that we had no comment.”
“So…tell him no goddamn comment,” the chief snapped.
“I’m not sure we want to do that,” Dorothy said.
“Why in hell not?” the chief demanded. “Has it gotten to the point where we can’t even issue a simple ‘No comment’?”
Dorothy was still trying to compose a sentence that did not contain the words “Walter Leroy Himes” when the cute little ADA started waving his arm. Thank God.
Sitting at the center of the long table, Timothy Beal raised his hand like he was in grammar school. “May I say something?” he asked.
Sheridan thought, Go for it, mullet head.
When nobody objected, Beal spoke. “We’ve been talking about this for an hour and I haven’t heard so much as a whisper of the name Walter Leroy Himes. The guy who’s scheduled to die by lethal injection less than a week from now. Why is that?”
Sheridan watched as Chucky Donald, who sat directly across from the ADA, winced, as if to say, “Wrong question, dweebus. Bite your tongue.” Donald was Kesey’s boy. Said to be in line to make captain. Maybe the youngest in history.
Thirty-eight hundred bucks for braces. She’d called her rotten ex. Asked him to pony up some of the cash, reminded him that Brandy was, after all, his kid too…. But, you know, the demands of a new family, two kids under three…besides which, his paying for braces wasn’t in the divorce contract—you’re the one who wanted sole custody—he’d have to discuss it with Sheila and you know how Sheila feels about…what was a guy gonna do? You understand.
The chief leaned forward, looked down the table at the young ADA. “Listen, Mr. Beal, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Walter Leroy Himes. What I care about is maintaining the credibility of my department and making damn sure that a highly sensitive, ongoing investigation is not going to be compromised by—”
A shout from the hall broke his train of thought. The conference room door opened. A tall man with a black ponytail stepped into the room, closing the door before turning to the assembled multitude. He showed his perfect teeth and spoke. “Oh, excuse me. I was looking for the men’s room,” he said.
Bennett Hawes had his notepad out. “Gimme those names again.”
Corso counted off on his fingers. “Hizhonor the mayor. Chief Kesey. Dorothy Sheridan and a couple of her assistants in public affairs. I don’t know their names. ADA Beal, who’s the one Leanne originally told her story to. A nasty cop named Densmore. Another cop named Donald. Charles Donald. A lieutenant from the East Precinct who just happens to be not only one of the arresting officers in the Himes case, but is also the officer to whom Himes supposedly confessed.”
“Spelled like the duck?” Hawes asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who else?”
“That bald guy who’s always standing behind the mayor in photographs.”
“Marvin Hale. He’s the district attorney,” Mrs. V. said.
“That it?” Hawes asked.
“That’s all of them,” Corso said.
“And you’re sure that Miss Samples was the subject of the conversation?”
“Positive.”
Hawes looked to Mrs. V. “We’ll run the meeting and the refusal to comment as a sidebar to the Samples story.”
“I like it,” she said.
Hawes snapped his notebook shut. He almost smiled. “So what happened after you claimed you were looking for the john?”
Dorothy Sheridan gestured toward Corso. “The aforementioned Mr. Corso,” she said. “Making the aforementioned pain in the butt of himself.”
The mayor rubbed his chin and whispered over his shoulder to the district attorney. A skinny guy in a blue suit jumped to his feet, sending his chair sliding back into the wall. He glared at Dorothy Sheridan. “What the hell is he doing here?”
She stammered. “He…I told him to wait…”
“It’s not her fault,” Corso said quickly. “She told me to wait by the elevators. I have a very limited attention span.”
Blue Suit blustered
“So…tell him no goddamn comment,” the chief snapped.
“I’m not sure we want to do that,” Dorothy said.
“Why in hell not?” the chief demanded. “Has it gotten to the point where we can’t even issue a simple ‘No comment’?”
Dorothy was still trying to compose a sentence that did not contain the words “Walter Leroy Himes” when the cute little ADA started waving his arm. Thank God.
Sitting at the center of the long table, Timothy Beal raised his hand like he was in grammar school. “May I say something?” he asked.
Sheridan thought, Go for it, mullet head.
When nobody objected, Beal spoke. “We’ve been talking about this for an hour and I haven’t heard so much as a whisper of the name Walter Leroy Himes. The guy who’s scheduled to die by lethal injection less than a week from now. Why is that?”
Sheridan watched as Chucky Donald, who sat directly across from the ADA, winced, as if to say, “Wrong question, dweebus. Bite your tongue.” Donald was Kesey’s boy. Said to be in line to make captain. Maybe the youngest in history.
Thirty-eight hundred bucks for braces. She’d called her rotten ex. Asked him to pony up some of the cash, reminded him that Brandy was, after all, his kid too…. But, you know, the demands of a new family, two kids under three…besides which, his paying for braces wasn’t in the divorce contract—you’re the one who wanted sole custody—he’d have to discuss it with Sheila and you know how Sheila feels about…what was a guy gonna do? You understand.
The chief leaned forward, looked down the table at the young ADA. “Listen, Mr. Beal, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Walter Leroy Himes. What I care about is maintaining the credibility of my department and making damn sure that a highly sensitive, ongoing investigation is not going to be compromised by—”
A shout from the hall broke his train of thought. The conference room door opened. A tall man with a black ponytail stepped into the room, closing the door before turning to the assembled multitude. He showed his perfect teeth and spoke. “Oh, excuse me. I was looking for the men’s room,” he said.
Bennett Hawes had his notepad out. “Gimme those names again.”
Corso counted off on his fingers. “Hizhonor the mayor. Chief Kesey. Dorothy Sheridan and a couple of her assistants in public affairs. I don’t know their names. ADA Beal, who’s the one Leanne originally told her story to. A nasty cop named Densmore. Another cop named Donald. Charles Donald. A lieutenant from the East Precinct who just happens to be not only one of the arresting officers in the Himes case, but is also the officer to whom Himes supposedly confessed.”
“Spelled like the duck?” Hawes asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who else?”
“That bald guy who’s always standing behind the mayor in photographs.”
“Marvin Hale. He’s the district attorney,” Mrs. V. said.
“That it?” Hawes asked.
“That’s all of them,” Corso said.
“And you’re sure that Miss Samples was the subject of the conversation?”
“Positive.”
Hawes looked to Mrs. V. “We’ll run the meeting and the refusal to comment as a sidebar to the Samples story.”
“I like it,” she said.
Hawes snapped his notebook shut. He almost smiled. “So what happened after you claimed you were looking for the john?”
Dorothy Sheridan gestured toward Corso. “The aforementioned Mr. Corso,” she said. “Making the aforementioned pain in the butt of himself.”
The mayor rubbed his chin and whispered over his shoulder to the district attorney. A skinny guy in a blue suit jumped to his feet, sending his chair sliding back into the wall. He glared at Dorothy Sheridan. “What the hell is he doing here?”
She stammered. “He…I told him to wait…”
“It’s not her fault,” Corso said quickly. “She told me to wait by the elevators. I have a very limited attention span.”
Blue Suit blustered
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