ticked by. He might have gotten away with feigning impatience, glancing at his watch, but he was keeping it cool for now. It gave him time to think through the scene logically. Plan out the best strategy.
He’d about shit himself when his captain had passed along the “request” to see McGuire today. The captain had been none too pleased either. Bastard still was pissed about the IA bullshit. Once the panic had receded though, he’d been able to think more clearly. And he was almost certain there was no fucking way this was tied to him being there when Jonas offed himself last night.
The task force wouldn’t care about Jonas unless they’d tied him to the Cop Killer. And even if they had, nothing tied Walt to Jonas. It was too early for any forensic evidence to have come back from that scene, so that wasn’t it. And it’d been too damn dark for anyone to ID him. So this wasn’t about last night.
Unless the son of a bitch had written more than one letter.
Walt could feel perspiration pop out on his forehead. What if he’d sent one to the task force? Then planned to eat his gun and let the rest of them take the heat for it the next day? Walt figured the odds of that were about twenty-eighty. Which didn’t exactly calm his nerves.
A sweating interviewee put a cop’s instincts on full alert. He made a production of taking out a handkerchief. Wiping his nose and doing a quick swipe of his forehead while he was at it. Then went to work on his nose again. Better to be thought a nose picker than someone sweating out the thought of answering a few questions.
He wadded up the handkerchief in his right palm, sopping up the dampness there before putting it back in his pocket. Sleight of hand. A measure of his normal confidence returned. Fuck McGuire. Walt Eggers had been around long enough to outwit some hotshot cowboy. Probably thought he was the shit because he’d gotten himself named to lead the task force. The pricks with big egos were always the easiest to fool.
The door pushed open. He forced himself to breathe evenly. Maybe let a little impatience show in his expression. Bullshit power play when you’re interviewing another cop, but mostly he was all cooperation. With a little puzzled thrown in for good measure.
A woman entered first. A looker, too, with legs long enough to strap around a man while he pounded it to her. McGuire was right behind her. Walt had caught him on the televised press releases a time or two, looking like a gutless monkey standing silently next to the commissioner while he used valuable air time to say exactly nothing.
“McGuire?” He rose. Held out his hand. Better to take the initiative in these things. “Walt Eggers. Got a message you wanted to see me. Came right after my shift.”
“We appreciate that.” McGuire shook his hand briefly. “This is Risa Chandler, a special consultant on the task force.”
The consultant. Walt shook her hand, too, was distracted for a moment when she looked at him. Damned if he’d ever seen eyes like that before on a woman. Almost gold, like a cat’s, with hair a couple shades darker hanging down to her shoulders. On the fuckable scale, she topped the charts.
He sat back down and the two settled across from him. Adrenaline flared. He waited for one of them to speak. No nervous talking from him.
“You’re familiar with the cases we’re working on.”
Chandler’s words weren’t a question but he answered anyway. “There’s not a cop on the force who’s not aware of it.”
She gave a nod. “Did you know any of the victims?”
He’d known this question would be asked and was ready for it. “Yeah, I knew Patrick Christiansen. Great guy. The best. Damned shame what happened to him. No one deserves to die that way.” Which wasn’t a lie. It’d taken a few hours for him to realize he’d have to own up to knowing Giovanni if he was asked. That damned fishing trip they’d gone on all those years ago. Everyone and their fucking sister had had a camera. He couldn’t be sure a picture wouldn’t surface with him in it.
“How well did you know him?”
He lifted a shoulder like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t. These two were strictly amateurs. He didn’t have to feign nonchalance. “I dunno. Long time. We fished together sometimes.”