Eckels pursed his thin lips. “Listen up, young lady. If you think the department comes out of this looking good, you’re a lot stupider than I thought. One of our own did this. A cop murdered four women, then took another cop out with him. And don’t think for a second that the assistant chief won’t face some hard questions about why he let McIlroy pull
Ellie noticed the throbbing vein on Eckels’s neck. Flann’s description of a chew-out session from his lieutenant had been right on the mark. Ellie swallowed, wishing Flann was here with her, realizing how much she missed him. He would not have stood for this. He would have pushed back, no matter the consequences. The thought helped steel her resolve.
“The department should face harder questions than that,” she retorted. “If Becker killed Tatiana because she could implicate him or the men he worked for, then that raises serious doubts about the kind of cover he was giving to Russian organized crime while he was on the job. It should also make you wonder about his partner’s death. Tendall could have been wrapped up in whatever Becker had going on with Rostov, or maybe he had concerns about Becker.”
“You’re dragging Barney Tendall into this conspiracy theory now? You realize how hysterical you sound?”
“I believe that was Freud’s term for ‘female.’ Why don’t you go ahead and make it transparent? Haul out the B-word and the C-word while you’re at it.”
“I think we could all use a break-”
Eckels waved off Jenkins’s attempt to mediate.
“As I said, the case is closed. Experienced detectives have been working it tirelessly. We owe you no further explanation. The decision you have to make, Detective Hatcher, is how you want to be depicted in the formal account of this closed case.”
“And what precisely are my choices?”
Lieutenant Jenkins interrupted again. His voice was gentle but assured. “Can I give you some friendly advice, Ellie? Why don’t you take some credit for the hard work you and Detective McIlroy did. Take some credit, and then take some time off. You’re automatically entitled to paid leave. You’ll return to detective borough in a month or so under my command. We’re eager to have you back where you belong.”
“Listen to your lieutenant,” Eckels continued. “McIlroy comes out a hero this way. You get to stand by the side of the assistant chief as he announces the end of a killing spree that could have become another Son of Sam.”
“And the other way?”
Jenkins worked his jaw as Eckels spelled it out for her. “Both you and McIlroy abandoned protocol. McIlroy went to City Island on his own, not bothering to notify his own partner, let alone call for backup. When you realized what he’d done, you worsened matters by following him, again, totally on your own, without backup. You made the trip, in a department vehicle, despite the fact that you’d been drinking that night-”
Ellie opened her mouth to interrupt, but Eckels only raised his voice.
“
“I told the detectives I took two sips because-”
“You were a rookie detective, in over your head, without backup. You’d been drinking. Your judgment was impaired, and your partner was murdered right in front of you. Not to mention you’ve got some demons in your past that might keep you from accepting the department’s conclusion that your friend Ed Becker committed suicide.”
“That’s a low blow,” Ellie said quietly.
“And it’s precisely what the media will say if you try to derail the closure of this case. There is no one-armed man that we have yet to chase down, Detective. Ed Becker killed those women, and he killed Flann McIlroy.”
“Are we done here?” Ellie asked.
“The assistant chief expects you to stay for the press conference,” Eckels said.
“No thank you.” Ellie stood to leave.
“What exactly are your future plans with respect to this department, Detective?”
“Am I required to answer that in the course of my duties?” Ellie looked to Randy Jenkins.
“No,” her lieutenant said quietly. “You’re entitled to paid leave regardless of what you do. And you cannot be forced to attend a press conference.”
“Well, then. Lieutenant Jenkins, I guess you’ll be hearing from me when my leave is up. Thank you for taking the time to be here for me this morning. I really do appreciate it.”
Jenkins urged Ellie to stay, but Eckels cut him off. “You’re wasting your time, Randy.”
“That, Lieutenant Eckels, was the strongest show of leadership you demonstrated all morning.” Ellie walked out of Eckels’s office and out of the Thirteenth Precinct without looking back. The media vans were already lined up on Twenty-first Street for the assistant chief’s forthcoming announcement. She had a decision to make.
But she had already made the decision six years ago, that night under the Washington Square Arch. She had decided that sitting with blissful ignorance on life’s sidelines was not in her nature. She decided to become a cop. For the last three days, she had been fighting her nature, filling her schedule with back-to-back activities in an attempt to ignore the questions eating away at her like cancer. She had waited for the department’s conclusions. Now that she’d heard them, it was time to follow her instincts. She owed this to Flann and to herself. She was going to find out what really happened.
She pulled up the hood of her coat, swaddled herself in her scarf, and headed away from the cameras while she dialed the number for the FBI field office.
36
“YOU KNOW THIS IS BLACKMAIL, DON’T YOU?” CHARLIE DIXON stood behind his desk with his arms folded, looking out the window at lower Manhattan.
Sitting in a guest chair across from his desk, Ellie Hatcher uncrossed her legs and shook her head in mock disappointment. “Is that how far the FBI has gone astray from its traditional law enforcement concerns? You consider it
Dixon turned to face her. “When it’s accompanied by threats if I refuse, then yeah, I consider that blackmail.”
“All I said was that if you couldn’t help me, I’d have to find someone who could. And the fact that you were previously seen, multiple times, at Vibrations with Tatiana Chekova – a very attractive federal informant, by the way – might be relevant.”
“You’re blackmailing me.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to help you find out the truth about Ed Becker if the NYPD’s not interested?”
“I need two things from you. The first is a federal arrest warrant for Vitali Rostov, Tatiana Chekova’s brother- in-law. My brother was assaulted Friday night by two men in the Vibrations parking lot. He can ID Rostov as one of the assailants. Rostov did it so I’d back off the questions I was asking about Lev Grosha.”
Dixon shook his head. “There’s no federal jurisdiction for a garden variety assault. And even if he intended to send a message to you, it’s not a federal offense to interfere with a local investigation.”
“What about the fact that they took his wallet?”
Dixon had seen this before in local cops. Just because the FBI had stepped in on one of their robbery cases in the past, they mistakenly assumed every robbery was a federal concern. “Robbery falls under the Hobb’s Act but only if it affects interstate commerce.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. My job is so much simpler. See person do bad thing? Haul out the handcuffs. What does that mean,
Dixon hardly understood the nuances of federal jurisdiction himself, so he tried to make it simple. “It could mean a lot of things, but we usually only go that route when it’s a commercial robbery. Then we show that the money that was taken from Home Depot or wherever would’ve been spent in commerce.”
“Well, okay then. There you go. Jess spends money in commerce all the time. There’s your jurisdiction.”
