Fever Dream Read online

  “Dan Rinaldi.” Blalock beamed. “I saw you on the tube today and I had the same thought I always do: Does that white man owe me money?”

  He laughed heartily, then turned to Eleanor.

  “Eleanor, this is—”

  “Oh, I know this guy.” Her appraising look at me was knowing, but warm. “Though I’ve never seen him dressed up before.”

  “Likewise.” I gave her a careful perusal right back. Or maybe I just stared. She was…stunning. The sleek, sleeveless dress accentuated her well-toned arms, while its plunging neckline did the same for her full breasts.

  Eleanor gave me a wry smile. “It’s a special occasion, Danny. So I thought I’d work the cleavage.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Which only made Harvey Blalock laugh again.

  “You two carry on without me, okay?” He raised his empty shot glass. “I need a refill if I’m gonna make it through the District Attorney’s stump speech.”

  After he’d gone, I turned back to Eleanor.

  “I didn’t know you were coming to this thing.”

  “Neither did I. Till the last minute, when Sinclair’s guy called. What’s his name? Fletcher. He practically begged me to show up. I think they wanted some more black faces.” She glanced around the room. “We’re kinda at a premium around here.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Makes putting on a tux worth it.” I grinned. “Almost.”

  She aimed her violet eyes at me over the rim of her glass. “Please, Danny, don’t even try. I saw you checking me out yesterday. When we were working together.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Look, it’s okay. Luther and I have an open relationship. I don’t mess with his bitches, and he doesn’t—”

  I raised my hand, palm up. “I get it.”

  Again, her wry smile. I admit, I was somewhat taken aback by the whole conversation. Where the hell was this going? If it was going anywhere.

  I changed tacks. “How do you know Harvey Blalock?”

  “He represented a cousin of mine, a surgeon, in some bullshit malpractice suit.”

  “Same thing with me. Malpractice suit. Also bullshit. Luckily, it went away before I racked up a fortune in lawyer’s fees.”

  “My cousin wasn’t so lucky. The case went to trial. Harvey got him acquitted, but it cost a ton. The family joke is that Harvey’s boat oughtta be named after us.”

  “He has a boat?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Her smile was a tease. “Hey, maybe we can get him to take us out for a river cruise sometime. I hear they can be very romantic.”

  “Never had the pleasure.”

  “I mean, if you go for that kind of thing. Hard-asses like you and me…well, I don’t know. Probably not.”

  She lowered her eyes then, stared at her wine glass.

  I got the sense she felt she’d over-stepped. Said too much.

  I also recalled her grief when recounting how her relationship with Treva had ended. Hard-ass? Not always. Not either one of us, really. Maybe that was something that tugged us in the same direction. That, even now, seemed to be drawing us closer.

  Unless, on her end, it was merely the stress of the past two days. The frustration of the investigation. The multiple—and very public—murders, with the accompanying political pressure. And with the culprits long gone.

  Because suddenly her eyes came up, clear and focused.

  Whatever invitation I’d seen in them, whatever hint of intimacy, was now hidden. Put away.

  “I did want to ask you something,” she said. “About Treva. When you and Polk saw her today. How was she?”

  “Pretty much as I expected. The reality of what’s happened to her has sunk in. She’s certainly still frightened. Terrified, I’d say.”

  “Of what? It’s all over now.”

  “Try telling her that. Or any victim of violent assault. For some survivors, it’s never over.”

  “So what do you think? Is she gonna be okay?”

  “Hard to say. I’ll know more when I get to do some work with her. If I do.” I paused. “I hear they’re sending her home tomorrow.”

  “Yes. The hospital says she’s insisting on it. She says she doesn’t feel safe there. I can’t say I blame her.”

  “I assume you’ve offered her police protection.”

  Eleanor looked puzzled. “For what? You mean, to keep the press from hounding her? Sleeping outside her front door? Taking pictures through her windows?”

  “That’s as good a reason as any. Don’t you agree?”

  “Doesn’t matter whether I agree or not. No way we can spare the manpower. Not in the middle of a full-scale investigation. Plus all the resources devoted to locating the two bank robbers.”

