It wasnt just the uniformed officers and security gates at each entrance that made the top-brass offices feel cut off from the rest of the world. The sound-dampening choices of carpeted cubicle walls and lined drapes played their part in the silence. As did the closed doors and deserted hallways. Even with the sun shining outsidedeepening the reds and golds on the trees in the park below himEli felt isolated.
Waiting for his appointment with the commish was a bit like being summoned to the principals office. Or going down to lockup at two in the morning to bail out a sister who was so zoned on booze and coke that she didnt even realize shed been arrested.
Eli breathed deeply, trying to dispel the tension that particular memory triggered. He pulled back the front of his suit jacket and fingered the phone on his belt. Maybe he should call the treatment center to check up on Jillian. She wasnt allowed any personal calls during an initial probationary period, and then had to earn the privilege after that. But he could talk to one of her counselors or a nurse to see how she was settling in.
Detective Masterson?
Contenting his hands with rebuttoning his jacket instead of reaching for the phone, Eli greeted the receptionist with a nod. The steel-haired woman whose desk plaque had identified her as Betty Mills handed him a paper cup filled with coffee. Tepid from the feel of things. Bitter sludge that had sat in the pot all day from the whiff he got.
He still offered a polite Thanks, not because the woman seemed to expect it or that he looked forward to drinking her gift. But a perverse sense of irony had him wondering if kindness could soften the plastic smile she wore like a badge on her stiff expression. Nope.
Its inspiring to be in the company of such fine men, isnt it? Betty stated with awed conviction.
For a split second, Eli thought she was speaking in figurative terms, looking down at the miniature men and women outsidesome in uniform, some in plainclothesexiting down the concrete steps or entering the building for the start of their shift. But then he noted the angle of her gaze, toward the back wall and the row of portraits.
Theres a lot of history there, he agreed, wondering if her assessment included the commissioners whod served in the 1920s and 1930s when thered been suspicion of corruption among several government officials in Kansas City. But thoughts of corruption reminded him of Joe Niederhaus and soured what was left of his amiable mood.
Ive served with seven of them, you know. Either in the secretarial pool or as administrative assistant.
And hed bet shed worn that same smile through each administration. Youre very dedicated.
I still miss working with Commissioner Brent. He was destined for fine things. Loved his sense of humor. Miss Plastic Face got humor? Now its all trapped inside him. But I know hes working hard to come back to us.
I hope he recovers his health. I hear that rehabilitative therapy after a stroke is tough.
Betty straightened Brents portrait with tender care, though Eli hadnt seen anything out of place. Hes a fighter.
The telephone buzzed on her desk and she left to answer it. Oh yeah, if she was in charge of the mood up here, no wonder it felt like such a mausoleum.
Commissioner Cartwright will see you now.
Eli dumped his untasted coffee in the trash and strolled toward the bank of closed office doors. Thanks.
But he paused when one of the double cherrywood doors opened and his I.A. supervisor, Garrett Chang, stepped out. Not the worst surprise of his life, but not a particularly good one. His captains dark, almond-shaped eyes instantly sought him out and flashed a warning. Elis mood shifted into grim. This isnt gonna be good, is it?
Chang shook his head. I wouldnt want to be in your shoes.
This had to be about something more than a late report. Was one of the two dead men from the bank the cousin of a wealthy benefactor? Was someone suing the department? Was the lady commish p.o.d because he hadnt jumped the instant she gave an order? Well, he damn well wasnt going to stand by while innocent
Its not what you think, Eli. Chang knew how his mind worked. Whatever conspiracy theory is running around inside that head of yours, I promise, reality will be worse.
Id rather not discuss it on the phone.
That vague sense of protective concern returned to mellow his temper as he remembered Shaunas call. Suspicion hardened him against the new, unknown threat. Whats wrong?
Shauna Cartwright appeared in her doorway and answered the question herself. Better let me tell him, Garrett.
Right. Captain Chang stepped to one side, looking first to the commissioner, then Eli. If theres anything I can dofor either of youlet me know.
The commissioner smiled, momentarily distracting Eli from his supervisors mysterious offer. Thanks. Ill keep you in the loop.
Chang took her outstretched hand, then reached over to shake Elis. Be good.
Was that a mind your manners or a do your job warning?
Garrett Chang departed without clarifying anything, and Eli began to feel the frustration of a man condemned to punishment for a crime he knew nothing about. Shauna Cartwright was no immediate help, either. She instructed Betty to hold her calls, gave her permission to leave at five oclock, then ushered Eli into her office.
Though the decor in here was as uptown as the waiting area outside, soft touches of color added a subtle feminine warmth to the conference table and informal sitting areas. And was that? Eli frowned at the nearly inaudible strains of a disco ballad playing from the suites hidden speakers. Go figure. No canned elevator music or talk radio. There were signs of life in the ivory tower, after all.
But the lock twisted into place behind him, canceling out the unexpected sense of welcome.
The commissioner circled in front of him and held out her hand. Thank you for coming.
Like he had any real choice. Commissioner
Shauna, please. In private, anyway. The jolt of her smaller hand sliding against his proved as surprising as her choice of music had been. She tightened her grip to keep him in place long enough to inspect the bandages at his temple. I see you opted for the scarred and rugged look instead of sensible stitches.
Ill live.
I have no doubt youre a tough one. She led him to the sitting area, and then walked around her desk to a small kitchen area at the back. May I get you a cup of coffee?
The real thing? Or more of that stew Betty had served? He must have broadcast the questions telepathically because she grinned and pointed toward the door. Betty may be as efficient as the U.S. Army, but she cant make coffee worth a damn. She insists she makes it the same way my predecessor, Commissioner Brent, always liked it. Makes me wonder if he dumped it down the sink and brewed his own when she went on break, too. She turned away to pour two mugs without waiting for his answer. How do you take it?
Apparently, there was no hiding a kindred caffeinated spirit. With cream.
Though a sager suck-up would have asked a polite question about how the previous commissioner was recovering from the series of strokes that had incapacitated him, Eli dumbly watched the graceful movements of Brents replacement.
Nice. She opened a tiny fridge beneath the counter and pulled out a carton of the real thing, whetting his taste buds in anticipation. Very nice. Regions south of his belt buckle stirred with a heated interest of their own as she bent over to replace the cream, and her navy gabardine skirt pulled taut across her backside.