I shut down my computer and exited my office, then headed straight for my sergeant’s. He looked up from his computer as I swung into his doorway, his eyes narrowing at the expression on my face. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t controlling my anger as much as I’d hoped.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
I took another deep breath. “I’ve been called to the mayor’s office,” I said. “Is the chief here?”
Crawford scowled blackly. “No, he’s in Baton Rouge for a meeting.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “And I’m sure the mayor knows it. Did he say why he wanted to meet with you?”
I shook my head. “No, but he didn’t sound as if he wanted to give me a puppy and flowers. I’m pretty sure I know what this is about.”
“Ben Moran,” Crawford said, yanking his jacket on. “And yes, I’m coming with you. What a complete crock of shit.” He glanced at me. “You have a voice recorder on your phone?”
I blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. I do.”
He gave a curt nod. “Good, and I have one too. We’re gonna nip this shit in the bud.”
Chapter 16
The mayor’s office was across the street from the station, and I had to resist the urge to skip and bounce on the way over. Funny how knowing that someone has your back makes all the difference in the world. But more than that, it was a relief to know that Crawford wasn’t going to let the weirdness of the other day influence his support of me as one of his detectives. I could accept that he wanted to keep his head in the sand with regards to the bizarre stuff I was involved in. It was unrealistic for me to expect—or even hope—that everyone could be as readily accepting of the arcane as Jill was.
But my gut was still tight with nerves as we crossed the street. My job was not civil service, which meant that the mayor definitely had the pull to get me fired if he saw fit. And my days with the task force might definitely be numbered, I thought grimly.
On the way over I gave Crawford a summary of what was going on with my investigation—though I carefully censored out the not-so-normal aspects. An oddly pained expression crossed his face briefly after I finished, as if he knew I was holding something back, and I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the man. He truly did his best to be a good cop and an effective sergeant, and I’d unintentionally created a harsh dilemma for him. And no way to take it all back now. I wonder if he regrets stopping to help me? A whisper of remembered fear curled through me at the thought. If he hadn’t helped me, something bad would have happened. I knew that. Probably he did too. But I couldn’t really blame him if he did harbor a measure of regret.
Entering the city administration building, I forced myself back to the here and now. Crawford and I rode the elevator in silence to the third floor where the mayor had his office. I gave the receptionist my name and advised her that the mayor was expecting me, and was completely not surprised when she replied that the mayor was on an important phone call and that it would be a few minutes.
“Keep me waiting,” I murmured to Crawford as I took a seat in the waiting area. “Establish his control over the situation. I’m betting a beer that it’ll be at least ten minutes.”
He muttered something rude under his breath and dropped his eyes to his watch. “Fifteen.”
“That’s a bet.”
At the ten minute mark he tipped his watch to me and tapped it, expression turning smug. Thirty seconds later the receptionist told us we could go in, and I had to bite back a laugh. “Beer’s on you, Sarge,” I whispered.
But I carefully wiped all traces of humor from my face as I entered, though I took a small amount of pleasure in the annoyance that flicked across the mayor’s face at the sight of Crawford entering with me. Mayor Peter Fussell was a relative newcomer to the political game. The owner of a local chain of grocery stores, he’d made a run for mayor when the previous officeholder had to step down because of term limits and had won mostly because he’d poured a staggering amount of money into the campaign. In his late forties or so, with a trim build, brown hair, and blue eyes, he had the combination of looks and charm that had most assuming that Peter Fussell would be running for a higher office in the not-so-distant future.
“I requested to meet only with you, Detective Gillian,” he said, gruffly. “There’s no need to waste Sergeant Crawford’s time.”
“As her supervisor I’m electing to accompany her to any meeting where ongoing cases might be discussed,” Crawford replied, just as gruffly. “Unless, of course, this has nothing to do with anything police related, in which case I’ll excuse myself.”
The mayor’s expression hardened. “Fine. Have a seat then,” he said. He paused as we did so, and I had a feeling he was mentally shifting what he’d been planning to say. When he turned the warm smile on me I knew that he’d decided to shift from hard-ass to benevolent leader who merely needs your assistance to make the world a better place.
