Covenant

16

Lopez leaned back in her chair as she watched Tyrell heft his way laboriously toward her between ranks of desks and computer terminals.

The station covered everything from New York Avenue in the north of First District right down to Buzzard Point and the old navy yard on the Anacostia River, which meant that Lopez got to see America in all its guises. From the immaculate White House down to the decrepit projects of East Side along the border with Maryland, America’s heart bared its soul. One hundred eighteen fatal homicides this year. Better than the last.

Tyrell’s phone began ringing before he’d even had the chance to sit down. She watched him pick it up wearily.

“Tyrell.” He paused, frowned, and sighed. “Be right there.”

Lopez looked at him as he set the phone down. “Problem?”

“We’ve been summoned,” he intoned deeply.

Lopez got up and followed him down a long corridor lined with partitioned offices. The Hall of the High and Mighty housed the district commander’s office. They turned at a door marked Powell, Tyrell knocking briefly before striding in.

“You beckoned?” he asked as Lopez closed the door behind them.

Captain Louis Grant Powell was a robustly built African American with a thick mustache that seemed to be trying to make up for his receding hairline. Lopez had often wondered why Powell, a long-service officer who had somehow never made it past the rank and file to the true upper echelons of the MPD, had never been promoted, despite bearing a name that made him sound like a confederate general.

“Sit down, Detectives.”

“Too kind.”

If Powell was ever amused by Tyrell’s laconic humor, Lopez never noticed it. It was a wonder he knew whom he was actually talking to, given that he had yet to look up from the file he was scrutinizing. The word in the locker room was that Powell was up for retirement and had invested in new real estate, down Tampa way. Lopez waited in silence with Tyrell, and was rewarded with a question as Powell looked up at her.

“The bust over on Potomac Gardens, what’s the score?”

“Alleged crack overdose, three victims locked themselves inside an abandoned property just off the projects.”

Powell closed his file and looked up at them both.

“Victims, alleged,” he echoed thoughtfully. “You sent the bodies down to the medical examiner’s office.”

Tyrell answered, saving Lopez from incriminating herself.

“I didn’t consider it likely that the victims were crack addicts.” Powell folded his hands under his chin expectantly, his jowls bulging as Tyrell went on. “I wanted the pathology before we wrote this one off.”

Captain Powell nodded briefly.

“Axel Cain at the Bureau, the MPD on site, and even the DEA consider it to be a closed case. They’ve acknowledged the discrepancies but see little point in referring it to the district attorney. I agree with them.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Lopez said carefully, “this isn’t a drug-related crime. Dr. Fry has confirmed that they didn’t die from crack.”

Powell smiled thinly at her, and looked at Tyrell.

“From what I’ve read, Surgeon Fry has been unable to determine the exact time of death, let alone the exact cause. Tyrell, this one’s dead in the water and I haven’t got the manpower or the time to allow either yourself or Lopez to run around the District on another wild-goose chase. The border with Maryland and Prince George’s has enough crack ’n’ meth addicts for the entire country. I’d lay down serious bucks that there’s another dozen stiffs out there waiting to be stumbled upon. This isn’t a priority case.”

Lopez watched as Tyrell sucked in his cheeks.

“Last time I looked, death under suspicious circumstances warranted our attention.”

“Not above greater needs,” Powell cautioned. “This country is still under a level-three terrorist alert, and I need officers and men to maintain a vigil against God knows who planning God knows what. This can be left to beat cops. If something comes up that they can’t handle, then I’ll send it back your way.”

Tyrell’s face twisted into the kind of smile that looked to Lopez as though he were trying to bend an iron bar with his lips.

“Local PD will take one look at those bodies and be glad to have swept them off the streets. I doubt a coroner would even glance at the paperwork before signing it off.”

“He probably didn’t,” Powell agreed.

“What?” Lopez and Tyrell asked in perfect unison.

“Recorded a verdict of misadventure.”

“We’ve got a crime scene here and we’re going to shut the door on it?”

“The door, Tyrell, is already shut,” Powell insisted.

“What if this is just a small piece of a bigger picture?” Tyrell pushed. “Those people were moved there after they died. If you give me just—”

“Just what?” Powell asked. “A few hours, a few days, a few careers? We haven’t got the resources for this right now. People die, Tyrell, sometimes for no other reason than their own damned stupidity. Let it go.”

