8: Turf Battle

“No wonder our beloved prosecutor had such a mad-on about Burch the day we saw him at the gym!” I told Mac after Saylor-Mackie departed. If I didn’t want to impose our further ruminations on her, it was for her own mental health.

Mac considered his bandaged ankle. “I have successfully repressed most memories of that painful day, but I do recall that Marvin Slade appeared more than professionally agitated. Surely, as a father you can sympathize.”

Somehow, knowing the parents of one of the young women involved made Burch’s assholery more real.

“Sympathize? It would have taken you to hold me back from punching the old letch’s lights out permanently.” From where I stood, three sets of parents—one of them the Slades—had ample motive for braining Warren Burch in the heat of the moment. But why late at night in his office? And would Burch have let somebody like that into the locked building?

I checked the time on my phone. It felt like the day was more than half over, and it was only 10:12. And I still had a news conference to referee in the afternoon.

“Well, let us not get ahead of ourselves,” Mac said. “‘It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.’ Are you free to pay Oscar a call?”

The press conference would be mostly Q&A, with a brief opening statement which I wrote and expected Father Joe to gently edit with his own special touch. Nothing else was going on in the office that Popcorn couldn’t handle as well or better than me, so my calendar was clear.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Erin’s police headquarters and a small lockup with a few holding cells are located in an old art deco structure on Court Street. The building once held the Fifth National Bank of Erin, long ago absorbed into Gamble Bank. I keep hoping Oscar will do something creative with the vault, like turning it into an interrogation room, but creativity isn’t his long suit.

Oscar’s new administrative assistant, young Holly Burdette, winked and waved us through. We found her boss in what might be called spirited conversation with Ed Decker—two police chiefs mano a mano.

“It was on my campus,” Decker asserted, not softly.

“It was in my town,” Oscar said. “You didn’t complain the last time I took a murder off your hands.”

Decker grunted. “This one feels more personal. The victim was one of ours, and I think the killer was, too.”

I slipped into an empty chair. Mac hobbled over to the Keurig machine and prepared a cup of caffeine for himself and a decaf cappuccino for me.

“Help yourself,” Oscar called out. He really should leave the sarcasm to an expert—me, for instance.

Erin’s top cop no longer seems like he’s perpetually on the verge of a heart attack, as he did in the first few years after coming here from the Dayton force. The love of a good woman and the assurance that Mac has his back has mellowed him out quite a bit. (Oscar has gone so far as to call Mac and me “unofficial deputies” on occasion.) He also dresses better now under Popcorn’s influence—no more clashing plaids or tight jackets that emphasize the bowling ball belly when he’s not in uniform. I don’t think he’s quite so bald as the late Warren Burch, but who can tell beneath his succession of hats? I’ve seen him wear almost anything but a deerstalker. Today he had on his official chief’s hat instead of some faux fur thing swiped off Vladimir Putin.

“I’m sorry to intrude on your conference,” Mac lied. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“No,” the chiefs said in chorus. They both knew better, but this was a master class in Face Savings 101.

“What I mean about the killer,” Ed Decker went on, “is that somehow he—”

“Or she,” Oscar inserted. He vaped—another Popcorn influence. My theory is that she balked at kissing an ashtray, so he takes his nicotine without tobacco these days.

Decker grunted. “Am I telling this or are you telling this? I think I’m telling this. Somehow the killer got in without setting off an alarm and without even showing up on the surveillance video. I don’t know how he or she did it, but that smacks of an inside job to me. Besides, how would anybody from off campus know that Burch sometimes worked that late?”

“It surprised me when I first heard it,” I informed them.

“Maybe Burch invited the killer to campus for a secret meeting and somehow worked out the security alarm business,” Oscar posited. “He made a big mistake by turning his back on his guest.”

“But the surveillance video doesn’t show anybody coming or going!” Decker exploded.

“Maybe there’s some kind of flaw in your equipment.”

Ignoring that boneheaded comment, Decker turned to me. “We need to keep that under wraps. If any media types ask about the surveillance video, be vague. Just say it’s inconclusive or something like that.”

“Okay, Ed.”

Does anybody else want to tell me how to do my job? I was still chaffing under the gag order from Dr. Eppensteiner not to discuss the weapon or the nature of the wound. She couldn’t enforce it, of course, any more than Ed Decker could. But they both had ways of making life miserable for me if I didn’t play it their way.

“What exactly does this inconclusive video show?” Mac asked.

“The building closes at five o’clock, when most people leave, so that’s where we started studying it. The cleaning staff show up shortly afterward. Do you want the exact times?”

“Perhaps later.”

I think that question was sarcastic.

“After an hour or so, Burch arrives, briefcase in hand. The cleaning crew exits the scene right after. Hours later, Burch leaves the building and comes back real quick, in maybe ten minutes, this time carrying Chinese takeout from the Golden Dragon instead of the briefcase. You know the Dragon? That’s the one only about a block from campus. The video also shows Officer Jackson entering the building twice on his rounds. So, bottom line, everything Jackson said checks out.”

Decker seemed to be defending his officer against unvoiced skepticism, despite the “Covering his ass?” comment the night before.

Mac set down the I SEE NO REASON TO ACT MY AGE coffee mug that Oscar keeps for him. “Let me recast my offer of support. I would be willing to act as a mediator or conduit between town and gown law enforcement agencies. After all, we all desire the same thing.”

In theory, anyway.

Oscar shook his head. “No dice. Another cook is just what we don’t need in this soup.”

“I’m calling my boss,” Decker said.

Mac brightened. “Give him my regards. Cal is an old friend of mine.”

“His problem.”

When Daley answered, Decker outlined the state of impasse at which the two chiefs had arrived. Then, he listened for a good two minutes.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. Absolutely clear, sir. Good-bye.” Decker disconnected, then told his phone: “You’re the boss. I’m just the Chief.” He looked sullen.

“Well?” Mac asked.

“My boss has been talking to your boss, the Reverend Mayor,” Decker told Oscar. “He said you should have a text message from Sutterlee.”

Oscar looked down. “Hell’s bells!”

Mac and I were on the outside of an inside joke that wasn’t funny. “What’s up, Chiefs?”

“We’re under orders to work together,” Oscar said. “As if we wouldn’t!”

“It’s kind of insulting that they think we need to be told that,” Decker picked up the theme.

“Very insulting,” Oscar topped him. “Tell you what, Ed: I’ll give you my best man, Jack Gibbons, as my liaison with you on this case.”

“Fine. I’ll give you my best man, Aurelia Banfield, to liaise with your best man.”

While they worked themselves up to burst into a chorus of “Kumbaya,” I glanced down at my twitter feed and saw a tweet from Jason Danvers: The haters got to Prof Burch, who gave his life to SBU. Working in office at almost midnight! Hope the administration is satisfied! That was bad enough, but then came: How safe is campus where beloved teacher murdered in his own office?

That was hot air, but troublesome hot air that I would have to address. But for now, I focused back on what was going on in the room.

“We already have an appointment to interview Mrs. Burch,” Oscar revealed. “I’m hoping she’ll be in better shape than she was when she identified the body.”

I wasn’t sorry I missed that.

“Fine.” Decker tried to sound like he was making a concession. “You can handle her and any suspects you come up with that have no connection to the university. My team will handle campus-related interviews. Gibbons and Banfield can compare notes as we go along.”

“Like what campus-related interviews, for instance?” Oscar asked.

“Surely it has occurred to you that the young women whom Professor Burch offended, and perhaps even more so their parents, warrant investigation?” Mac said.

“Oh. Sure. You can’t ignore them, I guess. Anybody I know?”