The words were like ice shards, hitting her in the chest. And the way Bushnell looked at her with that soul-piercing blue gaze, it was obvious he knew they had been more than just partners.
“Bad cops make all of us look bad,” he said. “They deserve worse punishments than even regular criminals.”
Yeah, well, she wished everyone in the station saw it that way. But no, the only thing they cared about was that she turned on one of their own. That she had been the one to report him to Internal Affairs and cuffed him during that sting operation. Unfortunately for her, IAB wanted Derek so bad that they didn’t warn her that breaking the blue wall of silence had dire consequences.
When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “The heat’s gonna be on you, Selinofoto. You know how Bianchi operates. I can have a couple of the officers escort you—”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t need any babysitters or bodyguards.” Her fingernails dug into her palms. “I’ll be fine.”
The captain’s bushy eyebrows drew together, his clear blue eyes narrowing. “Anthony Bianchi isn’t someone you mess around with lightly. Your testimony is going to be the final nail in his coffin. He’s gonna go down.”
As he should. “I can’t do my job properly if I’m being guarded all the time.”
“I’m not talking a protective detail, just someone to make sure you get home okay.”
The thought of anyone following her around made her uncomfortable. “I respectfully decline, sir. But,” she began when Bushnell looked like he wanted to protest. “I’ll check in via phone with the desk sergeant every night when I get home.”
That seemed to mollify him. “All right. I’ll have a couple of patrol cars drive by your building as well.”
She supposed she could live with that. “You said there were two things you wanted to discuss.”
He harrumphed and got to his feet, and walked back behind his desk. “Yes. I got an interesting call this morning about you. From 1PP.”
One Police Plaza. The NYPD’s headquarters. “Is it the chief?” God, she hoped she wasn’t getting into more shit because of the Bianchi case.
“Er, no. From the commissioner.”
“Commissioner Foster?” She frowned. Why would the head of the entire police force of New York City call Bushnell about her? How would he even know her name? “If this is about me testifying—”
“It’s not.” He lowered his voice. “It wasn’t an official call or anything. He said he wanted to know why one of my detectives was opening sealed files all weekend.”
“Oh.” Fuck. “It’s for a case, sir.”
“And you’ve been working all weekend?”
“Yes. Is he asking me to stop looking into old case files?”
“Not really.” He scratched his chin. “It was a strange call actually.”
“Strange?” Her curiosity was piqued.
“Yes. First of all, the fact that he called me directly … I’ve been working for the NYPD for thirty years, ten as captain. I’ve never gotten a call directly from the Police Commissioner of New York.”
“Really?” Interesting.
“Yes. And the fact that he said this was a non-official chat … I mean, we access case files all the time, it’s part of our job. But all the ones you opened seemed to have gotten his attention.”
“Is that so?”
“Care to enlighten me on what you’re doing?”
Could she trust Bushnell? Did she have a choice? “Sir, I’ve been investigating a murder.”
“The D.B. from the alley.”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “And the more I dig into it, well, the weirder it becomes.”
“Weird? How?”
She told him about Thomas Dixon and how she arrived at the scene. “Then I got here and started digging into his records. First of all, he just got out of Sing Sing a week ago. Based on the crime lab’s findings, he was murdered a day after he got out.”
“Old enemies, maybe?”
“Could be. But he’s been in prison for twenty years. He’s got no family or no known contacts in New York City. He kept to himself in prison, and if anything … he was a model inmate, according to the warden.” She had called up the jail on Friday to get the skinny on Dixon. Warden Ellis had been shocked to find out Dixon had been murdered. He didn’t rat on anyone, didn’t join any gangs, nor did he have any known associates who visited him. If anything, he had seemed content to do his time.
“Was he mugged?”
She shook her head. “He still had all his personal effects. And the way he was beaten … well, it seemed highly personal. The suspect or suspects would have had to be up close.”
“What’s weird about that?”
Her heart hammered into her chest and she hesitated. “I don’t want to sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist, sir.”
Bushnell flashed her a look of impatience. “Just spit it out, Selinofoto.”
Here goes nothing. “Dixon was sentenced to twenty years in prison for the attempted kidnapping of two children. Their dad is Grant Anderson.”
“Who?”
“He’s the CEO of Fenrir Corporation.”
“Oh. The billionaire.” Everyone knew about Fenrir, of course. They owned most of New York City and had their hand in almost every type of business from real estate to healthcare.
“Yes, sir.” She cleared her throat. “The children were unharmed, but the kidnappers were severely injured.”
“Did Anderson report the kidnapping?”
“No, not until they were found. A security contractor that works for Fenrir—Creed Security—plus Anderson’s own team found them first, then turned them over to the NYPD.”
“Maybe they didn’t want the attention.”
“Well, I thought it was convenient that all the kidnappers were hurt when their van crashed, but the children were fine. Or at least, we think they are because they were never brought to any hospital. Plus, the children were kidnapped at around three in the afternoon and were found twelve hours later. What were they doing during all that time? Driving around Manhattan? Why wouldn’t they stash the kids somewhere until they contacted the parents for a ransom?”
“Maybe moving around helped them stay undetected for a couple of hours. So what happened?”
“Once the kidnappers recovered, they