Lopez watched as Tyrell took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Powell tossed the file into his out box with a flourish as Tyrell hauled himself out of the chair in disgust, walking across to the door and opening it. Lopez got up to follow him. The open corridor beckoned, but she could see that Tyrell couldn’t help himself as he turned back to look over his shoulder at the captain.

“You remember 2000? Y’know, Y2K and all that?”

“My parents’ golden anniversary,” Powell replied without looking up.

“An FBI agent reported high numbers of people attempting to acquire pilot’s licenses in local schools down in Florida. He reported back to the Barn in DC several times, documenting what they were doing and rating the activities as highly suspicious and worthy of extensive resources. He got turned down.”

“Your point?” Powell muttered, finally looking at Tyrell.

“The people he was watching hijacked four American airliners a year later, and killed over three thousand American citizens.”

Powell winced. “Tyrell, your three dead bodies aren’t going to become a national incident no matter how much you might want them to be.”

Tyrell shook his head. “I’m sure that’s what they said back in 2000.”

Before Powell could retort, Tyrell lumbered out of the office. Lopez made to follow him.

“One moment, Detective,” Powell rumbled.

Tyrell glanced back at her, a glimmer of suspicion crossing his features, and then she closed the office door and sat back down opposite Powell.

“He’s onto something,” she insisted.

“Jesus, not you as well?”

“What’s your problem with Tyrell? Why reject everything he says?”

“Because most of it’s bullshit,” Powell said sharply, and then visibly reined himself in. “You haven’t worked with him all that long. Tyrell’s desperate for the big bust and he’s been looking for it for years.”

“C’mon, he’s just willing to look a little further than most all cops working homicide.”

“He looks too goddamn far into everything,” Powell shot back. “He’s been up in front of a committee three times in the past four years for misappropriation of resources, chasing everything from Russian spy networks, JFK conspiracies, and the friggin’ Illuminati. For all I know, he thinks the Apollo landings were faked. Commissioner Devereux’s nearly suspended him twice.”

Lopez’s train of thought changed track. “You sayin’ he’s on an agenda or something?”

Powell ran a hand over his face as though rubbing the fatigue from his body.

“You ever been to the Big Apple?”

“Not yet.”

“You ever do, make sure you visit Ground Zero and the memorial there.”

Lopez’s skin felt suddenly cold in the breeze from Powell’s desk fan.

“The attacks?” she asked, and was rewarded with a quiet nod.

“Tyrell lost his wife and both of his daughters in the attacks and his brother to drugs two years later,” Powell said. “He’s been on the warpath ever since, no matter how carefully he thinks he disguises it.”

“How’d they get caught up in it?” she asked, as gently as possible.

“Amelie Tyrell had family out in Boston,” Powell explained. “She’d traveled to visit them while Tyrell was working in Maryland. She took their daughters with her, Ellen and Macy. Tyrell knew nothing of what had happened until he returned home; it was only supposed to be an overnight stay. They died on the return flight home.”

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Lopez admitted, feeling strangely disappointed that Tyrell hadn’t confided in her, and then guilty for having thought that he should.

“The investigations and commissions all found failings in the intelligence community to prevent the attacks, and that’s what put a rocket up Tyrell’s ass,” Powell said. “He knows that the towers were dropped by suicidal lunatics from another country, but now he can’t help but see neglect and conspiracies wherever he goes.”

Lopez rubbed her temples. “Why you tellin’ me this?”

“Keep an eye on him, okay? He’s a good detective, but he needs a balance.”

“I’m not his mother. If he decides to go after something, he’s not going to turn around and ask for my permission.”

“No, but he asks for your advice,” Powell countered. “Make sure you give it to him, but if he goes off the range, then you make damned sure you come back here and tell me.”

“You’re asking me to spy on him,” Lopez said. “He’s my partner.”

“I can’t afford to lose either of you right now, especially not on another one of Tyrell’s goddamn conspiracies. That clear?”

Lopez stood from the desk and turned to leave.

“That clear?” Powell repeated.

Lopez hesitated at the door and sighed. “Clear.”