She shifted to the other foot. They were alone in the chief of staff’s inner office. The wooden door to the outer reception area had slammed closed behind Catherine. Ten after eight. Back to the question. “So, uh, what’re you doing here, Officer?”
“Detective,” Jake said.
It was one of their routines, an inside joke because people always called him officer. It would be followed by him saying the one phrase that especially annoyed her: “And you are who?” She’d reply “your worst nightmare” and ask him to “speak into the microphone,” usually a beer bottle or wineglass. Then they’d laugh, and kiss. And go from there.
This time no one laughed. They each paused. If Marsh’s source was correct, Catherine Siskel’s husband might be a murder victim. That’s why she was here. Jake, too, probably. Jane put a hand on his arm, felt the familiar leather of his jacket. They were alone, after all. “You okay?” she asked, still holding on. “You look tired.”
Jake rolled his eyes, got a funny look on his face. “Lots going on. How about you? When last we saw each other-”
He paused, his eyes softening, put his hand over hers. She could tell he almost smiled.
Love you, that was the last thing they’d said to each other. Love you, too. But this was not the time to discuss that, though Jane could not repress her own desire to smile at the memory. It was all she could do not to move even closer, stand nearer to him. Who would know? What was the protocol for this?
“Anyway.” Jake cleared his throat, squared his shoulders.
Jane knew he was going into cop mode. Probably a good decision. She stepped away, changing the moment, silently agreeing to keep it business.
“What’s the latest with Gracie?” he asked. “Any news?”
Jake was scanning Catherine Siskel’s office as he talked to her, hands now linked behind his back, peering at the framed photos on the bookshelves, checking the top of the wooden desk. Plain sight, she knew he’d say. Anything I can see is evidence.
“Didn’t Melissa contact you?” Jane frowned. A little niggle of uncertainty crept up her spine. “When I didn’t hear from her again, I thought the two of you had connected. Really? No? Hang on. I better call her.”
Jane grabbed her cell, dialed Melissa. Voice mail. Really? Waited, left a message. Maybe it was good that Melissa hadn’t called her, or called Jake. Maybe all was well. She mentally crossed her fingers. No need to panic herself over imaginary disaster. Melissa was a lawyer, an adult, and fully capable of handling this.
“So, seriously.” She stashed her phone, saw Jake looking out the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Yup,” Jane said.
“So? I’m asking.” Jake turned to her, focused on her.
She knew that look. He thought she’d tell him anything when he gave her that look. Sometimes, under the right circumstances, she would. This was not one of them. She glanced at the door, paused. Nothing. No one. “Good luck with the ‘cute’ look,” Jane said. “Seriously-”
“You said that,” Jake said. “I get it. You’re serious.”
“C’mon, Jake,” she said. Might as well tell him the truth, since they were always off the record anyway. The moment he’d shown up at Siskel’s office, she knew the tip had been accurate. Plus Catherine had run off to throw up, a sure sign of crushing distress and grief. On the other hand, maybe it was a colleague’s husband who’d been stabbed, and Siskel was simply upset. Jane narrowed her eyes, considering.
She poked him in the arm, then leaned on the edge of Siskel’s desk, crossing her arms in front of her. “Okay, fine. Two questions. Does anyone have surveillance video of what happened at Curley Park? And is Catherine Siskel’s husband the victim of that stabbing?”
Jake stared at her, trying furiously to decide how to answer. Where the hell had that question come from? If he paused too long, Jane would know he was calculating what to say. She could read him way too well. Times like this, that put her at an advantage. And half the time, she got him to say more than he planned. Still, his only real dilemma was how to tell Jane she’d gotten a bogus lead without seeming to feed her inside information. Clearly she’d heard something was up with Catherine Siskel’s husband. She simply had the facts wrong.
The identity of the man in the morgue, John Doe No. 1, was still unknown.
“That’s some chase you’re cutting to.” Jake tried to look concerned and unconcerned at the same time. He wasn’t worried about the video question. DeLuca was on that. They’d get whatever they could, though he knew the City Hall traffic cams were only live feeds, ever since the mayor had caved to political pressure, deciding so-called privacy was a bigger priority than law and order.
“Catherine Siskel’s husband?” he repeated her question. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, right,” Jane said.
It killed him when she did that, stuck out her tongue at him. It sent his brain off in another direction entirely.
“Like I’m going to tell you my source,” she was saying. “Besides, I know you, Detective. Answering a question with a question means you don’t want to answer me. Which means I’m right.”
“But you’re not!” Damn it. She’d done it again. But she wasn’t right.
“Jane,” he said, starting over. He eyed the still-closed office door. The digital clock showed 8:14. How long should he wait for Catherine to return? “Do you think you should check to see if Catherine Siskel is okay? Or I’ll do it if you want.”
He saw the change in her expression.
“Oh, yikes,” she said. “I’m a terrible person. Of course, I’ll go look.” She started away, then turned back. “Except, ah, I don’t really know her, you know? She was about to order me to leave. You think she’d want me to-”
A knock at the door. “Catherine?”
A woman’s voice.
He and Jane exchanged glances. Viewed through a stranger’s eyes, they were two uninvited, unwelcome guests alone in the empty office of a top-level city official.
“You’re the cop,” Jane whispered. “More acceptable for you to be here than for me. Although Catherine never actually told us to leave.”
“Yeah, because she could barely talk,” Jake said.
Another knock. Then the door opened.
“Who’re you? And where is Ms. Siskel?” A black-cardiganed lioness with a mess of gray hair and red-framed eyeglasses took up all the room in the open door. Brandishing a lethal-looking metal clipboard, she looked them up and down as if she couldn’t decide whether to make them stand in the corner or throw them overboard. “Does Ms. Siskel know you’re here? How did you get in here? I’m one second away from calling the police.”
“He is-” Jane began, then stopped as he caught her eye.
Call the police, huh? Jake loved this part. “I’m Detective Jake Brogan, Boston PD.” Jake did the badge thing, which stopped the woman’s rat-a-tat questioning.
She stared at the badge, coming closer to inspect it.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. “With Ms. Siskel? Or what? I’m Siobhan Hult, her EA. What are you doing here? Do you have an appointment? I know you don’t have an appointment. Did someone call you?”
She pointed to Jane. “And who is she? Why is she here? Are you a police officer, too? Let’s see your badge.”