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Harry knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. It was nine in the morning and the day was already beginning to heat up. It was expected to reach ninety by midday, and based on the trickle of perspiration he could feel under his shirt it already seemed well on its way. The house was a single-story rectangle, built close to the street so the small lot could provide some semblance of a backyard. Like most of Florida’s homes it was a cinder-block construction with the exterior walls covered in stucco, all of it a quiet nod to the yearly hurricane season. Of course, if a big enough hurricane hit, the cinder blocks would be all that was left. Once the windows were broken by flying debris the roof would be ripped away and everything inside the house would become part of the tempest.
The house was located in Temple Terrace on the northern outskirts of Tampa, less than a mile from the home that Darlene Beckett had once shared with her husband. It was on a short street that ended in a cul-desac, a working-class neighborhood where each house offered up bicycles, skateboards, or doll carriages stranded on the front lawns. Every other driveway seemed to be graced with a basketball hoop. On the surface it was a neighborhood of hard-working families with plenty of children to love and care for and support.
Harry rang the bell a second time before it was finally answered by a short, solidly built woman dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. She had unruly brown hair and a plain face absent of makeup. She also seemed short of breath. Vicky’s notes said she and her husband were both thirty-five, but right now the woman looked considerably older.
“Sorry to leave you waiting. I was in the back of the house making up the beds.”
Harry held up his shield and introduced himself.
The woman’s face deflated. “I just had another detective here yesterday. Is it about the same thing, that bitch who hurt my son?”
“It’s about Darlene Beckett,” Harry said. “Are you Mrs. Hall?”
“That’s me. Betty Hall, mother of the victim.” There was a weary sarcasm in her voice as if she were repeating a phrase she had heard and read too often.
“There are some things I have to go over with you, your husband, and your son.”
“My husband’s at work and my son’s asleep, and I’m not waking him up for this.” Her voice was uncompromising and Harry knew better than to fight her on the position she had just staked out.
“Then I’ll talk to you now, and I’ll come back to talk to your husband and son later today. What time do you expect your husband home?”
She let out a long, weary breath. “Six, six-thirty. Not before that.”
“Can you arrange to have your son available then too?”
“Why not?” She looked past him and shook her head. “Why not give him another sleepless night.”
She led him through the air-conditioned house, through a set of sliding glass doors, and out on to a lanai that held a small pool. She explained that she didn’t want her son waking up and overhearing yet another conversation about Darlene Beckett. Then she let out a breath as if finally giving in to the inevitable and asked Harry if he’d care for some coffee.
“Thank you, I’d love some,” he responded. He really didn’t want coffee or anything else, but now that he had her in a giving mood he wanted to keep her there.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
She went back into the house and returned minutes later with two hot mugs. Even before he tasted it the aroma told Harry it would be good.
Taking his time, Harry eased into the interrogation. “Mrs. Hall, I don’t have any children, myself, so I can’t fully appreciate the pain this has caused you and your family. And I’m sorry I have to revive it for you all. But we have a murder to investigate, and as you know it’s captured a lot of attention from the media. Now, right or wrong, this puts pressure on the people above me, and believe me, that pressure rolls downhill. So I need to solve this case as quickly as possible, which, if I can do that, will serve your interests as well. The sooner I can find out who killed Darlene Beckett, the sooner the focus of the media will turn away from you and your son. Okay?”
“Are you going to protect my son and my family from the media?” Her eyes bore into him.
“As best we can. I’m the lead investigator on this case and I don’t want the media in contact with any of our witnesses. But I can only control it from our end. If you or any member of your family, or any of your friends, chooses to talk to the media, I can’t control that. But no information will come from us.” Harry didn’t say that he also couldn’t control what the brass in his own department might do.
“We’ve already had them calling,” she said, “and right off we changed our phone number. Again.” The line of her mouth hardened, but Harry could tell she was fighting to keep tears from her eyes. “We sold our old house six months ago and moved here. I loved our old house. We all did. Our kids were born there; most of our friends were there. But that woman-what she did and all the madness it brought down on us-didn’t leave us much choice. My son was scared every time he went out of the house, scared that some reporter or some fanatic was gonna jump out of the bushes and start in on him.” The tears began to well in her eyes. “The school system even made him change schools. He got thrown out of his school because of what that woman did to him. One of their own employees.” Both her fists had clenched now. “Oh, they said it was for his own good, but they just wanted to be rid of him, be rid of what they let happen to him. And he saw it for what it was: a punishment.” She shook her head violently. “How else could he see it? Even the church he’d gone to all his life turned against us.”
