Dance Of Death

SIXTY-SIX

"Any idea what this is about?" Singleton said as they rode an express elevator to the rarefied upper floors of One Police Plaza.

Laura Hayward shook her head. If Commissioner Rocker had asked to see her alone, she might have expected it was more fallout over her fingering Pendergast for the murders. But she and Singleton had been asked to meet with the commissioner together. Besides, Rocker had always been a straight shooter. He wasn't political.

They emerged on the forty-sixth floor and walked down the plushly carpeted corridor to the commissioner's corner suite. A uniformed secretary in the large outer office took their names, dialed her phone, had a brief, hushed conversation, and waved them through.

Rocker's office was expansive but not ostentatious. Instead of the shooting awards and grinning photo ops that covered the office walls of most police brass, these walls sported watercolor landscapes and a couple of diplomas. Rocker was seated behind a large but utilitarian desk. Three couches were arrayed in a rough semicircle around it. Special Agent in Charge Coffey sat in the middle couch, flanked by Agents Brooks and Rabiner.

"Ah, Captain Hayward," Rocker said, rising. "Captain Singleton.

Thanks for coming." There was an unusual, strained quality to his voice she hadn't heard before, and his jaw was set in a tight line.

Agent Brooks and Agent Rabiner rose as well, leaping to their feet as if tickled by live wires. Only Coffey remained seated. He nodded coolly at them, small pale eyes in the big sunburned face moving from Hayward to Singleton and back to Hayward again.

Rocker waved vaguely at the sofas. "Please have a seat."

Hayward seated herself beside the window. So at last Coffey was deigning to bring them into his investigation. They hadn't heard a word from him or anybody else in the FBI since the meeting that morning. Instead, she'd kept herself and her detectives busy questioning additional museum employees and further developing the evidence. At least it had helped keep her mind off the manhunt going on sixty miles to the east, at what D'Agosta was doing-committing- on Long Island. Thinking about him, about the whole situation, gave her nothing but pain. She could never understand why he'd done it, why he'd made the decision he did. She'd given him an ultimatum, and under the circumstances an incredibly fair one. Do the right thing, come in out of the cold. And not just the right thing as a cop, but as a human being and a friend. She hadn't actually said it, but it had been clear enough: It's either me or Pendergast.

D'Agosta had made his choice.

Rocker cleared his throat. "Special Agent in Charge Coffey has asked me to convene this meeting to discuss the Duchamp and Green murders. I've asked Captain Singleton to be here as well, since both homicides took place in his precinct."

Hayward nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. We've had precious little information from the Bureau about the progress of the manhunt, and-"

"I'm sorry, Captain," Rocker interrupted quietly. "Special Agent Coffey wishes to discuss transfer of evidence on the Duchamp and Green murders."

This stopped Hayward dead in her tracks. "Transfer of evidence? We've made all our evidence freely available."

Coffey crossed one trunklike leg over the other. "We're assuming control of the investigation, Captain."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"You don't have the power to do that," Hayward said.

"This is Captain Hayward's case," Singleton said, turning to Rocker, his voice quiet but strong. "She's been living it night and day. She's the one who found the connection between the D.C. and New Orleans homicides. She developed the evidence, she ID'd Pendergast. Besides, murder isn't a federal crime."

Rocker sighed. "I'm aware of all that. But-"

"Let me explain," Coffey said with a wave of the hand at Rocker. "The perp is FBI, one of the victims is FBI, the case crosses state boundaries, and the suspect's fled your jurisdiction. End of discussion."

"Agent Coffey is right," said Rocker. "It's their case. We'll naturally be on hand to assist-"

"We don't have a lot of time to jawbone," said Rabiner. "Let's get on with the particulars of evidence transfer."

Hayward glanced at Singleton. His face was flushed. "If it wasn't for Captain Hayward," he said, "there wouldn't be any manhunt."

"We're all just as pleased as punch at Captain Hayward's police work," said Coffey. "But the bottom line is, this is no longer an NYPD matter."

"Just give them what they need, please, Captain," Commissioner Rocker said, a note of exasperation in his voice.

Hayward glanced at him and realized he was pissed as hell at this development, but could do nothing about it.

She should have seen it coming. The federal boys were going for the gold, and on top of that, this Coffey seemed to have a personal animosity toward Pendergast. God help him and D'Agosta when the feds finally caught up with them.

Hayward knew she ought to feel outraged at all this. But through the numbness, all she could bring herself to feel was an upwelling of weariness. That, and a feeling of revulsion so strong that she simply could not bear to spend another moment in the same room with Coffey. And so, abruptly, she stood up.

"Fine," she said briskly. "I'll initiate the paperwork. You'll get your evidence as soon as the chain-of-evidence transfers are signed. Anything else?"

"Captain?" said Rocker. "I'm very grateful to you for your fine work."

She nodded, turned, and left the room.

She walked quickly toward the elevator, head lowered, breathing fast. As she did so, her cell phone rang.

She waited, getting her breathing under control. After a minute or two, the cell phone rang again.

This time she answered. "Hayward."

"Laura?" came the voice. "It's me. Vinnie."

Despite herself, she felt her heart rise into her throat. "Vincent, for God's sake. What the hell are you-?"

"Just listen, please. I have something very important to tell you."

Hayward took a deep breath. "I'm listening."