could intimidate her?
âDumb bastard,â Brenna said, and laughed out loud.
Even as her words filled the empty house, she considered another possibility. Her bravado turned to anger as she paced the kitchen floor. The straw man was back on the street. The Scarecrow was unchained, a menace loosed. Any hint of trouble and Dagnolo would be all over the judge, arguing to put DellaVecchio back behind bars. Maybe someone was setting him up again.
The kitchen wall clock read 4:23. What now? She played the message again, its creepy power diminishing each time. She could ignore it, but Jim had a right to know if this ugliness was seeping into their home. She thought suddenly of Alton Staggers, the Underhill familyâs security goon who a year earlier had snatched her son and Jimâs younger daughter from school after she and Jim had unearthed the Underhillsâ sordid family secret. In situaÂtions this volatile, there are no boundaries.
No, she decided, this had to be done by the book. It was risky, but she saw no other way. She picked up the phone and dialed.
âPublic Safety Building,â the operator answered.
âChief Kiger, please.â
âWhoâs calling?â
Brenna gave her name and waited. Would he remember her? No matter. Patrick Kiger was the one man in the Pittsburgh Police Department she felt she could trust. In the years since he arrived from Memphis, heâd turned the department from a swamp of institutionalized vice and debilitating internal politics into one of the most effective and best-managed forces in the country. His low tolerance for misconduct among his officers earned him loyalty and loathing in equal measure. The police union filed regular grievances against him, but few ever questioned his personal integrity. Even Dagnolo knew better than to cross him.
âIâm sorry, Chief Kigerâs out this week.â
Brenna swore under her breath. âIs there any wayââ
âHold on, Iâll transfer you.â
She considered hanging up, but didnât. What choice did she have? She wanted this on record, just in case it happened again. Just in case whatever.
âSo, what?â came a familiar voice. âYou take it all back?â
Milsevic. Damn.
âUh, Captain,â she stammered, âI was looking for the chief.â
Milsevic laughed. âSurprise!â he said. âHeâs in San Diego. Had to speak at a DBA seminar. Left me holding the fort. What can I do for you?â
As Kigerâs second-in-command, Milsevic more than made up for the chiefâs lack of personal charm. It worked on most people. She had always felt that if his police career didnât work out, he showed promise as a hot-tub salesman, or maybe a motivational speaker. Her friends in the departmentâs rank-and-file considered Milsevic ruthlessly ambitious, but cops have better bullshit detectors than the general public. Kiger, on the other hand, understood Milsevicâs value as the departmentâs unblemished public face.
âNothing,â she said after an awkward pause. âJust ⦠nothing.â
âLook,â Milsevic said, âletâs not play games here, OK? If thereâs something we need to knowââ
âNothing personal, Captain. I do need to talk to somebody there. Iâm just not sure youâre the right guy. Youâre too involved in my case, and with the Harnetts. Iâm just not comfortableââ
âIf this is about your boy DellaVecchio, no worries. Unless heâs slipped his collar, heâs at his dadâs house in Lawrenceville right now. The wonders of electronics.â
âI know,â Brenna said. âTalked to him an hour and a half ago, just before I left the office.â
âWhat then? The lynch mobâs torches keeping you awake at night? Swear to God, they didnât get your address from me.â
Asshole,
Brenna thought. âIâd take a
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