Nye’s Polonaise Room was packed. It took a few minutes for Tommy and Parker’s eyes to adjust to the dark room.
A crowd gathered around the bar that circled the grand piano. An older woman was holding court behind the piano waiting for her oversized sherry glass to fill with tips.
Lt. Dante Costello was old school. He didn’t trust journalists and he made that clear as soon as he sat down.
“I don’t even want to be seen here with you, St. James.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tommy dismissed his concern with the wave of her hand. “But you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
Kelly leaned over and put his arm around Tommy protectively. “I wouldn’t have had her call you if I thought any of that was a problem.”
Costello frowned.
Last year, Tommy had been a pariah in the police department. The debacle had also nearly destroyed her relationship with Kelly when department officials suspected he’d leaked Tommy confidential police information. The newspaper’s coverage—and mistakes in coverage—of a woman murdered during a lunchtime walk had been a disaster.
It all stemmed from a police source slipping Tommy the name of a man under investigation in the sensational murder. The cops had issued a search warrant for a mentally ill man who lived neared the crime scene that had committed suicide a few days after the murder. Investigators, facing pressure from citizens and the mayor to solve the case, were hot on the man’s trail; sure, they had their guy. Tommy was sure, too.
Sure enough that the editors put the man’s name and picture on the front page of the newspaper. Armed with her tip, Tommy and Parker did a story that was splashed all over the front page of the Twin Cities News.
But they were wrong.
Everyone was wrong—The cops for going after the wrong guy and the paper for running with the anonymous tip.
Although police had suspected the man, they ultimately concluded he was not involved. But it was too late. His name had been tarnished. Tommy would never, until the day she died, forget the man’s father’s face when he told her his heart had been shattered by the story.
Tommy had tried since that day to make up for it, making sure every story she was involved with was accurate and did more good than harm. But she was still very gun-shy — and sensitive, knowing that some cops would never forgive her for her foul up.
“I see you have the good graces to blush a little,” Costello said, his tone softening as he saw red spread across Tommy’s pale white face. “Hey, I don’t blame you like the other cops. We were looking at that guy. Unfortunately, we were barking up the wrong tree.”
Tommy clamped her lips together, silently acknowledging the concession. But Costello still insinuated that she’d done something. She decided to let it go. For her boyfriend’s sake.
“So, what do you know about these kids?” Costello said, leaning in and lowering his voice.
A few old men playing squeezeboxes started up and the piano lady joined in. Tommy leaned over and told Costello about the strange call.
“I’m waiting to find out if the caller was right. The autopsy hasn’t been done yet, I guess.”
Suddenly, Costello stood up, downed his drink and put on his coat.
“Drink up, folks, we’re taking a little field trip. To the morgue.”