An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (7 page)

“Who was the most outspoken about your innocence, Bob?” Louise touched the tips of her finger to her desktop and pushed to her feet. “Catherine defended you in private and in the press. I think you owe her better than this.”

Bob hung his head like a shamed dog. “I was just giving you shit, O’Brien. You know I didn’t mean anything by it, right?”

He gave my shoulder a playful punch.

I decided to let him off the hook. With the day I was having, I could use all the support I could get, even if it were born out of guilt. “Sure, Shackelford, we’re cool.”

Shackelford skulked away, head down, and tail firmly entrenched between his knees.

I gulped down a slug of coffee ignoring the searing hot pain in my throat as it slid toward my stomach.

“Thanks, Louise.”

She perched on the edge of my desk and picked up the newspaper. “It’s the least I can do, considering the onslaught you’re about to face. There won’t be any way to save you from the Chief.”

I dropped my head back to the desktop. A stack of files I hadn’t gotten around to filing yet, crashed onto the floor. I groaned.

“Oh, come on.” She pushed my chair with her foot. The casters engaged and rolled the chair backward until my head came off the desk.

“You had to have known you’d get some blowback from what you said yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

“This story is a lie. All except the part where they directly quote you. You did call the press vultures.”

“I know.” I raked my fingers through my unruly curls, then snagged a rubber band from my drawer and secured my hair into a ratty ponytail. “They are vultures. It’s the rest of the story that’s so bad.”

Louise crumpled the paper and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. “Come on, we have to talk to the Chief. We know the investigation isn’t botched. We’ll just tell him what really happened.”

She sounded like a perky nurse trying to convince a terminal patient that everything would be fine in a day or two.

I slowly got to my feet. “Can’t you just talk to him? You could just smooth things over first and then I’ll go talk to him.”

She picked up my mug and handed it to me. “No, I can’t. He said he wanted to see you first thing. He really didn’t sound that mad.”

Right, and the sound of dentist’s drills are only mildly annoying.

“It’s better to get it out of the way anyway,” she said. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

There wasn’t enough coffee in Colombia to make the ass chewing I was about to receive any easier to take. I gulped down what remained in my mug in three long swallows, then swept my hand out in front of me.

“Lead the way.”

The chief’s door was wide open like the jaws of an angry monster. Inside, the chief paced the length of his phone cord from one side of his desk to the other.

“He’s busy now,” I said. “We’ll have to come back later.”

Before I could escape, the chief spotted me, and flagged me inside.

Louise put her hands on my shoulders. “He’s never too busy to talk to you, Catherine. You should know that by now.”

Chief waved again, this time more emphatically.

I stepped forward and from somewhere I swore I heard TAPS playing. I looked over my shoulder and saw Shackelford tooting out the tune through his fingers.

I gave him the finger.

There were only two guest chairs in the chief’s office. Neither provided easy access to the door if I needed to escape, so I chose the one near the window. Who knew, a leap from the eighth floor might be more fun than what was heading my way with all the speed of a runaway freight train.

I slumped down in the seat and tried to make myself as small as possible under the chief’s dark glare.

I didn’t need to know who he was talking to on the phone. His only contribution to the conversation was,
yes sir
and
I understand sir
. Finally he said, “Yes sir. We’ll take care of it.”

He lowered the phone so slowly it looked like a video on frame-by-frame motion. With each inch closer to the cradle the phone got, the more pain I felt. By the time he’d hung up the phone, I could have sworn I’d already received my ass chewing.

He laced his fingers together then let out a slow breath.

Hour-like seconds, ticked by without a sound. He didn’t look up. He didn’t move. The only sign that he was still alive was the rapid pulse at his temple.

“Tomorrow.” He flattened his palms out on the desk. “Is my twenty-year anniversary with the Saint Paul Police Department.”

“Congratulations,” Louise said in a bright and cheery tone.

He turned his head, flattened his lips into a humorless smile, and gave her a short nod.

“Instead of celebrating my anniversary with a glass of champagne, as I had planned to do,” each word measured and slow, “I’m going to be playing clean up with the press.”

He turned to me and smiled. Not a happy, friendly smile; a disturbing, frightening smile.

“Sorry.”

He leaned forward and cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that? I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you, O’Brien.”

“I am sorry, chief.”

He waved off the apology.

“I know you are. And I know that part of the story was sensationalized. Right?”

Louise and I nodded, with our most innocent expressions, like disciplined children.

“So you will do everything in your power to correct the problem.”

He nodded.

We nodded.

“Good.” He held up a rumpled copy of the paper. “Tell me how this happened.”

I hung my head and waited for Louise to explain my actions so I wouldn’t sound like a raving lunatic. When no explanation came, I glanced at Louise from the corner of my eye and realized she was looking at me and so was the chief.

I straightened and took a deep breath. Then I took the plunge.

“I lost my temper.” A good start and the truth. Not crazy yet. “The press was camped in front of the neighbor’s house trying to get at the Luther’s son.”

So far so good. No real damage done.

Chief nodded as patiently as a therapist listening to a patient spill their guts.

“The press –”

He held up his stubby sausage shaped index finger, then lifted the well-folded newspaper.

“You mean the vultures?”

“Yes, I called them vultures. They were trying to breech the line and get to the front door. Some even jumped the fence in the alley.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “So they were doing their normal thing and you went on the attack?”

