"I hope you're right." Eve rose. "Because this is a game I want to finish face-to-face."
Eve convinced herself she was prepared for Whitney. But she hadn't been prepared to face both him and the chief of police and security. Tibble, his dark face unreadable, his hands clasped militarily behind his back, stood at the window in Whitney's office. Whitney remained behind his desk. Their positioning indicated to Eve that it was Whitney's show – until Tibble decided otherwise.
"Before you begin your report, Lieutenant, I'm informing you that a press conference is scheduled for four p.m. in the media information center at Police Tower." Whitney inclined his head. "Your presence and participation are required."
"Yes, sir."
"It has come to our attention that a member of the press has received certain communications which attack your credibility as primary in this investigation, and which indicate that you, and therefore the department, are suppressing certain data germane to said investigation, data that would implicate your husband in multiple murders."
"That is both insulting to me, the department, and my husband, and absurd." Her heart hitched, but her voice stayed low and steady. "If these communications are deemed credible, why hasn't the member of the press reported same?"
"The accusations are so far anonymous and unsubstantiated, and this particular member of the press deemed it in his best interest to pass this information along to Chief Tibble. It's in your best interest, Lieutenant, to clear up this matter now, here."
"Are you accusing me of suppressing evidence, Commander?"
"I'm requesting that you confirm or deny at this time."
"I deny, at this time, and any time, that I have or would suppress evidence that would lead to the apprehension of a criminal or the closing of a case. And I take personal offense at the question."
"Offense so noted," Whitney said mildly. "Sit down, Dallas."
She didn't comply, but stepped forward. "My record should stand for something. Over ten years of service should outweigh an anonymous accusation tossed to a hungry reporter."
"So noted, Dallas," Whitney repeated. "Now – "
"I'm not finished, sir. I'd like to have my say here."
He sat back, and though she kept her eyes on his she knew Tibble had yet to move. "Very well, Lieutenant, have your say."
"I'm very aware that my personal life, my marriage, is the source of speculation and interest in the department and with the public. I can live with that. I'm also aware that my husband's businesses, and his style of conducting his businesses, are also the source of speculation and interest. I have no particular problem with that. But I resent very much that my reputation and my husband's character should be questioned this way. From the media, Commander, it's to be expected, but not from my superior officer. Not from any member of the department I've served to the best of my ability. I want you to take note, Commander, that turning in my badge would be like cutting off my arm. But if it comes down to a choice between the job and my marriage, then I lose the arm."
"No one is asking you to make a choice, Lieutenant, and I will offer my personal apologies for any offense given by this situation."
"Personally, I hate chicken-shit anonymous sources." Tibble spoke for the first time, his gaze steady on Eve's face. "And I'd like to see you maintain that just-under-simmer righteous anger for the press conference when this matter comes up, Lieutenant. It will play very well on screen. Now I, for one, would like to hear the progress of your investigation."
The anger helped her forget fear and nerves. She fell into rhythm, comfortable with the cop speak, the formality and the slang of it. She offered the names of the six men responsible for Marlena's murder, handed out hard copy of data on them, and proposed her theory.
"The caller stated that revenge was the name of his game. Therefore it's my belief that, acting alone or with a partner or partners, this individual is avenging the murder of one or more of these men. The connection's there. Marlena to Summerset, Summerset to Roarke. I've run the names and their cases through the ICCA."
She said that briskly, as though it was no more than routine. And her stomach jumped like a pond of frogs on speeders. "There is no evidence to link their murders to one individual. They were killed at different times over a three-year period, with different methods and in different geographical areas. The six men, however, were all linked to the same gambling organization based in Dublin, and that organization was investigated for illegal activities no less than twelve times by local authorities and the ICCA. Data supports that the men were killed individually and for separate motives, likely perpetrated by rivals or associates."
"Then where's the connection to the deaths of Brennen, Conroy, and O'Leary?"
"In the killer's mind. Dr. Mira is working on the profile, which I believe will support my suppositions. If you take it from his angle, Marlena was killed by these men as an example to Roarke, to discourage him from infringing on their territory."
"That wasn't the conclusion of the investigating officer."
"No, sir, but the investigating officer was a wrong cop, known to associate with this organization. He was in their pocket. Marlena was no more than a child." Eve slid two photos out of her bag, one still taken from each of the hologram images. "This is what was done to her. And the investigating officer spent precisely four and a half man-hours on closing her case and ruling it death by misadventure."
Whitney stared down at the stills, and his eyes went grim. "Misadventure, my ass. It's obviously a torture murder."
"One defenseless girl brutalized by six men. And they got away with it clean. Men who can do that to a child are men who could brag about it. I believe those close to them knew, and when they were killed, one by one, at least one person decided Roarke and Summerset were responsible."
Tibble turned the still of Marlena's body facedown. He'd been away from the streets long enough to know he'd be haunted by that image. "And you don't believe that, Lieutenant? You want us to believe that those six deaths were unrelated, but that our current madman believes otherwise. And you want us to believe he's killing now, framing Summerset, and all to exact revenge on Roarke?"
"That's exactly right. I want you to believe that the man Mira described to me as a sadistic sociopath with a holy mission is using all the skill at his disposal to ruin Roarke. Framing Summerset was a miscalculation, and you'll see when Mira has completed her test evaluations on him. She's told me in a preliminary interview that Summerset is not only incapable of this range of violence, but is appalled by violence. The circumstantial evidence compiled against him is obvious enough for a cross-eyed five-year-old to see through."
"I prefer to withhold judgment on that until I see Mira's completed evaluation," Whitney told her.
"I can give you mine," she said, and threw her weight on Summerset's end of the scale. "The security discs at the Luxury Towers were doctored. We know this. However, the lobby sector – which clearly shows Summerset's entrance into the building – was untouched. Why? McNab has the disc of the twelfth floor being analyzed by the EDD compu-unit. I'm confident that we'll discover a blip for the period when Summerset exited the elevator and waited for Ms. Morrell. And again, in the lobby sector where he's indicated he left the building at approximately twelve forty."