“I don’t have to tell you to dot all the i’s. This will hit the media soon, one way or the other. They’ll rip through him, but they’ll spotlight the department and the investigation.”
“Understood, sir.”
“For now, we’ll honor our officers. I’ve heard good things about your boy, Lieutenant.”
“My boy, sir?”
Tibble smiled, deepening the lines fanning out from his eyes. “Trueheart. You did well there.”
“Detective Baxter trained him. He did well.”
“I’ll make sure to tell him so. Excuse me.”
When Tibble moved off, Whitney turned to Eve, his dark, wide face sober. “It isn’t prudent or professional to tell a former senator’s wife to kiss your ass.”
“No, sir. I apologize for any difficulty my lapse caused you and the department.”
“My wife told her to shove it.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Though his tone remained quiet and serious, humor, bright and unmistakable, fired up in his eyes. “Anna served on a couple of charity committees with Mandy Mira. In general, my wife’s anger is shown in cold disdain.”
“I’m aware,” Eve said before she could stop herself, but Whitney only chuckled.
“However, Mandy Mira flipped the switch, and among other unkind suggestions, Anna told her to shove it. She won’t serve on any committee or function with the senator’s wife any longer. She was delighted when she overheard my conversation with Mandy Mira last night, and enjoyed talking to our own Mira about the incident when Charlotte contacted me about it. Officially, I can’t condone your behavior.”
“No, sir.”
“Consider yourself reprimanded.” His face settled back into commanding lines. “Now, let’s give some good cops their moment, and get back to work.”
—
Eve stood on the stage with other ranking officers and those being promoted. She stood at parade rest through the speeches—mercifully brief—from Tibble, from Whitney. A scan of the audience showed every single member of her division in attendance, and, though she wondered who the hell was manning the ship, it made her proud to know every one of them—detectives, uniforms—took the time to be there for Trueheart.
She picked out Feeney, McNab, Mira, who like Trueheart looked a little pale, and to her surprise, Morris. As each officer’s name was called he or she stepped up to Whitney for the presentation, a few personal words from the commander, the photo op.
She could pick out family members by their glistening eyes during the applause.
“Troy Trueheart, Detective, third grade.”
Applause broke out hard and fast, and she managed to keep her face sober—even through the whistles and foot stomping from her division. She watched him cross the stage, a little flushed rather than pale now, and accept his gold shield.
“Lieutenant Dallas saw your potential,” Whitney said quietly to Trueheart. “Detective Baxter nurtured it. But it’s what you are that’s earned this shield. Congratulations, Detective.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you, Commander. I won’t disappoint them, or you.”
He held his new shield up for the photo op, and did the right thing to her mind by looking straight at Baxter before he shifted his gaze to his mother and his sweetheart.
Then he turned to take his place at the back of the stage and sent Eve a grin that was Christmas morning, the Fourth of July, and New Year’s Eve all in one.
At the end, the newly promoted officers filed off the stage to more applause, and Eve wondered if the echoes of it would help offset some of the crap they’d have thrown at them daily on the job.
She went back, intending to work her way around, spend five or ten minutes to speak to whoever she had to speak to, then duck out, change, and get back on the street.
But Trueheart waited for her.
“Lieutenant.”