  I mulled this over. I saw her point. There was no apparent threat to Treva’s safety. Still—

  “What about Victims’ Services, at least…”

  “Give us some credit, eh, Danny? We have their people set up for home visits a couple times a day. To make sure she’s eating, resting. Or in case she needs someone to talk to. Though Treva isn’t too happy about it.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  Eleanor took a breath. “I heard from Biegler that she said if she needs anything, she’ll get it from you. She says you’re the only one she trusts.”

  She threw back her drink, drained it. “So do us all a favor, okay? Keep your cell phone on.”

  I could tell from the coolness in her voice that Treva’s last comment—though merely a repeat of what she’d said before—had still stung. And that, as if in answer to it, Eleanor had suddenly put up a wall between us.

  And while I wasn’t exactly surprised, it didn’t feel good, either.

  ***

  “Detective Lowrey!”

  Eleanor and I both turned to find Brian Fletcher— taller than I remembered in his stylish, tailored tuxedo— striding across the polished floor in our direction. Professional smile widening beneath his trim mustache.

  Stepping between us, he took Eleanor’s hand in both of his. “So glad you could make it, Detective. You look amazing.”

  Eleanor regarded him warily. “Thanks, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Everybody calls me Brian.” He turned to me. “Happy to see you here, too, Dr. Rinaldi. I wasn’t sure you’d get on-board for this.”

  “Me, neither. But then I’ve always been a sucker for free hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Hey, this is a political fund-raiser, okay? So easy on the irony. It makes potential donors nervous.”

  “Maybe they should be. Considering how the last couple days have played out. For Sinclair, I mean.”

  Fletcher tilted his head. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you? Well, I’m going to break a cardinal rule among campaign managers and tell you the truth: it’s not helping us. It’s tough running as a big-dick law-and-order man when armed robbers are making fools out of the cops.”

  Eleanor folded her arms. “I don’t think that’s fair, Mr. Fletcher. In fact, I think it’s bullshit. There’s no way the department can—”

  Fletcher chuckled. “Whoa, wait a minute. I’m getting double-teamed here. I only came over to say hello. Pump the flesh. Know what I mean? Just your friendly neighborhood political hack.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” I said.

  He cupped his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Meanwhile, I want to invite you both to come as my personal guests to the debate Saturday night. It’s going to be on-campus at Pitt. Hillman Library. And aired live throughout the state.”

  “So you and Garrity’s handlers finally agreed on the ground rules?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Closed the deal an hour ago. Had to bargain away Lee’s left nut—sorry, Detective—but John Garrity’s such a coward we had no choice. Though it sure ain’t pretty. Two minute time limits. No rebuttals. Rules so restrictive you can barely call it a debate.”

  Eleanor said, “Then why do it?”

  “Because th
e public expects it. They rarely watch it, you understand. But they like to know the candidates are doing it. Duking it out. Mano a mano.” He shrugged. “Hey, we’re a helluva long way from Lincoln-Douglas, but it’s great political theater.”

  “I’ll bring the popcorn,” I said.

  He eyed me ruefully. “What did I say a minute ago about irony? Do I have to send you a memo?”

  Then, abruptly, he laughed. A bit too loud.

  “Hey, this is fun, but I’ve actually got a job to do. Danny, Lee wants to do the photo-op with you, him, and the mayor before dinner starts. Probably so His Honor doesn’t have soup stains on his shirt for the picture.”

  “I take it the mayor’s already sampled the punch?”

  Fletcher ignored this. “I’ll come back and get you in five minutes or so. I figure we’ll line you guys up on the floor in front of the dais. The Mayor wants the photo shot up from a low angle to make him look taller. Fine with me—that way, it’ll get the banner in there, too.”

  He started to walk off, then turned back to Eleanor.

  “Sorry, Detective, I almost forgot. Lee and Lt. Biegler want to see you right away. Lee wants an update on the bank case. From the troops on the ground.”

  Eleanor frowned. “Why me?”

