11th hour

Chapter 26

Bec Rollins, a PR biggie from the mayor’s office, was waiting for me when I got back to the Hall. She was sitting in Conklin’s chair.

Bec was intense, fierce, and she didn’t waste time.

“Hi, Bec, what the hell is wrong? And don’t say everything, because that’s my line.”

She gave me a fleeting grin, said, “Sit down, Lindsay. I think you want to see this.”

She showed me her iPad, and I saw a picture of me on the dock walking away from the camera.

“Wait. Where did that come from? This was taken today.”

Rollins scrolled down, showed me the headline on Jason Blayney’s article: “Heads Unearthed at Harry Chandler’s Pad; Boxer Investigates.”

I said, “What?” and began to read. My case was all over the Web. “Bec, Blayney knows what I know. Heads unearthed. Chandler’s house. Chandler’s boat. Someone leaked. But it wasn’t me.”

“I know, I know,” Rollins said. She took back her gizmo, said, “Here’s the thing, Lindsay. Blayney is a juvenile viper. He’s got a license to harass and nothing to lose. I don’t need to tell you how he can spin this story, poison any potential jury pool. He can make things hard for sources to come forward.”

“I’m not cooperating with him, Bec. I didn’t see him.”

“Gotcha. But be aware of him. Here’s what he looks like.”

She showed me the picture of a man in his twenties, dark hair, narrow eyes, a lot of teeth. He looked like a wolverine.

“He’s going to confront you, count on it. When he does, you’ve got to be wise and cool and act as if you’re approachable — but don’t tell him anything unless Brady says okay first.”

“Brady has talked to Blayney. Did you know that?”

“Yes. I knew. Let Brady do the talking for you on both of your cases. And here’s the other thing. Your friend Cindy.”

At the mention of Cindy’s name, my partner left the break room and came toward our desks. Bec Rollins leaned in and finished what she was saying.

“Cindy Thomas is an investigative reporter.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Inevitably she’s going to want an inside track on this story.”

“For God’s sake. Are we done?”

“Lindsay, please keep in mind that whatever the press writes is worldwide and forever. Oh, hi, Rich,” Bec said to Conklin. “I’ll call you,” she said to me.

Conklin sat down and said, “What’s this about? Don’t tell Cindy anything?”

“Something like that,” I said.

Cindy Thomas is an honest, dedicated, and talented writer, and she has helped me solve crimes. That’s how good she is. The kind of bureaucratic bull Bec Rollins had brought into the squad room like a lame pony is exactly why I’d eventually said “No, thanks” to the corner office.

I’d committed to being a career homicide detective. I had to be better than good. I had to be excellent.