priority of the team of police officers under my command.”
“What leads?” Callaway demanded. “You’re asking us how well we knew the cafe’s delivery girl. Was she involved? And the other woman you showed us. Is she a suspect?”
“I can’t answer questions specific to the ongoing investigation.”
“We’re not just being nosy. We were at that bar, sitting with Joe. Sitting right there with … I left him there,” Callaway said, with a hint of bitterness. “I left him.”
“Oh, Lew.” Nancy reached out to lay a hand on his arm.
“I’ll never forget I left him there. Like you’ll never forget you asked Carly to get you a latte. We worked with people who died. Any one of us might have been in the cafe today. And what about tomorrow? I live in this neighborhood. I work here, eat here, shop here. It makes us a part of this.”
Callaway glanced at his coworkers for confirmation. “It puts us in a position where we might be able to help, if we just knew the questions that need answering.”
“I’ve asked you the questions I need answered at this time.”
“But you won’t answer ours,” Weaver pointed out. “It’s just as Lew said. You asked about Jeni, specifically. We all knew her, all interacted with her, often daily. If she was somehow involved … She moved freely through these offices. Does that mean something could happen here? Right here?”
“Jeni Curve died this afternoon,” Eve reminded her. “I will tell you security cameras verify she went into the cafe very shortly before the incident. Due to the timing, we’ll pursue a possible connection, and will thoroughly investigate.”
“Lieutenant.” Callaway, brows knit again, rubbed at the back of his neck. “I understand you have an excellent reputation within the NYPSD, and you have resources,” he added with a sidelong glance at Roarke. “But it feels as though you’re conducting this as if you’re dealing with a standard homicide.”
“There are no standard homicides.”
“I’m sorry.” Again, he spread his hands. “I don’t mean to make light of what you do. But this is obviously some kind of terrorism. Nancy and I were just discussing that while you were talking to Steve. She—that is we— wondered how much experience you have in that area.”
“You might ask those associated with the group formerly known as Cassandra.” Roarke spoke off-handedly, without looking up from his PPC.
Eve spared him an annoyed glance, shifted her attention back to Callaway. “I can assure you that I and my team are well trained, and with the assistance of the HSO—”
“The HSO is involved?” Nancy broke in. Eve allowed herself a brief wince.
“Their involvement in this matter is not, at this time, a matter of public record. I’d appreciate your discretion. If the perpetrators learn of this new direction, it may impede the investigation.”
She got to her feet. “This is all I can or will tell you at this time. If you think of or remember anything—any detail, however small—contact me. Your input will be given all due consideration. Otherwise, let us do our job.”
“Lieutenant.” Weaver rose as well. “The public has a right to know. Innocent people are dead, and more could die. Some warning—”
“What warning would you suggest?” Eve snapped back. “Lock yourselves in your homes? Flee the city? Expect the building where you live may be the next target. And don’t go out for any supplies before you leave or lock down because the store where you shop could be the next target? Panic’s exactly what these people want, and attention feeds them like candy. We’re going to do everything we can to avoid both. Unless and until you have something viable to offer to the investigation, I can’t give you more of my time.”
Roarke walked to the door, timed it so he opened it just as Eve reached it in a dismissive stride. Purposefully he left the doors open as they continued toward the reception area.
“You spend too much time placating people.”
“Part of the job,” she snapped out.
“A tedious one.” He paused at the glass doors. “I know you’re frustrated with the HSO involvement, but the additional resource might give you time to sleep, which you’ve barely done since this began.”
“I’ll sleep when we’ve got the bastards.” She shoved through, called for the elevator, then shoved her hands in her pockets.
They didn’t speak again until they’d reached the sidewalk.
“‘You might ask those associated with the group formerly known as Cassandra.’” She used a haughty tone, then gave Roarke a friendly elbow jab. “Good one.”
“I thought it might give you the opening to slip the HSO business in. You did want to.”
“If all, or any of them, are involved, it’ll give them something to think about.”
“And knowing they have HSO’s attention may satisfy for now, give a breather between incidents.”
“Slim chance, but I’d rather take it than not. Something’s up with those three. Together, separately, I can’t figure. But they’ve all got something going on. What the hell were you doing on that toy of yours the whole time?”
“This and that. Did you know Nancy Weaver broke off an engagement, at the age of twenty-three, only weeks before the wedding?”
“People change their minds. And twenty-three’s pretty young.”
“The breakup coincided with a change of firms—and a promotion. She did the same when she came aboard in this firm. Broke an engagement, took a new position. According to my source, she was involved with the man who held her current position. In this case, he’s the one who left. Transferred to London, and she stepped into the job.”
Now it was getting interesting. “Who’s the source?”
“I know people who know people—and part of the this and that was tugging those lines.” He opened the car door for her, smiled.
“Using sex or relationships to advance doesn’t make her a killer.”
“No, but it does make her a bit callous, doesn’t it?” He walked around the car, slid behind the wheel. “She defers, on some level, to her male subordinates. Lets them see her as female, softer—and yet she’s the one who’s climbed to the top of her department. I’d say a bit callous, certainly cagey.”
“She’s emotional and nervous, or wants to be perceived that way right now,” Eve agreed. “And she’s slept with Vann. Not serious, from my take, but they’ve banged. I saw it on her face when he talked about Jeni Curve.”
“He has a reputation for not-so-serious banging, according to my source.”
“He put himself next to Curve, closer than either of the other two. Made it personal.”
“He’s used to getting what he wants. He’s good at what he does—knows how to think in marketing terms, knows how to connect. And he’s not interested in climbing rungs, working his way up. The basics don’t interest him. He likes the shine, the corner office. But he wouldn’t want Weaver’s job. It’s too demanding.”
“Your source?”
“My personal observation.”
“Nice that it meshes with mine.” She settled back as he drove. “He wants to be out front—the fancy business lunches, the travel, the wining and dining of high-dollar clients, with the occasional not-so-serious banging. And his relationship with the head of the firm gives him that opening over the others. Even Weaver, who outranks him. Pisser.”
“So she sleeps with him, hedging her bets, you could say.”
“You could say. Both Weaver and Vann make Macie Snyder right away—with Vann even elaborating—sitting at a table with another woman, two men. Laughing. Callaway’s more vague. Both men refer to Carly Fisher as a girl—a small thing, maybe, but it shows an innate lack of respect for females in the workplace. You perceive them as girls. Callaway referred to Curve the same way.”
“I have to point out Feeney refers to his e-geeks as boys.”
“That’s affection. He calls them all boys even when they have tits. This was different, knee-jerk. Something going on there,” she repeated, picking at it. “Something. Two key players in their department dead. Cattery and Fisher. Cattery—the go-to guy, Fisher, Weaver’s ‘girl’, an up-and-comer who dug into any job that came her way.”
“If Weaver wanted either of them out, she could find a way to fire them.”