  “Apparently, Biegler tried to get hold of Sgt. Polk but can’t find him. So you’re the next batter up.”

  He pointed a manicured finger at me. “Five minutes, okay, Doc? Big smile, no irony. Capice?”

  He swiveled on his heel and hurried away before I could say anything. Given the response that had come to mind, it was probably just as well.

  When I turned back to Eleanor, I saw that she was looking toward the front of the hall. Following her gaze, I spotted Sinclair standing behind his chair on the dais.

  Talking with Biegler, who seemed almost painfully out of place in his ordinary jacket and tie. The uninvited interruption. Moreover, from the strained looks on their faces, and the lieutenant’s desultory gestures, I could tell it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

  “Jesus, Harry,” Eleanor said aloud.

  I touched her elbow. “C’mon, Eleanor. Tell me what’s going on with Polk.”

  “That’s just it, Danny. I don’t know. He’s been missing roll calls. Disappears from the precinct for hours, and nobody knows where he is. I’ve had to cover for him a dozen times.” She shook her head. “If he doesn’t get his shit together, he’s gonna be out on his ass. Biegler’s ready to drop a rock on him already, I can tell. God knows, he’s been looking for an excuse for years.”

  Suddenly I understood her behavior in the hospital parking lot the day before. When she’d first brought up her concerns about Harry, and then brusquely cut the conversation short. She’d felt disloyal for talking about him behind his back. For seeming to narc on her own partner.

  Yet she was worried. Both for his career, and for him personally. I could see the bind she was in.

  “Look, Eleanor. I tried to broach the subject with Harry myself and got told to back off. I don’t know what he’s doing, or gotten himself mixed up in, but we can’t beat it out of him.”

  She clenched her fists. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Then, with a rueful smile, she turned and—to my surprise—kissed me on the cheek.

  “Thanks, Danny. For giving a damn. About Harry.”

  She took her thumb and rubbed her lipstick off my face. “And about me.”

  I watched as she threaded her way through the maze of tables to the front of the hall and the dais, where an impatient Sinclair and Biegler waited.

  I reached up to touch the still-warm imprint of her lips on my cheek.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  I glanced at my watch.

  “Five minutes,” Brian Fletcher had said. That was ten minutes ago.

  From where I stood, I could see Sinclair, Biegler, and Eleanor still huddled at the table, deep in conversation. Fletcher himself was pacing on the floor in front of the dais, talking with a couple desultory press photographers whose cameras hung heavily from their shoulders.

  By now, practically all the guests had found seats at the tables. So I figured I had no choice but to join them.

  When I finally spotted the little placard with my name on it, at a crowded table near the front, I discovered I’d been seated next to Sam Weiss. He was talking to a stocky man sitting uncomfortably in a tux on his other side. Grim-faced, middle-aged, with a receding hairline he tried to hide with a dubious comb-over.

  Before I could pull out my chair and sit down, Sam was already making introductions.

  “Danny! We were just talking about you.” He gestured to the other man. “Dr. Daniel Rinaldi, this is Dave Parnelli. Assistant District Attorney.”

  Parnelli and I shook hands.

  “Your name sounds familiar,” I said.

  “It should.” His manner was brisk, his accent sharp. I was thinking Brooklyn or Queens. “I’m handling the Mary Lewicki car-jacking. At least, I was, till I realized she’d crap out on us on the stand. So I made the usual deal with the scumbag in question and moved on. That’s life in the big city. Or at least a medium-sized one.”

  “Yes, I remember Angie Villanova mentioning you.”

  “She mentioned you, too. When she said she was going to refer Mary to you for counseling. Which surprised the fuck outta me, since I didn’t know we were running a social work agency.”

  Sam grinned. “Dave’s from New York, Danny.”

  As if that explained the attitude. Which it very well might have.

  Parnelli broke a bread stick in two. “All I’m sayin’ is, we did things a little differently back home. But I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of hard case, Dr. Rinaldi. Ask your friend Sam here. Hell, in New York, I wasn’t even a prosecutor. I worked for the public defender’s office.”

  “So what are you doing in Pittsburgh? Working for the district attorney?”