“I wouldn’t have but they should know better than to go after a kid.”

Chief lifted a manila folder and flipped open the cover. He skimmed the page on top of the file.

“This kid you’re talking about would be . . .?”

“Chad Luther,” I said.

“Chad Luther?” He slid the folder around to face me. “The same Chad Luther who is nineteen years old and attending the University? Is this the
kid
you’re speaking about?”

Damn Louise’s clerical efficiency. I glanced at the folder. The report of the Luther’s murder, neat and complete, glared up at me.

“Okay, so he’s not a little kid but chief imagine being nineteen-years-old, finding both your parents murdered, and then having to have to deal with those . . ..”

“Vultures,” Louise filled in for me.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes and prayed that the word
vulture
wouldn’t follow me around for the rest of my career though I knew it would. “Thank you, Louise.”

“You’re welcome.”

Smart-ass.

“Imagine chief.”

“Okay.” He sat back and held up his hands in surrender. “I understand the reasons. And they’re good reasons. But how you handled the situation, good reasons or not, was wrong.”

“I know.” It was my turn to tuck my tail between my knees.

“Therefore, as your penance, you will give an exclusive interview regarding the case.”

“What?” I shot up straight in my seat. “Come on, chief. Penance is three Hail Mary’s and don’t do it again. This is punishment, cruel and unusual.”

He ignored my pleas and folded the newspaper so it fit in the folder.

“I suggest you avail yourself of the services of our media relations people. They can help coach you in the best way to deal with this situation.”

“You’re not serious,” I said.

Even Louise had moved to the edge of her seat with a “
that’s not a good idea
” look on her face.

“I’m very serious, O’Brien.”

“But chief,” Louise said. “We don’t want to compromise our investigation.”

“That’s why you will run your responses by the media experts, and do a little research before you meet with her.”

“Her?” I asked. “Her who?”

“The reporter who wrote this story.” He held up the newspaper and squinted at the puny, black type. “Her name’s Jane Katts.”

“Are you crazy?” I tapped my index finger on my temple.

If I hadn’t already committed career suicide, I had just performed the coup de grace. In for a penny, in for a pound – I pushed on.

“If I were going to give an exclusive interview about this case, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to a reporter who just tried to Titanic the entire Police Department over one off-the-cuff remark and stopped short of saying I was drunk on the job.”

“Chief, I have to agree with Catherine on this one,” Louise said, to my great relief. “This reporter printed a story that was a complete lie.”

“Except the vulture part,” I said.

Louise nodded. “Except that. The rest was completely false.”

“All the more reason to set her straight.” He stood. “Too late to argue with me, it’s been decided.”

“How could you –”

“I didn’t.” He came around the desk and stood in front of us. “The person I was speaking with when you came in decided for us.”

“Who?” Louise asked.

“The Mayor.” He folded his arms over his barrel chest. “He’s taken quite an interest in you, O’Brien. He’s especially interested in how you’ll handle this debacle next.”

The Mayor is watching me now? That couldn’t be good news.

“I guess, I don’t have a choice,” I said.

“Not really. No.”

I clasped my hands together on my lap. “I’ll speak with Ms. Katts, when I have the time. The investigation comes first.”

Louise gave me a supportive smile.

Chief mulled over the proposal, knowing that my ground was shakier than a six-point-eight on the Richter scale. Either I accepted the Mayor’s proposal or I found a new job. What the chief was trying to decide was how long he could put the Mayor, and this Katts woman, off and still keep
his
job. He didn’t like bullies any more than I did, and he sure as hell didn’t like the press any more than I do.

I was gambling that the stubborn rebellious streak we shared would win out over his good judgment. Then I could fulfill the Mayor’s request and still keep a small shred of dignity by not immediately bowing to Jane Katts’ blackmail tactics.

A knowing grin split the chief’s face. “Agreed O’Brien. You’ll do the exclusive on your schedule only when it doesn’t conflict with the investigation.”

We shook hands.

The chief took a scrap of paper from his desk blotter and handed it to me.

“Here’s Jane Katts’ number, though I’m sure she’ll be in touch with you. The Mayor has already spoken to her.”

I stuffed the paper in my jacket pocket.

“What’s your next move, ladies?” he asked.

“Jonathan Luther’s office,” Louise said. “None of the Luther’s neighbor knew the family all that well. We’d like to talk to someone who might know who their friends were. Or if the Luther’s were involved in something that got them killed.”

I had to add my seven cents. “We’ll be checking out the murder of Chad Luther’s Grandmother as well. Maybe the local law enforcement uncovered something that might be pertinent to this investigation.”

That little nugget of information was one the press would not get. The last thing we needed was for Chad to see his Grandmother’s name splashed across newspapers, along with his parents, in a news story that made his family out to be the Corleones of Minnesota.

The Chief in his usual, graceful style issued the order, “get to work,” as a single-word bark.

When we stepped into the bullpen area, half of the office was watching with worried eyes. The other half cast surreptitious glances over their shoulders pretending not to be watching.

“Do you still believe the Grandmother’s death is connected?” Louise strode through the office, and ignored the questioning gazes.

We passed Shackelford whose brows rutted into a deep V. He followed me with his eyes as if trying to determine whether I was about to clean out my desk. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. I gave him a discreet thumbs-up and he grinned.