Harry opened his notebook, which held the notes Vicky had taken. He had to turn the questions to areas where he needed answers and hoped the woman was ready for it. Cooperation, he knew, even among the innocent, was a matter of will.
“Mrs. Hall, when Detective Stanopolis was here yesterday you folks told her that you were all at home together at the time Ms. Beckett was killed.”
“That’s right. My husband and I were in the living room watching a show we like. The kids were in the family room watching something different. We even told her what the shows were about,” she added.
“I know you did,” Harry said. “But according to Detective Stanopolis’s report, no one other than the people who were here could confirm that you were all here together.”
“Well, that’s not true,” she snapped. She shook her head. “I don’t mean that the detective didn’t tell the truth. What I mean is that after she left I realized that my husband’s mother had called that night to say she couldn’t find her medicine. She’s got heart trouble and her husband just passed away a few months ago, so she calls Joe every time something goes wrong. I think she just needs to know someone’s there to help her.” She smiled, weakly. “Anyway, I answered the phone when she called at about ten o’clock and gave the phone to Joe. Then, when she called back an hour later, I answered the phone again, and gave it to Joe.”
“Did she talk to her grandchildren?” Harry asked.
Betty Hall’s jaw tightened. “No, she didn’t. You’ll just have to take our word that they were here.” Her voice was ice.
“It’s good to have whatever confirmation we can get. It’ll just spare you more questions down the road.” Harry offered her a small smile that wasn’t returned. “Can I get your mother-in-law’s name, address, and phone number?”
Mrs. Hall rattled off the information.
Harry consulted the notebook. “Was there anyone in particular who seemed unusually upset about what happened to your son or the fact that Ms. Beckett was allowed to plead to a lesser charge?”
“You mean that she walked away pretty much scot-free?” Her eyes became fierce. “Yeah, there were Joe and me for starters. I don’t think my son cared. I think he was just glad it was over. At least he thought it was.”
“Anyone outside your family?” Harry pressed. “How about anyone at your husband’s job, or friends of yours?”
“No, our friends either tried to be supportive, or just avoided the subject… and us too-at least some of them did. The guys on my husband’s job, well, they all thought it was real funny. Or they were telling him how lucky his kid was, especially after they saw that bitch on television. The only people who really wanted to see her hung out to dry were some of the people at our church. They couldn’t understand why we were willing to let her off the hook without a trial. But they didn’t have to listen to Billy crying in his room, they didn’t have to see him afraid to go out of the house. Even the psychologist we sent him to said to let it go. He said having to testify and live it all over again, plus dealing with all the publicity that a trial would bring, could cause him serious emotional stress. So I said to hell with all of them, I was gonna put my son first. So I just told the prosecutor to kiss my grits and we stopped going to that damned church. My husband never wanted to go to the church anyway. He just did it for the kids, and because I wanted it.”
“What’s the name of the church?” Harry asked.
“The First Assembly of Jesus Christ the Lord.” She pushed back an unruly strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “I’ve got a church bulletin. There’s something in it I want to show you, anyway.”
She retrieved the bulletin and gave it to Harry. It was professionally printed and slickly laid out, filled with church information, some short feature articles, and a column by the minister, the Reverend John Waldo. Betty Hall had underlined a comment in that column relating to Darlene Beckett. She jabbed a finger at it. “Just read it. That’s what we were living with every time we went to church.”
Harry read the minister’s column. In it, Reverend Waldo urged his parishioners to fulfill your Christian duty and do whatever you can to bring justice to Darlene Beckett and thereby free the boy she has led astray so he can be returned to the loving arms of Jesus Christ.
“And that s.o.b. pressed for that every chance he got,” she said.
Vicky decided that she and Jim Morgan would take on Darlene’s probation officer before they ventured into the quagmire of the department’s computer systems. Morgan, apparently a closet computer geek, raised a mild objection, but Vicky refused to be swayed.
“People before machines,” she said. “People have heart attacks or get hit by buses. Machines will be there the next day.”
