his officer daughter into the wonderful world of Homicide—”
“Oh, wait. I know where this is heading. Hamilton Police. Lenora Baccus.”
“Yes. Apparently, she worked with you.”
“She did. Did she tell you why she left the department?”
“Sexual harassment. I’m not calling to debate the validity of the charge, but I would like your opinion of her. She told me she was on your team that took down a major GTA ring.”
“That is true.”
“What did you think of her?”
“Hard worker, very diligent, willing to learn, good firearm skills, good skills with people, and a great team player.”
“That’s an endorsement. Anything to add?”
“Like is there anything negative?”
“Whatever you want to add.”
“As an original thinker? Not so much. And, truthfully, not the most robust personality on the force. No woman should have to take any kind of sexual harassment, including rude comments, but there are realities of life. She’s very good-looking. I would have thought she might have been a bit more prepared. The constant comments were obnoxious, but they seemed to blindside her. Like she’s never had unwanted male attention.”
“Maybe she was sheltered.”
“Could be, but c’mon. Like I said, we women shouldn’t have to put up with this crap, but it helps if you’re the type of person who can ignore the shit and just get on with the job. Life is not one big safe space.”
“I’m surprised about that, especially since Baccus came from a police family.”
“I don’t think her father was Mr. Supportive about her career choice.”
“Sounds like someone else we know,” Decker said.
“Daddy, once you were reconciled to my stubbornness, you were not only supportive, you were a wonderful source of information and knowledge. You were tough on me at times, but I always knew where the criticism came from. Whenever these jerks get to me, I hear your voice in my head. Just do the friggin’ job.”
“You’re still having to deal with jerks?”
“All the time, Dad. But the good news is, I’m starting to outrank all of them.”
Decker beamed. “What do you think my approach with Baccus should be?”
“Give her specific assignments—look up this, call that person, check out this alibi.”
“Questioning a suspect?”
“Never seen her do it. My intuition is it’s not her natural forte. But you’re a great teacher. She’s lucky to have you as a mentor.” A pause. “I’ve got to go.”
“Thank you, princess. I love you to death.”
“Right back at you, Daddy.”
DECKER DECIDED TO try Brandy’s number again. This time, the line clicked in with a human voice. He said, “Brandy Neil?”
“Who is this?”
“Detective Peter Decker, Greenbury Police. Is it possible that we could meet in person?”
“Why? What’s this about? How’d you get my number?”
“From your mother.”
“Why?”
“It’s about your brother, Brady.” A long pause over the line. Then a longer pause. “Ms. Neil?”
“It has to be bad news.”
“Could we meet?”
“Is he dead?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“Murdered?”
“It looks that way.”
“Ah, Jesus!” Swearing over the line. “How?”
“I’ll tell you everything I know. But it would be helpful to meet in person.”
“Where? Hamilton police station?”
“Uh, if you could, I’d rather meet at the Greenbury station. Your brother died in our jurisdiction, so we’re running the investigation. I don’t want to intrude on Hamilton’s space. If it’s too far for you to travel, I’ll come to you.”
“I almost never go to Greenbury. It would take me like a half hour to get there.”
“Like I said, I can come to you.”
“No, I’d rather meet at a police station, no offense. I don’t know who you are.”
“I think that’s prudent of you. When can you come down?”
“Not now. It’s two o’clock. I’m still at work. I suppose I can make it around seven.”
“That would be fine.” He gave her the address of the station house and his cell number. “I’ll see you around seven. Please call if there’s any change of plans. And thank you very much.”
She spoke before he could hang up. “Where is my brother now?”
“He’s still at the morgue.”
“And if you got my number from my mother, she must know, right?”
“She does.”
“Ah, Jesus! This is just horrible … just terrible.”
“It is terrible. I’m very sorry.”
“Did he suffer?”
“No,” Decker told her.
Not a lie, not the truth. He didn’t know one way or the other, and since he didn’t know, there was no reason to cause her any further misery.
DASH HARDEN SAT in the chair. His manner said defiance while his face said fear. He was used to vandalizing—a nonconfrontational crime—and now, he was face-to-face with the enemy. He was eighteen and stood about five eleven, his body slowly turning into a man’s, with the wiry arms giving way to actual muscle. Light brown hair and a face spangled with freckles and acne. His hair was cut short, his features more bulldog than eagle. He kept insisting he had been home all night. Since Decker didn’t have any proof that Dash had vandalized, he told Lennie Baccus that he’d be stretching the truth a little. Her job was