  “Long story. Here’s the short version: I got tired of defending gang-bangers, rapists, and child molesters. Meth addicts and crack-whore mothers. Trust me, you can only deal with so many dead babies in freezers before you start to wig out. I wigged. No apologies.”

  He tossed one half of the bread stick on his plate, began gnawing on the other.

  “So I came to Pittsburgh to see how the other half lives. The half that gets to put the bad guys in jail and sleep easy at night.”

  “Makes sense.” I took a long drink from my water glass. “But, again, why Pittsburgh?”

  “I got a sister who moved here a couple years back. She liked it, so I figured, what the fuck? It’s got rivers and bridges, too, just like the five boroughs. People are friendly. Blah-blah-blah. Just wanted a change. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  Sam smirked. “Danny’s a shrink, Dave. They do that.”

  “Psychologist,” I corrected him.

  “You know what I mean.” Sam leaned back in his chair. “But I figured you guys oughtta meet. I told Dave all about your being a consultant for the police. So don’t let his charm school manner fool you. He’s suitably impressed.”

  “My ass.” Parnelli chewed loudly.

  “Always happy to meet new fans.” I finished the whole goblet of water. Still a bit dry-mouthed from whatever was happening between Eleanor and me. If anything.

  I was also getting anxious to get the photo op over with, so I could leave. I’d hoped to be out of here a half hour ago. I certainly didn’t want to hang around for the dinner and speeches.

  Plus I wanted to check back in with Treva. I wasn’t satisfied with the way we had left things. I needed to know more. About what she was afraid of. What she feared might happen to her.

  All the guests were seated now, and dozens of waiters were moving around the tables, bringing soup, the first course. I stared glumly at the wilting salad in front of me, nudging my fork around on the tablecloth.

  Sam watched me with rising amusement. “Looks like you’re joining us for the duration, Danny. Hope you brough
t your appetite.”

  I grunted. The only thing that might’ve kept me at that table with Sam was the opportunity to grill him about what he’d said about Sinclair being dirty. What he actually knew, or even suspected.

  But there was no way we could discuss it now. Not sitting at a table full of other guests, one of whom was an ADA in Sinclair’s office.

  Just then, a waiter appeared as if out of nowhere and placed a wide-mouthed bowl of mushroom soup in front of me. I mumbled my thanks and looked up at Sam’s smiling face.

  “Bon appétit!” he said, enjoying himself.

  As the waiter circled around to serve Parnelli, and then Sam, I heard a sudden tinkling of glass coming from the front of the room.

  Leland Sinclair stood at his place at the table, tapping his water glass with a spoon. Its soft peal echoed.

  “Before we start our dinner,” he said, “I wonder if I could ask one of our distinguished guests, Dr. Daniel Rinaldi, to join us down here at the dais?”

  I glanced up at Sam. “Saved by the bell.”

  With a couple hundred pairs of eyes on me, I made my way down to the front of the room. By the time I reached the dais, Sinclair, the chief of police, and the mayor had already climbed down the side steps and were waiting to greet me on the floor. Leaving Sinclair’s family, Biegler, Eleanor, and the councilwoman still seated at the table.

  As the four of us “distinguished guests” exchanged pleasantries, Brian Fletcher came over, beckoning to his photographers to follow him.

  “Okay, gentlemen,” Fletcher said to us. “Let’s have you form a tight line, so we can get you all in. Maybe a shot of Lee shaking hands with the chief, as the mayor and Dr. Rinaldi look on. Then we change partners. Lee shaking hands with the mayor. Then with Dr. Rinaldi. Then—”

  Sinclair chuckled smoothly. “I think we all get your drift, Brian.”

  Which brought a round of equally smooth chuckles from the posh crowd at the tables. If you can’t be king, I thought, peering out at their glowing faces, it’s good to be friends of the king. Or at least believe that you are.

  At the same time, I noted that the scurrying waiters, laden with trays and soup tureens, didn’t even look up. In the same room as everyone else, listening to the same self-serving jibes and remarks, yet as removed as though in a parallel universe.