Morgan pointed out that machines caught deadly viruses and had fatal crashes too. Then he laughed and agreed that he couldn’t fight her logic. He had a nice laugh, she thought, one that went well with his outgoing, easy manner. He was tall and lean, well put together, but not the type who wore his shirts a size too small to accent his biceps. There were enough of those in the department and she had no interest in working with someone who had to check himself out in every mirror he passed. Before today she had only seen Morgan in uniform. Now, dressed in casual civilian clothes, there was a youthful quality about him that she found very appealing. He had short, sandy hair, striking blue eyes, and a wide, sensual mouth, and she couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. She caught herself and pushed that thought away. She had no intention of getting involved with anyone. She’d been dumped by her last boyfriend and had no interest in having a rebound love affair with somebody on the job. She found herself smiling. But you can look, she thought.
Darlene’s probation officer was an eighteen-year veteran named Bennie Rolf. His office was adjacent to the Hillsborough County Courthouse in a featureless 1960s building. The interior was much the same, cookie-cutter offices filled with drab, institutional furnishings that were one step above those found in most prisons.
Bennie Rolf fit the offices perfectly. Just under six feet, he carried two hundred and forty pounds layered over a frame designed for one-eighty. He was in his early forties with fast receding brown hair and a badly trimmed beard that was flecked with gray. Just looking at him, Vicky would have bet the rent money that he had a nasty case of bad breath.
The man also looked a little twitchy, Vicky thought, as they took chairs in his cramped office. She decided she’d have to watch his eyes throughout the interview, looking for the tell that would let her know when he was lying.
The office was a mess with client folders and papers piled haphazardly. There was a lone window that looked out onto a parking lot and the glass in the window was the only part of the office that appeared clean.
Vicky started off slow and friendly. “So Bennie, did Darlene ever tell you about any threats she’d received, or anyone in particular that she was afraid of-like maybe her ex-husband, or boyfriend, or somebody she met while she was out bar hopping?”
“She wasn’t allowed in bars,” Rolf said. “That was part of her probation agreement.”
Vicky smiled across the desk. “Well, let me clue you in, Bennie. The lady was a regular at one bar we know of for sure. And we’ve got witnesses who’ll swear to it. In fact, the guy who was killed with her picked her up in that bar.”
“I know. I read it in the papers.” Rolf shook his head as if even now he found it hard to believe. “We can’t follow clients around twenty-four-seven. We can only do the best we can.”
“Well, you sure seemed to be trying.” She watched Rolf nod agreement. “You sure made enough visits to her apartment.”
“Not that many,” Rolf protested.
Now it was Vicky’s turn to shake her head in disbelief. “Bennie, Bennie, Bennie, we got a neighbor who was a regular hawk about Darlene. He literally kept a book on every car that was parked in her driveway. And he was home day and night, so he didn’t miss many. In the past nine months, which is ever since she started reporting to you, he’s got you there thirty-nine times. That’s at least once a week. Seem about right to you?”
Bennie began to stutter. “Wa… Wa… Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t think my case file would show that many visits.”
“Maybe you didn’t write them all down,” Morgan suggested.
“Oh, no. Oh, no. I always record every visit.”
“Is it normal to visit a client that many times?” Vicky asked.
Rolf raised his hands defensively. “Look, this woman was notorious, a very high-profile case. Sure, I visited her more than usual. If anything went wrong with her, if she got involved with another kid, say, well, my butt would be on the carpet big time.”
Bennie was sweating now. His eyes were blinking rapidly and his stutter wasn’t about to go away. The man had so many tells going you could hardly keep track of them, Vicky thought. She remained silent, knowing instinctively that Bennie would fill the void. She glanced at Morgan, letting him know she wanted him to follow her lead. The silence didn’t last long.
“Look,” Bennie said, “if this was a drug dealer, or some petty hood that somebody offed, you guys wouldn’t even be here. I’ve had plenty of clients who’ve ended up dead, but I can count on one hand the number of times you guys have come to me with questions.”
Vicky and Morgan continued to stare at him. Finally, Vicky leaned forward as if expecting him to say more.
Rolf obliged. “Okay, maybe I was a little intrigued with her too. For crissake, she’d become a media star, hadn’t she? So just like everybody else, I took a special interest in her.”
Vicky nodded as if she understood completely. “Tell us about the ankle monitor, Bennie.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Bennie waved both hands in front of himself as if it would ward off what Vicky was suggesting. “I’ve got no idea how she got that off. The last time I visited her I checked it-just like I did every time I saw her-and she had it on just like she was supposed to. That’s right there in every one of my reports.”
“How do you think she got it off?” Morgan asked.
