Greene sat with Kennicott and Bering to wait until the media gallery on the second floor of Police Headquarters was filled with reporters before they walked in. All three of them were dressed in full uniform.
“How do I look?” Kennicott asked Bering.
She smiled at Greene. “Ari, remember how green Daniel was when he started? Now he looks like a real cop, doesn’t he?”
They all laughed.
“Thanks to you two,” Kennicott said.
“No, Daniel,” Bering said, “you put in the work. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“You, Ari?” she asked.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They walked out and the room filled with noisy reporters fell silent. Kennicott and Greene sat on either side of Bering, glum looks on their faces.
Bering introduced them, then picked up a piece of paper and started reading from a prepared statement. “Toronto remains one of the safest cities in Canada, with by far the lowest homicide rate per capita of any large city in North America.”
The reporters looked impatient as she read through the rest of the bland prepared statement.
She finished and looked up.
“Questions?” she asked them.
In unison they raised their hands like a pack of eager grade-one students asked, “Who wants a cookie?”
“Sam,” she said, pointing to the journalist from the Toronto Sun. Sadly, in the last few years a number of top court reporters in the city had passed away or retired, leaving Sam as the most experienced of the bunch. By picking him first, Bering was signalling to the press that she respected their work and their unspoken pecking order.
“Chief, do the police have a suspect at this time?” he asked.
Bering shook her head. “Not at this very moment. But I can assure the citizens of Toronto that the men and women on the force are working night and day on this investigation.”
“Do you have any leads?”
“Sam, I’ll let Homicide Detective Kennicott answer that question. He’s been on this case from the beginning.”
There was only one microphone. Bering passed it to him.
“We need to be frank and transparent with the public,” Kennicott said. “Our team is diligently following up every lead. The tip line is getting more than seventy-five calls a day. And we are appealing to the public for help.”
He was handling it perfectly, Greene thought. Being obtuse and not answering the question. This was going to provoke the reaction they wanted.
“But do the police have any solid leads?” the reporter asked again.
Before Kennicott could answer, Greene reached over and took the microphone, exactly the way they’d rehearsed it.
“We don’t want to mislead the public about this dangerous situation, so let me be clear,” Greene said. “The Metropolitan Toronto Police Service is suggesting in the strongest terms that anyone who is homeless seek a spot in one of the city’s shelters. Immediately.”
“Are you saying the streets are not safe?” another reporter asked.
“We are saying people must be alert and cautious. And if they see anything or anyone acting suspiciously, contact the police.”
“In other words,” the first reporter said, exasperated, “you have no leads.”
Bering took the microphone back. This was what Greene wanted. Make it seem as if the press was dragging it out of them. Never give an absolute denial because that might be too transparent a ruse. Let the press fill in the blanks.
“Do we have any leads?” She turned to Kennicott first, then Greene. They returned cold stares. “Unfortunately, we are not at liberty to discuss the specifics of this particular investigation at this time. That is why we are appealing to the public for help. But I want to personally assure the people of Toronto that we will leave no stone unturned to solve these terrible crimes.”
Bering picked up her paper and stood. Greene and Kennicott did the same. Even though reporters were still shouting out questions at them, they turned and left the stage.
“Quite a performance, gentlemen,” Bering said, when they were alone in the room behind the stage. Her shoulders sagged, and she wiped her brow. Greene could see the pressure weighing down on her.
“I don’t suppose now you’d let me know who the suspect is?” she asked Kennicott.
“You’ll have to ask Ari,” he said.
Greene’s phone buzzed. He read the text message from Alison and then looked up at them.
“The ‘pop-up’ demonstration just started on the Danforth Bridge. Let’s go.”
“Follow me,” Kennicott said. “I’ve got the best driver on the force on standby.” As he spoke, he punched in a speed-dial number on his phone.
“Officer Sheppard,” he said, “we’re heading out the door.”