West is involved in the murders?”
Lanier looked at the air between them for a moment, then shrugged. “Not in the sense you mean. No, not really. Though you and I both know she
could
be. But the real question is, Could there be some other connection between Mr. Hanover and her honor? Maybe whoever killed him meant it as some kind of a warning to her. Maybe there’s an issue of, say, contribution money.” At Glitsky’s look, Lanier backed off, opened his hands palms out. “I’m just throwing out ideas here. But the fact remains that she might want you on this for an entirely different reason than what she’s telling you, and I don’t think you’re naive enough—hell, you’re not naive at all—to haven’t considered that.” Lanier was sitting back again with his arms crossed, unblinking, daring his superior to deny it.
“I don’t know if I’d gotten that far,” Glitsky said after a pause. “Yesterday, when it looked like a suicide, she wanted me to clear Hanover’s good name. Now that itlooks like somebody’s killed him…” He stopped, let out a breath.
“I’m just saying, from a certain perspective, it looks a little squirrelly.”
“Okay, grant that,” Glitsky said, “but she’s the mayor. And the police chief, as you may know, serves at her discretion. Batiste is already on board with this. With me on the case, I mean. You don’t tell her no without some serious risk to your career opportunities.” After a short silence, Glitsky went on. “Just tell Cuneo I need to talk with him, that’s all. Share information. Between the two of us, we’ll take it from there. You mind doing that?”
“No, that’s fine. I’d be happy to, Abe. There’s nothing personal here between me and you. I’m just the messenger. And the message has got some merit.”
“I hear you. I even agree with you.” Glitsky came off the wall, rolled his shoulders, took a breath. He reached for the doorknob, turned it, started to walk out.
Lanier stopped him. “Abe.”
Glitsky turned, a question on his face. He pulled the door back to.
The homicide lieutenant took another few seconds staring at the ceiling while he decided whether or not he was going to say it. Finally, he said, “One thing you might want to know. Cuneo’s call this morning? He didn’t want it to get out, maybe especially not to you, but you’ve got to know.” He let out a sigh, waited some more.
“You want to give me three guesses?”
The scathing tone made Lanier talk. “Maybe it wasn’t the D’Amiens woman in the house. Some witnesses may have seen her leaving a little before the fire. Cuneo’s thinking that if that’s true, maybe she was the shooter.”
“So who was the woman in the house?”
“No clue.”
“And where’s D’Amiens?”
“Nobody knows.”
“
I
know where she is. She’s in my locker not fifty feet from where we’re resting our tired old bones, Abe,” Strout said. “That’s where she is for a damn pure medical certainty. And as for her doin’ the shooting, well, that wouldhave been highly unusual, if not impossible. Her bein’ dead an’ all at the time.” The medical examiner had his feet up on his desk. Behind him through the window, the barely visible morning freeway traffic was stopped in both directions. The fog gave every indication that it was going to be around for lunch. Strout was opening and closing a switchblade as they talked. “Who’s the perpetrator of this outrageous folderol? That it wasn’t D’Amiens.”
“Before I tell you that, John, tell me why it’s folderol.”
“Because I called your Dr. Toshio Yamashiru—who by the way turns out to be one of the premier forensic odontologists in the state, was called in to help identify the 9/11 victims in New York—anyway, I called him within about two minutes of getting his name from you yesterday, and he was good enough to come down here last night with her dental records and compare them to
Lanier looked at the air between them for a moment, then shrugged. “Not in the sense you mean. No, not really. Though you and I both know she
could
be. But the real question is, Could there be some other connection between Mr. Hanover and her honor? Maybe whoever killed him meant it as some kind of a warning to her. Maybe there’s an issue of, say, contribution money.” At Glitsky’s look, Lanier backed off, opened his hands palms out. “I’m just throwing out ideas here. But the fact remains that she might want you on this for an entirely different reason than what she’s telling you, and I don’t think you’re naive enough—hell, you’re not naive at all—to haven’t considered that.” Lanier was sitting back again with his arms crossed, unblinking, daring his superior to deny it.
“I don’t know if I’d gotten that far,” Glitsky said after a pause. “Yesterday, when it looked like a suicide, she wanted me to clear Hanover’s good name. Now that itlooks like somebody’s killed him…” He stopped, let out a breath.
“I’m just saying, from a certain perspective, it looks a little squirrelly.”
“Okay, grant that,” Glitsky said, “but she’s the mayor. And the police chief, as you may know, serves at her discretion. Batiste is already on board with this. With me on the case, I mean. You don’t tell her no without some serious risk to your career opportunities.” After a short silence, Glitsky went on. “Just tell Cuneo I need to talk with him, that’s all. Share information. Between the two of us, we’ll take it from there. You mind doing that?”
“No, that’s fine. I’d be happy to, Abe. There’s nothing personal here between me and you. I’m just the messenger. And the message has got some merit.”
“I hear you. I even agree with you.” Glitsky came off the wall, rolled his shoulders, took a breath. He reached for the doorknob, turned it, started to walk out.
Lanier stopped him. “Abe.”
Glitsky turned, a question on his face. He pulled the door back to.
The homicide lieutenant took another few seconds staring at the ceiling while he decided whether or not he was going to say it. Finally, he said, “One thing you might want to know. Cuneo’s call this morning? He didn’t want it to get out, maybe especially not to you, but you’ve got to know.” He let out a sigh, waited some more.
“You want to give me three guesses?”
The scathing tone made Lanier talk. “Maybe it wasn’t the D’Amiens woman in the house. Some witnesses may have seen her leaving a little before the fire. Cuneo’s thinking that if that’s true, maybe she was the shooter.”
“So who was the woman in the house?”
“No clue.”
“And where’s D’Amiens?”
“Nobody knows.”
“
I
know where she is. She’s in my locker not fifty feet from where we’re resting our tired old bones, Abe,” Strout said. “That’s where she is for a damn pure medical certainty. And as for her doin’ the shooting, well, that wouldhave been highly unusual, if not impossible. Her bein’ dead an’ all at the time.” The medical examiner had his feet up on his desk. Behind him through the window, the barely visible morning freeway traffic was stopped in both directions. The fog gave every indication that it was going to be around for lunch. Strout was opening and closing a switchblade as they talked. “Who’s the perpetrator of this outrageous folderol? That it wasn’t D’Amiens.”
“Before I tell you that, John, tell me why it’s folderol.”
“Because I called your Dr. Toshio Yamashiru—who by the way turns out to be one of the premier forensic odontologists in the state, was called in to help identify the 9/11 victims in New York—anyway, I called him within about two minutes of getting his name from you yesterday, and he was good enough to come down here last night with her dental records and compare them to
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