All Fall Down. Erica Spindler
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feel we must go with the experience on this one.”
“But—”
“The decision’s been made, Officer May,” he said, working to look sympathetic but achieving an irritated expression instead. “But we have an important assignment for the WPD, one I’ll let Mr. Braxton share with the group. Bob?”
The lawyer stood. “Mr. Andersen has decided to offer a reward for any information leading to the arrest of his daughter’s killer. Chief Greer’s team from Whistlestop will be overseeing the phone bank.”
“What!”
This came from Melanie and Bobby, in unison. Melanie heard the CMPD guys snickering and the blood rushed to her head. An angry retort on the tip of her tongue, she swung toward Harrison and Stemmons, but Bobby had heard them, too, and anticipating her response, kicked her under the table.
Steve Rice stood. “With all due respect and sympathy to Mr. Andersen and his family, I have to warn you that these types of rewards rarely lead to anything but headaches for us and the PDs working the case. By tomorrow at noon, we’ll be so busy following up on false leads, we won’t have time to follow up on the real ones. I urge you to ask the Andersen family to reconsider.”
“But couldn’t it prompt a recalcitrant witness to come forward?” the attorney countered. “The promise of one hundred thousand dollars is a powerful motivator.”
Melanie groaned. Chaos erupted at the table. That kind of reward would bring out not only every money-grubbing liar in the county, but every nutcase as well. It was a singularly bad idea. That she and Bobby had been assigned the phone banks was humiliating.
The rest of the meeting passed in an angry blur for Melanie. The only bright spot being that Andersen’s attorney agreed to try to convince the businessman to lower the reward substantially.
The moment they adjourned, Melanie caught her chief in the hallway. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked him, so furious her voice shook. “You let them sucker punch us. I feel like an idiot.”
“I only just found out myself.” Melanie heard the anger in his voice. “They cornered me minutes before the meeting.”
“So, that’s where was our illustrious mayor was this morning,” Melanie said through gritted teeth. “Hiding under his slimy rock.”
“Asshole politicians,” Bobby muttered.
The chief sighed. “Don’t be too hard on him, he couldn’t win this one. The pressure came from high up.”
“This is Andersen’s doing, I’ll bet,” Bobby said, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Who’d the man get to, the governor?”
Their chief didn’t deny it. “Same old song and dance,” Melanie said bitterly. “They’re in and we’re out.”
“No,” Bobby corrected, his normally placid features pinched with anger, “we’re on the phone, taking down every reward-hungry nut’s tip to nowhere.” He stubbed his toe into the worn carpet. “Asshole politicians,” he said again.
“I know you’re disappointed. I am, too.” The chief looked from one to the other of them. “But I did get us a couple consolations. First, though not actively participating in the investigation, we’re still involved. Searches, lineups, interrogations—anything goes down, we’re included. Second, I got us a handful of CMPD grunts to help with the phones.” He smiled wickedly. “Poor bastards.”
Bobby perked up slightly at that, but Melanie couldn’t. This case had been her big chance, her way out of the WPD. Now it was gone.
Sometimes, she decided, life really sucked.
“Look on the bright side, Mel,” Bobby said moments later as they crossed the parking lot to her Jeep. “Now that we’re out, we can’t get blamed for tanking the investigation if this thing goes south.”
“What ‘if? It’s already gone south.” Melanie made a sound of frustration. “The bright side was working the investigation. Damn.”
“I know, partner. I’m pissed, too.”
When she only looked at him, he laughed and bumped her with his shoulder. “Okay, maybe not as pissed as you. But hell, it’s a matter of pride. The phone banks? Give me a break.”
“Thanks for cheering me up,” Melanie grumbled. “I feel so much better now. Positively giddy with delight.”
8
Tuesdays were papering day for the Person’s Team at the D.A.’s office. During that day a prosecutor from the team was available to advise on and review case merit for the police.
Although many of the prosecutors dreaded their papering-day rotation, Veronica Ford didn’t. She enjoyed meeting with the police; she liked having the opportunity to hear and evaluate cases before anyone else touched them; she was always left feeling as if she had her finger on the pulse of the team.
Some days were slow, some—like today—hectic. Rape, assault and battery, it seemed, had become a sudden, favorite pastime in Mecklenburg County. Veronica decided it must either be a full moon or the beginning of an economic recession. Both played hell with law and order.
Jen rang her. “Veronica,” she said, “an Officer Melanie May is here to see you.”
“Melanie May,” she repeated, recognizing the name, surprised at the coincidence. Especially since she had switched rotations with Rick so he could attend the Andersen case pow-wow that morning. The big news from that gathering was Cleve Andersen’s one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward offer. The entire office was buzzing with it.
“She’s with the Whistlestop force.”
“I know who she’s with. Send her back.”
A moment later the police officer appeared at her door. Veronica smiled and waved her in. “Officer May, have a seat.”
The woman returned Veronica’s smile and sank into one of the two chairs facing the desk. “You look familiar,” she said. “Where do I know you from?”
Veronica motioned to the line of Starbucks travel mugs on the credenza to her right. “We share an addiction to coffee.”
“Of course. We frequent the same java joint.” Melanie May laughed. “I’m a cappuccino girl. You?”
“Latte.” Veronica settled back against her seat. “I confess, when the receptionist announced you, I knew exactly who you were. From the coffeehouse. Your uniform and name tag give you away.”
“You’re observant.”
“I’m an ADA, knowing the police is part of my job. I’m aided by an excellent memory.”
The policewoman motioned toward the travel mugs. “I have to ask, why six?”
Veronica glanced at them, then shook her head in self-directed amusement. “It started innocently enough. I forgot my travel mug one morning, so I bought another. I thought, why not? I could use a backup. I hate drinking out of paper.”
“Then you forgot it again?”
“Exactly. It’s evolved into this elaborate system of collecting, transporting, then washing.” She shook her head, smiling at herself. “Of course, I don’t call it obsessive-compulsive behavior, I tell myself I’m helping the environment by using plastic instead of paper. You know, saving trees. We can convince ourselves of anything, I suppose.”
“A lawyer with a conscience.” Melanie grinned. “How novel.”
Veronica laughed again. “Uh-oh. Sounds like you have a problem with lawyers.”
“Not prosecutors. My ex-husband’s an attorney. Corporate law.”
Veronica leaned toward her. “High-priced hand-holders and nose-wipers.” She made a face.