“How the hell do I know?” Bennie caught himself and made his voice less defensive. “Look, this isn’t the first case I’ve had of somebody getting one of those off. It’s not foolproof, for crissake.”
Vicky looked toward the window. Disbelief mingled with disgust and Bennie picked up on it immediately.
“Hey, if you’re trying to say that I had something to do with the monitor coming off, that’s bullshit. Why would I risk my career, my pension, everything I have, for that slut?”
“You married, Bennie?” Vicky asked.
“What? No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Yeah, law enforcement, it’s a lonely life outside the job,” Vicky said.
“Sometimes that’s all you’ve got, the job and the people you work with every day.” She looked back at him. “You find that to be true, Bennie?”
“Hey, I don’t like where you’re going here,” Rolf snapped. “You’ve got no proof I did something wrong. If anything, what you’ve got shows I worked extra hard to keep an eye on Darlene. And that’s all it shows.” Perspiration began to gather on his upper lip. “But if you even suggest what you’re hinting at here, you could cause me a lot of grief. You know that. We have the equivalent of an internal affairs division in our department too. And they get on your case, they start going through all your files, interviewing all your clients. And when they do that, they can always come up with something. Hell, the clients will claim you did all kinds of shit. You’ve been breaking their chops and suddenly they have a chance to get back at you, and they take it. You better believe they take it.”
“We don’t want to cause you any trouble, Bennie. We just need to know what went down with Darlene Beckett.” Vicky made the claim with as much sincerity as she could muster.
“Nothing went down with her. Not with me. I did my job the way I was supposed to. If anything, I did it too well, and now I’m getting slammed for it.” Bennie took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. “God it’s hot in here,” he said defensively. “That damned air-conditioning system must be on the fritz again.”
“I was just thinking it’s a bit chilly,” Vicky said. “But forget about that, Bennie. Let’s get back to our original question. Did Darlene ever express any fear about anybody-ex-husband, boyfriend, the guy next door, anybody at all?”
Bennie shook his head emphatically. “All she ever did was whine about the restrictions the court put on her.”
“Did she ever express any remorse about what she did to that young boy?” Morgan asked.
“Darlene? Are you kidding? She never expressed remorse about anything. She was just like all the others I deal with every day. The only thing she regretted was getting caught.”
Vicky stared at him, wondering if the man saw that the same description fit him as well.
“I need a complete rundown on where you were and who you were with on the night Darlene was killed,” Vicky said, her voice becoming very cold.
Bennie Rolf closed his eyes momentarily and nodded. “Sure,” he said, “whatever you want.”
Back in their car, Vicky took a few minutes to jot down some additional observations in her notebook. When she finished she glanced at Morgan. The line of his jaw had a hard set to it. “So, what do you think?” she asked.
Morgan stared straight ahead. “I think Darlene Beckett talked her P.O. into taking that monitor off, and I think she paid him off with sex whenever he came by.”
“Yeah, I agree. I think she made him the proverbial offer he couldn’t refuse. It was probably a dream come true for that poor, pathetic slug. But I don’t think we’ll ever prove it.”
Morgan turned to face her. “Are we at least going to recommend that his department investigate him? He’s probably doing the same thing with every female client he has.”
“Could be. But that’ll be up to the state’s attorney when we close the case and hand over our final reports. I’ll sure include my suspicions. But after that it will be up to powers greater than me.” She let Morgan chew on that before adding, “Just don’t be surprised if nobody wants to raise that issue. Law enforcement agencies don’t like to piss on each other. They all worry about being tarred by the same brush. So, unless there’s some political advantage to be had, or they’re forced to do something, they usually prefer to look the other way.”
“That stinks,” Morgan said.
“Yeah, it does.”
Harry returned to the Halls’ Temple Terrace home promptly at six-thirty. He had spent the intervening hours confirming Mrs. Hall’s alibi, running background checks on all members of the family, and trying to trace the origin of the gold cross he had found at the Tarpon Springs crime scene.
Mrs. Hall opened the door, looked at him, and sighed. “My mother-in-law told me you stopped by to see her,” she said.
“Just routine, Mrs. Hall,” Harry said. “I’m just dotting all the I’s. Are your husband and son at home?”
“As promised,” she replied. “Come in. My husband’s out on the lanai cooking some burgers. You know the way. I’ll tell my son you’re here.”
“I’d rather talk to your husband alone and talk to your son when we’re finished.”