“Detective Gillian,” he began in tones laden with pure politician, “as I’m sure you’re aware, we don’t live in a perfect utopia where the good guys always win and the bad guys always pay for their misdeeds. Hence the need for fine officers such as you and Sergeant Crawford here.” He paused, waiting for me to do my part and agree with him or nod or something. But I knew this was a game, and I had no desire to play it.
“Sir,” I said, “does this have anything to do with the investigation into the attack on Lida Moran, the fact that Ben Moran is her uncle, and the fact that Lake Pearl Bank—of which he is a board member—holds the majority of the loans for the city of Beaulac?” I allowed a hint of impatience to creep into my voice, though I did my best to maintain a polite and pleasant smile.
His warm smile turned tight. “I see you’re more into the direct approach, Detective. Very well. To answer your question, yes. Ben Moran has already expressed worry that his niece will suffer consequences for what is clearly a harmless prank that got out of hand. I’d already spoken to the chief about this matter and had thought it settled, but now I’m hearing that you’re continuing to harass and annoy members of the band.”
Harass and annoy? I resisted the urge to snort in derision and instead merely raised an eyebrow.
His response was to give me an oddly knowing look. “Detective Gillian,” he said, voice dripping with what was probably meant to be sympathy and compassion. “I’d hoped that you would be more understanding of the mistakes that young people can make. I truly hate to see Lida’s future thrown away because of charges related to the incident at the concert. You of all people should know that it’s possible to turn your life around after a rough start and become a valuable addition to society.”
I could feel the blood drain from my face, followed quickly by a white-hot surge of fury. The satisfaction that filled his eyes at my reaction wiped away any doubt that I might have misread what he’d said. How dare he attempt to manipulate me by bringing up my past issues with drugs? And how the fuck had he found out? I’d never been arrested, which meant that he’d have had to obtain access to medical records ...
I started to rise from my chair, breathing harshly. “You—”
A hand clamped onto my arm in an iron vise and nearly slammed me down into the chair. I shot a look at Crawford, ready to yank my arm away from him, but he merely shook his head and held my gaze in a hard stare for several heartbeats.
I let out a long breath, forcing my anger to drain away. The mayor was playing me. The easiest way to get me to back off would be to goad me into doing something that would get me suspended or fired.
Well, fuck him.
Taking another steadying breath, I turned back to the mayor as Crawford slowly released my arm. “Mayor Fussell,” I said, smiling so politely I thought my face would crack. “It’s heart-warming to know that you have so much sympathy and compassion for our youth. Unfortunately, the attack on Lida Moran took place in New Orleans, which means that you’ll need to direct your pressure and influence in that direction if you want it to go away.” I took an instant to take pleasure in the annoyance that passed over his face at that bit of info. “Moreover,” I continued, “any contact I’ve had with members of Ether Madhouse has been in the process of a murder investigation. Now then, sir, are you telling me that you want me to back off on that investigation as well?” I gave him an innocently questioning look.
His gaze flicked quickly to Crawford and then back to me, leaving me with an uncomfortable impression that if my sergeant hadn’t been in here with me, the mayor would have tried to pressure me into doing just that. I filed that unpleasant little nugget away for future examination.
“Of course not,” he said after a brief pause. “I had no idea. Though, of course I remain worried for Lida, and I do hope she’s not a suspect. Why don’t you give me a briefing on the case so that I can reassure Mr. Moran?”
I damn near sprained my eyeballs in my fight to not roll them. “That’s not possible, sir,” I replied, not adding, and you know that, you asshat. “I’m unable to release information on an ongoing case. However, I’ll be sure to have our Public Information Officer forward any pertinent press releases to you.”
His politician mask slipped just long enough for me to see the hint of desperation in his eyes. He must be getting a lot of pressure from Moran. Does Moran really have that much influence?
“I’m the mayor of this city, Detective,” he said with a dark scowl, abandoning the pretense of polite conversation. “And I’m done playing games. You’ll either have the case file on my desk in an hour, or I’ll have your job.” He shot a black look to Crawford. “And yours too.”
I took a deep, slow breath as the threat hung in the air, oddly surprised to find that my pulse was racing. “Well,” I said. I looked over at Crawford. “You good?”
He gave me a stiff nod. “I’m good.” He stood and I followed suit, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed a button on it. “Glad that worked,” he said casually, then he gave the mayor a friendly smile. “First time I ever used the voice recorder option on it.”