A car from the Mayor’s office pulled up to the hangar before the jet’s engines had even fully spun down.
“Marshal Quinn?” the driver asked.
“Home are the conquering heroes,” Virgil said to Kudlacik in a sour tone.
“It’s just nice to know they care.” Stan laughed and made for the open door. “I’ll find somebody to come back here for our car.”
“Uhhh, sir,” the driver said, looking from Kudlacik and back to Virgil, “I’m only supposed to pick up Marshal Quinn. I’m not allowed to take any other . . . passengers,” but by then Stan had already made himself comfortable in the back seat.
“That’s OK,” Virgil said, patting the driver’s shoulder. “I’ll authorize it. Let’s go.” Virgil gave him a big smile, climbed in and closed the door.
“Too bad we’re on the job,” Stan said, pointing at the liquor cabinet built into the panel behind the jump seat. Virgil leaned back and closed his eyes. His lungs had started to burn as soon as the jet had come up to altitude and a couple of times he’d caught Jane/Nicole’s smiling face reflecting off the glass. He spent the rest of the trip with his eyes closed.
Stan found a cop at City Hall who agreed to give him a ride back to headquarters then gave Virgil a wave as Quinn was hurried off to Peter Fineman’s office.
“He was the last one, right, the man who was killed?” Fineman asked as soon as they were alone.
“Yes,” Virgil said, “The other–” but Fineman waved his words away and punched a button on his phone. “Yes, Mr. Mayor, Quinn’s people got them all. . . . Yes sir, that should work.” He hung up and turned back to Virgil. “We don’t have a lot of time. The press conference is in an hour and I need to get the details for the Mayor’s statement.”
Fineman tapped a couple of icons on his phone then set it on the edge of his desk. “Marshal Quinn, please summarize for me who was in the so-called Mad Dog Gang and give me the disposition of each person.”
Virgil stared uneasily at the glowing screen, then began to speak. Fifteen minutes later Fineman finally ran out of follow-up questions.
“Excellent work, Marshal, excellent. The Mayor will make the formal statement. You’ll just stand there and look . . . official. If they ask you any questions say as little as possible while giving the Mayor and the PD as much credit as possible for bringing these criminals to justice. Actually, use that phrase ‘brought to justice.’ It has a nice ring to it.”
Virgil stared at Fineman for a moment, lost for words.
“Are you sure you want me there at all?” he finally asked. “After that YouTube video of me in Los Angeles I may not be someone the Mayor wants to be associated with.”
“Are you kidding? The law and order crowd loved what you said to that lawyer and it’s the law and order types who’ll put the Mayor over the top for his new term.” Fineman caught the uncertainty in Virgil’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it. The law-and-order vote is why the Mayor brought you here in the first place, plus, of course, he needed someone who could actually get the job done. . . . Look, here’s how it will go down.
“The Mayor will start with a summary of the situation – vicious killers, blah, blah, blah; the city needed a top expert to track them down; understanding all this the Mayor arranged with the U.S. Marshals’ service to borrow one of their best men to join the investigation; you and your old partner, herself a former Deputy U.S. Marshal, immediately began to track down the criminals until you were both viciously attacked; though injured you came back to lead the team and bring these monstrous killers to Justice; The End. It practically writes itself.”
“The Marshals didn’t ‘lend’ me to you. I was put on involuntary, unpaid leave because I got myself caught on camera reaming out a low-life lawyer.”
“None of that matters. Here’s what counts: you’re an experienced man hunter who came here at the Mayor’s specific request to help us find a gang of vicious killers while on a break from your regular job with the U.S. Marshals. The key point is that the Mayor recognized the problem; the Mayor figured out what was needed to solve it; the Mayor implemented that strategy – bringing you in to take over the investigation; the Mayor gave you his complete support in pursuing the case, and you justified the Mayor’s confidence by successfully implementing his plan.
“Today the citizens of Detroit can rest easy knowing that the Mayor has and will do everything necessary to keep them safe. The Mayor looks good. You look good. The Marshals’ Service looks good. Everybody wins. Any other questions?”
Virgil paused for a moment. “Just one,” he said. “What happens next?”
“Next? You mean to you, after today?”
“Am I done here? Do I turn in my badge or what?”
“Do you want to be done?”
“I still need a job until my unpaid leave is over,” Virgil said, frowning.
“How long will that be?”
Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m guessing at least until the first of the year.”
Fineman looked past Quinn and seemed to find something interesting in the sprawling streets beyond his window. “Hmmmmm,” he hummed then turned back to Virgil. “Well, assuming the Mayor is re-elected, which after today is pretty likely, I guess the DPD could keep you on the payroll for a couple of months more. You could retain command of the Felony Fugitive Squad, track down parole jumpers and whatever.”
Virgil thought about that for a moment and then a strange idea popped into his head. “There is one other thing I could do,” he began hesitantly.
“What’s that?”
“I was looking over a murder case for one of your detectives. If you don’t mind I’d like to keep working on that.”
“A murder? Do you think you can solve it?”
Again Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re too honest for your own good? You need to work on that.” Fineman shifted his gaze and hummed again. “But that just might work,” he said, smiling.
“Work how?”
“Politics is all about appearances. People don’t want to know what is. All they care about is what seems to be. I mean, you could stay with the fugitive squad and pick up half a dozen missing burglars or whatever and who cares? That will never make the papers, well, the media. But,” Fineman added, his eyes twinkling, “if you track down another killer, that’s another press conference right there. I like it. Get me the details, who’s got this murder case right now and such and I’ll arrange the paperwork with the chief.” Virgil started to say something, but Fineman was already out of his chair. “Wait out there,” he said pointing at the door to the lobby. “I’ll walk you over to the press room as soon as I finish writing the Mayor’s statement.”
Fineman sat down in front of his computer and began to type. Virgil let himself out.