Betty Hall eyed him suspiciously. “Back when this all started, our lawyer told us we had the right to be present whenever Billy was interviewed by the police.”
“That’s true,” Harry said. “And if that’s the way you want it, that’s the way it will be. But I do want to talk to your husband without your son being there. I think he’ll be able to talk more freely if we do it that way. I can take him to my office if you’d rather.”
Betty Hall glared at him. “Do it your way. That’s the way it’s been since this whole thing started.”
Joe Hall was a big, burly man, who worked as a supervisor for one of the area’s larger construction firms. He was easily six-three, a good two hundred and forty pounds, and dressed as he was now in shorts and a T-shirt, he looked like someone who could have played middle linebacker for a Division I football team. There was no question in Harry’s mind that he could have overpowered both the “cowboy” and Darlene Beckett. But all of that was dispelled when he turned to greet Harry. He had a high widow’s peak over the softest brown eyes Harry had ever seen in a man, and his voice was so equally soft and gentle that Harry had to listen carefully to be sure he caught every word. He was as far from homicidal as any man Harry had ever met.
“I hope you’ll take it easy on my son Billy when you talk to him,” Hall began. “He tries to cover it up, but all this has hit him pretty hard. We thought he was starting to come out of it, but now with her being murdered and all, it’s just started up for him all over again.”
“I’ll do my best not to make it worse,” Harry said. “But right now I need to ask you some questions.”
“Sure. Fire away.”
Harry took him through their activities on the night of Darlene’s murder, and the alibi he had already established. All of Hall’s answers squared with what he already knew.
“At any time since this all began, did anyone ever say anything to you that made you feel they wanted to do harm to Darlene Beckett?”
Hall shook his head. “No, never. The only people who really spouted off about her were the people at our church.” He let out a weary breath. “But they spout off about a lot of things. It wasn’t like they were ready to burn her at the stake or anything.”
“What do they spout off about?” Harry asked, more to keep him going than to get any specific information.
“Oh, you know, they’re anti stuff. They’re anti-gay, anti-abortion, anti-immigrants, anti the way kids dress today, especially girls, anti the music they listen to. It’s like they know just how the world should be, and anything less than that is sinful.”
“So why go to the church if you find it offensive?” Harry asked.
“I just never worried about it that much; I sort of tuned it all out. My wife liked the church. They had a really good youth program and she thought it was helpful for the kids to have that religious influence.” He shook his head. “I guess it didn’t take for my son. But God knows, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d faced that same situation at fourteen. I’m pretty sure I’d have been just as scared as he was.”
“He was frightened?”
“He told me he was,” Hall said. “And I believe him. But I don’t expect him to admit that to you. That would break the code. You know what I mean?”
Harry thought of his gangsta friend Rubio Marti. “Yeah, I know what you mean. When was the last time you saw Darlene Beckett?” Harry asked, changing tack.
“In court, the day the plea deal was approved by the judge.” Anger came to Mr. Hall’s eyes for the first time since they had started talking. “She walked out of that courtroom and she smiled at us. Can you believe it? She hurts my son like that, and she turns all of our lives to shit, and she smiles about it.” Hall drew a deep breath. “I’ll tell you, Detective Doyle. Right then I wanted to hurt that woman, and if I was ever gonna kill her I would have killed her right then and there. And I would have done it with my bare hands.”
Billy Hall sat at the small outdoor table, flanked by each of his parents. Through the sliding glass doors Harry could see his six-year-old sister peaking out at them from far back in the house. Harry studied the boy closely. Because of his age, no photographs of him had ever run in area newspapers, so this was the first time Harry had seen him. He looked like a typical fifteen-year-old Florida teenager, thin and lanky with tanned skin and sunbleached hair. He had none of his father’s size, although his bone structure hinted that he might one day grow into it. His blue eyes came from his mother as did a longish nose and wide mouth. There was nothing exceptional about him. He was neither particularly attractive nor unattractive. Right now his eyes were wary, almost frightened, and his lips trembled slightly when he spoke.
“Billy, when was the last time you saw Darlene Beckett?” Harry asked.
“In court,” Billy said. “The last time she was in court.”
“Did you speak to her?”
The boy shook his head vehemently.
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“In school.” The boy blushed deeply. “You know, just before the police got involved and arrested her.”
“What did you talk about?”
“She told me we both had to deny everything, and that I had to get my cousin to take back the stuff he told the cops.”
“Did you do that?”
