“Be serious.”
“Seriously, I have no idea why Trish would do anything. Because I’m not sure who she is. I don’t think the packaging is particularly transparent. Marv might like to keep the TV on to keep himself angry and right about everything. Bilious little racist.”
“Trish says he’s a financial genius.”
Gurney shrugged. “No contradiction there.”
It wasn’t until they were in the house and Gurney was starting to make himself a cup of coffee that she spoke again, eyeing him with concern. “That moment . . . when the officer . . .”
“Was shot?”
“Were you . . . all right?”
“More or less. I knew it had happened. So the video wasn’t a
Her expression hardened. “
He assumed that part of her fury was indeed provoked by the profit-based hypocrisy of the media industry. But he suspected that most of it arose from a source closer to home—the horror of seeing a police officer, someone like her own husband, struck down. The price of her deep capacity for empathy was that someone else’s tragedy could easily feel like her own.
He asked if she’d like him to put on the kettle for some tea.
She shook her head. “Are you really planning to get involved in . . . all of that?”
With some difficulty he held her gaze. “It’s like I told you earlier. I can’t make any decision without knowing more.”
“What kind of information is going to make—” The ringing of his cell phone cut her question short.
“Gurney here.” Though he’d been out of NYPD Homicide for four years, his way of answering the phone hadn’t changed.
The raspy, sarcastic voice on the other end needed no identification, nor did it offer any. “Got your message that you’re looking for insider shit on White River. Like what? Gimme a hint, so I can direct you to the type of shit you have in mind.”
Gurney was used to Jack Hardwick’s calls beginning with bursts of snide comments. He’d learned to ignore them. “Sheridan Kline paid me a visit.”
“The slimebag DA in person? Fuck did he want?”
“He wants me to sign on as a temporary staff investigator.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking into the cop shooting. At least, that’s what he says.”
“There some reason the regular White River PD detective bureau can’t handle that?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Why the hell’s he getting involved in the investigation? That’s not his turf. And why you?”
“That’s the question.”
“How’d he explain it?”
“City on the verge of chaos. Need to make solid arrests fast. Pull out all the stops. No time for turf niceties. Full assets into the breach. The best and the brightest. Et cetera.”
Hardwick was silent for a bit, then cleared his throat with disgusting thoroughness. “Odd pitch. Distinctive odor of horseshit. I’d be careful where I stepped, if I were you.”
“Before I step anywhere, I want to know more.”
“Always a good idea. So what do you want from me?”
“Whatever you can find out fast. Facts, rumors, anything at all. About the politics, the shot cop, the department, the city itself, the old incident with Laxton Jones, the Black Defense Alliance. Anything and everything.”
“You need all this yesterday?”
“Tomorrow will do.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“I try not to.”
“Very fucking kind of you.” Hardwick blew his nose about an inch from the phone. Gurney wasn’t sure whether the man had a perpetual sinus problem or just enjoyed producing unpleasant sound effects.
“Okay, I’ll make some calls. Pain in my ass, but I’m a generous soul. You free tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll make myself free.”
“Meet me in Dillweed. Abelard’s. Nine thirty.”
Ending the call, Gurney turned his attention back to Madeleine, recalling that she’d been in the middle of asking him something.
“What were you saying before the phone rang?”
“Nothing that won’t wait till tomorrow. It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”
He was tempted to join her, but the questions on his mind about the situation in White River were making him restless. After finishing his coffee, he got his laptop from the den and set it on the table in the breakfast nook. He pulled up a chair and typed “White River NY” into the browser. As he scrolled through the results, looking for articles he might have missed earlier in the day, a few items caught his eye:
An article in the
A shorter, punchier
A muted approach in the
And then there was the all-out RAM promotional screamer: FIRST BLOOD DRAWN IN RACE WAR? COP SHOT DEAD AS ACTIVIST INCITES CROWD. SEE IT ALL ON
