Worthy drove to Denny’s in a foul mood. Everyone who knew Father Spiro well had a vivid impression of him. It just wasn’t the same impression. For some, like the majority on the parish council, the old priest was drifting into senility but couldn’t see it, while others, such as Rabbi Milkin, saw him as an old knight intent on retirement after one final battle. Which view did the photos of Father Spiro and the missing leather-trimmed book support?
The rest of the Sunday afternoon hadn’t gone any better. He’d called his old house to say he would stop by to see his daughters, but when he arrived he found Allyson again conveniently out. His ex-wife Susan had repeated the same tired words, that he had to be patient and not push her. In the end, he’d taken his younger daughter out for pizza and then sat alone in his apartment.
And now he had to face this McCarty woman over lunch on Monday. He remembered the standard mantra from training about not alienating the press, but this woman wasn’t press. She was an intruder, a verbal paparazzo.
He walked into the diner precisely at noon and spotted a woman looking at him from a booth as if she knew him. She waved at him as some women can do, not embarrassed by standing out. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back to reveal the sculpted curves of her elegant cheekbones, and the large, oversized glasses, together with the business suit, completed the message—intelligent, attractive, on my way.
“So nice to meet you, Lieutenant,” she said, looking him over before passing a piece of paper across the table. “That’s a peace offering. It’s an upbeat article about how St. Cosmas is moving ahead after their tragedy. You’ll see that the investigation is mentioned just once.”
“Where’s that?”
She leaned over, pointing to a sentence in the fourth paragraph, the barest hint of perfume filling the space between them. “It’s here. ‘Mr. Margolis, the parish council president, said the presence of the new team has given the parish an assurance that everything possible is being done.’ ”
“I’d like you to strike that,” he said, passing the paper back.
Kenna McCarty sat back in the booth and eyed him. “You know, Lieutenant, you don’t seem to realize what a lucky man you are. You have friends in high places, and now you’ve been handed a very high-profile case.”
“Let’s not confuse my friends in the department with yours.”
The waitress poured two cups of coffee and took their orders, then departed.
“What should I say?” she asked. “It’s my job to make friends, and so, yes, I do see your superintendent sometimes at social gatherings.”
“And I’ve only met him once,” Worthy replied. “He wouldn’t even know my name.”
She smiled as she leaned forward as if to share a secret. “Oh, you and I both know that’s not true. That one meeting you mention happened to be your last commendation for solving that monk’s murder in Ohio.”
Worthy felt his face burning. “What I don’t understand is why your paper assigned a society writer to a murder investigation.”
She took a sip of her coffee and offered a tight smile. “I’m past the society column, Lieutenant. I’ve been assigned to the city beat, and that covers everything.”
“Sounds like a fancy way of saying the Free Press is downsizing.”
“You know, Lieutenant, I’m going to let that pass. Why don’t we change the subject until our food comes.” She produced a small notebook from her purse. “I understand your older daughter is back home. How’s that going?”
Worthy stared at his coffee and said nothing.
“That must have put quite a strain on your marriage.”
“It might have, except I was already divorced,” he said, not looking up.
She laughed. “Finally. Something makes sense about you. I should have guessed from your record that you’d have tired of the little wife and kiddies.”
He looked up, his hatred of this woman settling his head. “Then you’d have guessed wrong. I wasn’t the one who wanted the divorce.”
Her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth. “So why’d she leave a guy like you?”
“And this is your proof you’re not a society writer?”
She raised an eyebrow and studied his face. “You think you’re being rude, Lieutenant, but I find you very compelling. Very believable. Frankly, most men I know, especially the married ones, hate marriage. My ex-husband did. Of course, that didn’t stop him hating it all over again with a twenty-two-year-old.”
The food came, and Kenna McCarty let him eat in peace. She was holding something back, he knew, but she hid her cards well. When the waitress came to clear the table, she asked for another cup of coffee.
“Now, down to business,” she said. “I have something to offer you on this case.”
“If you have evidence, then you should have turned it over right away.”
“Oh, give it a rest, Lieutenant. I have an offer, not evidence,” she said, crumpling her napkin in her hand. “And it happens to be something Superintendent Livorno likes. In fact, he likes it very much. It’s legal and benefits both your department and my paper.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“It is good. I want to shadow you during your investigation and write articles as we go. It will help readers understand the difficulties and challenges even the great Christopher Worthy has to deal with. Given the opinion polls, the police of this city need a human face.”
“And I’m that face?”
“Superintendent Livorno thinks so.”
“What about Henderson?”
“Who?”
“You see, that’s my point,” he said, leaning forward. “Forget about how crazy your scheme is, and I don’t care if the FBI thinks it’s a good idea. You’d contaminate the investigation just by being there. Witnesses would watch what they say or wouldn’t say anything at all, not to mention what you’d think of the way we cops tend to talk about a case. But here’s the worst part of all of this. All you’d do is isolate me in my own department, and I don’t need help there. And I sure don’t need to be turned into a media cartoon just to help your career.”
“Henderson is your partner, right?” she asked.
“If you have to ask, then you already have your answer. You’re going to have to cover this investigation the same way everyone else does. You can piece together your story from police updates and what comes out at trial.”
“Tell me, Lieutenant, you find those stories based on what you call departmental ‘updates’ reliable?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s my point,” she said, both hands reaching across the table toward him. “If we get fifty percent of it right, which would be about average, that’s fifty percent we get wrong. And what we get wrong usually makes you guys look bad. All I want to do is humanize your work. I want my readers to see the case through your eyes. All right, through your eyes and your partner’s.”
He scanned the diner, half expected to see Superintendent Livorno smiling at him. “No. Not a chance.”
“Why you?” she said, shaking her head. “I thought from your record that you’d understand. Of course I’m trying to isolate you. That’s what I’m trying to do in my own career. Creative work does that, Lieutenant. I guess I was stupid enough to think you’d see this for what it is—an opportunity to give your career a boost.”
He snapped up the check when the waitress put it between them. “It’s not my style to step over others.”
She stabbed across the booth at him with her finger. “But that’s exactly what you do, Lieutenant. Spare me the tender picture of your buddies throwing you a party after your last two cases here in Detroit, the ones they couldn’t do diddly-squat with.” Her voice was loud enough for those at neighboring tables to look their way. “Isn’t your fondest desire on this case to win and make Sherrod look like a two-bit asshole?”
She smiled knowingly as she got up, gathered her things, and walked out. He sat alone for a minute with his coffee, feeling the quiet in the diner. Even the cashier seemed shocked into silence. They probably think they just saw a wife walk out on her husband, he thought.
As he finished his coffee, Worthy felt none too proud of himself. The truth was that the reporter, in trying to shine the spotlight on him, threatened him. The “previous successes” Kenna McCarty referenced had come at a steep price. His gift or specialty was closing cold cases, and that meant that when he succeeded, his police colleagues resented him even as the media lauded him. And when he failed miserably, as he had not long ago, his colleagues rejoiced.
Sherrod wasn’t the only one who resented his notoriety. But his red face was the one that Worthy saw waiting for him regardless of the outcome of this case. He’ll hate me if I solve the case—his case—and he’ll dance on my grave if I fail, he thought.