Another shake of the head. “My mom and dad told me I had to play it straight with the police, and that I’d just get Randy-that’s my cousin-in trouble if I got him to lie.”
“And you never spoke to her again.”
“No.”
“Did she ever try to get in touch with you?”
“No, not after that last time in school.”
“Did you ever hear anyone make threats against Ms. Beckett?” Harry asked.
The boy shrugged. “I heard some people say some bad things about her.” He glanced furtively at his mother. “But I never heard nobody say they were gonna kill her or beat her up or anything. Some people at the church said she’d burn in hell for what she did.” He twisted nervously in his chair. “They said I’d burn in hell too, if I didn’t repent. I told them I already had, but they said I had to do it publicly, like in front of the whole congregation. I told them, no way.”
“Okay, Billy.” Harry handed him a business card. “That has my office phone and my cell numbers on it. If you think of anything else, I want you to call me. Straight?”
Billy lowered his eyes and nodded. Harry doubted the boy would ever call, but he was certain he’d be seeing him again.
Harry was alone in the conference room going over his notes and the reports filed by the other members of the team, when the door flew open and Vicky breezed in.
“You missed one heck of an interview,” she said. “Morgan and I just finished up with Bennie Rolf, Darlene’s P.O. The man started peeing his pants so hard I thought we were gonna need a rowboat.”
She was grinning; her eyes dancing with pleasure. Harry fought back his own smile. “Sounds like you had a chance to play Wicked Witch of the West. And it looks like you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, I did indeed.”
“Did you let Morgan play good cop to your bad cop?”
Vicky took a chair opposite him. “Well, that was a little odd,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, he handled the interview just fine. But later…”
“Later, what?” Harry asked.
“Well, it was pretty clear to us that all those visits Bennie made to Darlene’s crib weren’t completely kosher. When we pushed him on it and hinted that he might have helped lose her monitor, he really freaked out. I mean the man just oozed guilt. By the time we walked out of his office we were pretty convinced that old Bennie had helped Darlene out in exchange for some very serious nookie. But his alibi for the night she died checks out. He was with his mother, if you can believe it.”
“He was visiting her?”
“No, he lives with her,” Vicky said. “The same house he grew up in. Seems old Bennie never left home and hearth.”
“And I bet he doesn’t want Mama to know about his little tryst with Darlene.”
“You bet your bippy. When I told him we’d have to confirm his alibi with her, well, like the song says, he turned a lighter shade of pale.”
Vicky paused and Harry thought she seemed suddenly reluctant to say more. “So what about Morgan?”
Vicky wished she hadn’t brought it up; she hadn’t anticipated Harry’s reaction. But it was too late to backtrack. “Well, when we got to the car I could see he was pissed off. He didn’t like the idea of Rolf giving in to her-Darlene being able to use sex to get around the restrictions the court had placed on her. What can I say, he’s a real by-the-book cop.” She smiled at Harry and added: “Just like we’re all supposed to be. I think it just ticked him off that Rolf let himself be used that way and he wanted to know if we were going to report it to anyone. He was pretty adamant that we should.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him it would be noted in my report, but that someone else would decide whether to pursue it or not. I also told him I didn’t think the chances were very good.” She paused. “That didn’t make him a happy camper, but he knows he has to live with it.” She watched Harry think that over, then quickly added, “Look, Harry, this guy’s just very intense about his job. And he’s very good. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. He’s just like most patrol cops. He doesn’t see gray. He’s a black-and-white kind of guy.”
Harry stared at her. “It still concerns me,” he said. “Not a lot yet, but it concerns me. I don’t want this investigation tainted by anyone’s preconceived notions about morality. We have to remain above that or we’ll end up going down a lot of wrong paths. So I want you to keep working with him and keep a close eye on what he does. At least for a while. What’s he doing now?”
Vicky’s jaw tightened. Her anger was directed more at herself than at Harry. She should have just kept her mouth shut. “He’s trying to find any deleted information in the department’s motor pool records. And he seems to know what he’s doing. Like I said, I’m not worried about him at all. He may be a little straight-laced, but from what I’ve seen he’s got good instincts as an investigator.” She paused, then pressed on. “Harry, I’ve got to be up front with you. If I was running this case I’d be more concerned about your personal hang-ups than I would be about his.”
Harry was jolted by the comment, but fought not to let it show. “Your concern’s noted. I promise you I’ll keep my hang-ups in check.”