. I'd say so, yes."
"So not the judge." Not a question, either. "Let me ask you this: With all the union work this firm does, have you ever worked on benefits issues before?"
"Me, personally? Not usually. I'm mostly into the custody battles and restraining orders, stuff like that. There's just a ton of divorces with these poor guards' families. You wouldn't believe."
"So what did you think this was? That Andrea wanted?"
Sobo considered for a minute. "Maybe some kind of divorce coverage into the members' package, attorneys fees or counseling, so it doesn't come out of pocket for these guys and their families. We make the case that it's the stress of the work that's a proximate cause of the marital breakups." She shrugged. "We've prevailed on this kind of thing a few other times-the stress in the job is a killer. I mean almost literally."
"I'm sure it is," Hunt said. "So the pretty big players Andrea was talking about?"
"I figured some insurance companies. But it may have been one of the heavy politicians, the governor, even, if we were bringing the issue to the legislature."