'Timetable?'
'Yeah. When are they out?' Wartek shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'We've agreed to put the matter before our lawyers to draw up the legal case for eviction, on an expedited schedule.'
'Which is?'
'With the legal preparation and research, then a trial, followed by an appeal — I can only assume these people will appeal — I would think we could have this case concluded within, perhaps, three years' time.'
There was a long silence in the room. 'Three years?'
'Maybe two if we fast — track it.' Wartek smiled nervously.
D'Agosta rose. It was unbelievable. A joke. 'Mr. Wartek, we don't have three
The little man shrugged. 'Due process is due process. As I told the mayor, keeping the public order is the function of the police, not the housing authority. Taking away someone's home in New York City is a difficult and expensive legal process. As it should be.'
D'Agosta could feel the anger throbbing in his temples, his muscles tensing. He made an effort to control his breathing. He was going to say
Wartek's voice echoed out into the hall as he exited the office. 'Lieutenant, we're going to have a press conference tomorrow to announce our action against the Ville. Perhaps that will help calm things down.' 'Somehow,' D'Agosta growled, 'I doubt it.'
Chapter 47
Laura Hayward stood in the ladies' room on the thirty — second floor of One Police Plaza, examining herself in the mirror. A grave, intelligent face looked back. Her suit was immaculate. Not a strand of blue — black hair was out of place.
Except for the year she'd taken off to complete her master's at NYU, Hayward had been a police officer her entire career — first with the transit police, then NYPD. At thirty — seven, she was still the youngest captain — and only female captain — on the force. She knew that people talked about her behind her back. Some called her an ass kisser. Others said she'd risen so high, so quickly, precisely because she was a woman, a poster girl for the department's progressive stance. She'd long since ceased to care about such talk. The fact was, rank really didn't matter that much to her. She simply loved being on the job.
Glancing away from the mirror, she consulted her watch. Five minutes to twelve. Commissioner Rocker had asked to see her at noon.
She smiled. All too frequently, life was a bitch. But every now and then it had its moments. This promised to be one of them.
She exited the ladies' room and walked down the hall. While it was true she didn't care much about promotions, this was different. This task force the mayor was putting together was the real thing, not some bit of fluff cobbled together for the media. For years there had been too little trust, too little high — level cooperation between the commissioner's office and the mayor's. The task force, she'd been assured at the highest levels, would change that. It could mean a lot less bureaucracy, a chance to dramatically improve department efficiency. Sure, it would also mean a huge career boost — fast track to deputy inspector — but that wasn't important. What mattered was the opportunity to make a real difference.
She stepped through the double glass doors of the commissioner's suite and announced herself to the secretary. Almost immediately, an aide appeared and led the way back, past offices and conference rooms, to the commissioner's inner sanctum. Rocker was seated behind his large mahogany desk, signing memos. As always, he looked exhausted: the dark rings beneath his eyes were even more pronounced than usual.
'Hello, Laura,' he said. 'Have a seat.'
Hayward took one of the chairs before the desk, surprised. A stickler for protocol and formality, Rocker almost never called anyone by his first name.
Rocker glanced over the desk at her. Something in his expression instantly put her on her guard.
'There's no easy way to say this,' he began. 'So I'll just tell you straight. I'm not appointing you to the task force.'
For a moment, Hayward couldn't believe she had heard right. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. She swallowed painfully, took a deep breath.
'I—' she managed, then stopped. She felt confused, stunned, unable to form a coherent sentence.
'I'm very sorry,' Rocker said. 'I know how much you were looking forward to the opportunity.'
Hayward took another deep breath. She felt a strange heat blooming through her limbs. Only now — when the job had so unexpectedly slipped from her grasp — did she realize how important it had been to her.
'Who are you appointing in my place?' she asked.
Rocker glanced away briefly before replying. He looked uncharacteristically abashed. 'Sanchez.'
'Sanchez is a good man.' It was as if she were in a dream, and somebody other than her was speaking the lines.
Rocker nodded.
Hayward became aware that her hands were hurting. Looking down, she saw she was gripping the arms of the chair with all her strength. She willed herself to relax, to maintain her composure — with little success. 'Is it something I've done wrong?' she blurted.
'No, no, of course not. It's nothing like that.'
'Have I let you down somehow? Come up short?' 'You've been an exemplary officer, and I'm proud to have you on the force.'
'Then
'I consider your master's in sociology ideal for the task force. It's just that — well — an appointment like this is all about politics. And it turns out Sanchez has seniority.'
Hayward didn't answer right away. She hadn't realized seniority was a factor. In fact, this was the one appointment she'd believed free of such bullshit.
Rocker shifted in his chair. 'I don't want you to feel this is any reflection on your performance.'
'Surely you were aware of our respective seniority rankings before you gave me reason to hope,' Hayward said quietly.
Rocker spread his hands. 'Fact is, seniority formulas can be rather arcane. I made an honest mistake. I'm sorry.'
Hayward said nothing.
'There will be other opportunities — especially for a captain of your caliber. Rest assured I'll see to it that your hard work and commitment are rewarded.'
'Virtue is its own reward, sir. Isn't that what they say?' Hayward stood and — seeing from Rocker's face there was nothing more — walked on slightly unsteady legs to the door.
By the time the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, she had regained her composure. The echoing space was full of noise and lunch — hour bustle. Hayward passed the security checkpoint, then pushed her way out the revolving doors onto the broad steps. She had no real destination in mind: she just needed to walk. Walk and not think.
Her reverie was interrupted when someone collided heavily with her. She glanced over quickly. It was a man: thin and youthful looking, with acne — pitted cheeks.
'Pardon me,' he said. Then he stopped and drew himself up. 'Captain Hayward?'
She frowned. 'Yes.'
'What a coincidence!'
She looked at him more closely. He had dark, cold eyes that belied the smile on his face. She did a quick mental cross — check — acquaintances, colleagues, perps — and satisfied herself he was a stranger.
'Who are you?' she asked. 'The name's Kline. Lucas Kline.'
