Becky pushed hard at that thought, got rid of it. They couldn’t afford an ambivalent attitude. “OK, kids, let’s hit the road. We have work to do.”
Herbert Underwood was troubled. He was sitting in the Commissioner’s outer office. The last cigar of the day was in his pocket but he resisted the impulse to smoke it. Commissioner didn’t like cigars. Again Herb went through his mind, touching each point of the case, weighing it, trying to see how it could be used to strengthen his position and weaken the Commissioner’s. Word from Vince Merillo, the new mayor’s first deputy-to-be, was that the Commissioner still had an inside track to reappointment. That would mean that Herbert Underwood would reach retirement before he reached the top job. And he wanted that job bad. Wanting the next job up the ladder was more than a habit with him. He deserved the promotion, he was an excellent cop. A good man too, good administrator. Hell, he was a better man than the Commissioner. All he needed was a nice, ugly embarrassment for the Commissioner and Merillo would start mentioning the Chief of Detectives as successor. He was sure of Merillo’s support. The guy owed him. Merillo was into a bank in a very ugly way and the Chief of Detectives knew it. The DA didn’t—and wouldn’t as long as Merillo played on the right side of the net.
“Come in, Herb,” the Commissioner said from the door of the inner office. Underwood got up and went inside. The Commissioner closed the door. “Nobody here but us rats,” he said in his singsong voice. “I got two mayors screaming at me. I got reporters hiding in my file cabinet. I got TV crews in the bathroom. Not to mention the Public.” He added in a more clipped tone, “Tell me what happened to Evans.”
“Oh come on, Bob, you know I’m up against a brick wall.”
“Yeah? I’m sorry to hear that, very sorry. Because it may mean I’ll have to replace you.”
Underwood wanted to laugh out loud. The Commissioner was crashing around like a wounded elephant. The pressure from upstairs must be hell. Bad for him, very bad. “You mean that? It’d be a relief.” He chuckled.
The Commissioner glared at him. “You know, our new mayor is a very smart man.”
“I know that.”
“And so is Vince Merillo, your good buddy.”
Underwood nodded.
“Well, here is what the Mayor and his first-deputy-in-waiting think about this case. Want to hear?”
“Sure.”
“They have got the Wilson theory on their brains. I mean, essentially the Wilson theory. The DiFalco mess, the Bronx mess, the bloody bench, the gutted patrolmen and Evans—”
“All the work of hybrid wolves. I know. I’ve talked to Merillo.”
“So what’s your position?”
“The theory is total bullshit. I’ve known Wilson since we were kids and I think he’s pulling a fast one on us, trying to get us to buy bullshit so we’ll look like fools. Especially me. You I don’t think he gives a damn about.”
“OK. So what else are you working on?”
“I just organized a special squad. They’re going to be under Commander Busciglio of the Fifth Homicide Zone. Goddamn good guy. Good cop, lot of smarts. They will be investigating the three incidents that happened today in Central Park. We’ll be working on the assumption that these incidents are entirely separate from the Bronx case and the Brooklyn case. I think that makes sense. It’s not out of the question that they’re all related, but it’s very farfetched. That enough to keep me from getting fired?‘
“You know I’m not gonna fire you, Herb. Hell, you’re the guy slated to kill me off. If I fire you it’ll look like sour grapes to the Mayor.” He laughed. “Can’t let that happen.” He had been standing in front of Underwood, the two men in the middle of the office. Now he went over to a leather chair and sat down, motioning the Chief to follow. “Herb, you and I, we’ve been buddies a long time. I gotta tell you though, I’ve been hearing some things about you that’ve made me very sad. Like, you’re trying to get me dumped, to put it bluntly. Why are you doing that, Herb?”
The Chief smiled. He had to hand it to the Commissioner, the man didn’t play around. “No, sir, I’m not trying anything of the kind. In fact, like on this case, I’m doing everything I can to strengthen your position. I think we’ll get a good solution very quickly. It’ll help you and because of that it’ll help me. That’s as far as my ambition goes.”
Now it was the Commissioner’s turn to smile. He turned on a crinkly, jolly one, wore it for a few seconds, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. He spread his hands in a gesture of meekest assent. “OK,” he said, “just keep up the good work. Glad you’re still on the team.”
Underwood left after further protestations of loyalty, capped by a solemn handshake. The Commissioner watched him go. Hell, with technique like that the guy would make a damn fine commissioner if he won out. Good projection of sincerity. Handles himself well.
But he ain’t gonna fuck me. He must think I’m some kind of schoolboy. He closed the door behind Underwood and stood there a long moment. Soon the Chief would be blown so high and wide he wouldn’t have a political future of any kind. So the son of a bitch wanted to kill off Bob Righter. Fine, let him try! Now the Commissioner’s face set. He leafed through a report on his desk. It was titled “Project Werewolf. Eyes Only.” It had been seen only by Merillo, the new mayor, and the current mayor. It had been written by Bob Righter, in longhand.
This was the only copy.
He opened it, reading to review. He had written it three hours ago, had taken it to the Mayor and then to the Mayor-elect. There had been a meeting and it had been agreed that not one word of the report would be made public unless absolutely necessary. The Commissioner started to say his thoughts aloud, then stopped, the words unspoken in his throat. How often do I talk to myself, he wondered. Getting old. But not tired, dammit. Let Herb Underwood realize that once and for all. Not tired. Underwood was going off on a hell of a wild-goose chase. That stinking Wilson had been much closer from the start. Brilliant but a creep. A good cop after his fashion. A good cop with a good partner… Becky Neff… no matter how old you get, you’d still like to get into something like that. Hell, stay clear. Her husband was bent—maybe she was too for that matter…
He dismissed them from his mind and returned to the matter of the report. It was the first time in his career that he had written something so secret, and kept its contents so close to the top. In a position like his a man gets into the habit of using advisers, conferees, administrative assistants. He becomes not an individual but an office. He
