to the Cap and tell him Brady was done in by a shapeshifting ninja assassin who, oh, by the way, just happens to be the man’s genetically made to order daughter?”
“Atcliff knows such things exist,” she reminded, suddenly so weary even a sigh siphoned off her energy.
“And he’s going to go on record with that? To the press?”
“Not my call.”
“If you take his job, someday it will be. And with Brady out of the picture, that reshuffling of the chain of command is gonna happen sooner than expected. Might be for the appearance of stopping corruption they’ll bring in outsiders to fill in some blanks instead of promoting within.”
“Again, above my pay grade.” But a definite problem. New blood, unfamiliar with their ‘unique’ demographics, eager to make a name off secrets long kept. Those not as forgiving of her relationship with a former Person of Interest like Max Savoie. “Nothing we can do but our jobs as long as they’ll let us.”
They fell silent as Babineau pulled into the hospital lot, grim facts churning but refusing to coalesce as she made her way alone to the Burn Unit.
Even with Kinesha Jones’ improved condition, the nature of the injuries demanded a sterile environment. Cee Cee submitted to the infection protocols and donned the necessary garb to prevent contamination as she entered the room, mindful of the nurse’s warnings. No physical contact, no mental or physical agitation of the patient. Period. Cee Cee approached the near-mummified doctor, clock ticking.
“Dr. Jones, thank you for seeing me. I have some questions if you’re up to them.”
Swollen, salve-coated lips barely moved as the patient whispered, “Ask.”
“Can you tell me what happened before I arrived? Who was with you, what did they say?”
“Pretended to be doctor but couldn’t answer my questions. Asked about you . . . to see your records.”
When her words dried out, Cee Cee waited for the watchdog nurse to moisten her lips. “Who was with him?”
“A woman.”
“Another doctor? His assistant?”
A careful head shake. “Stayed . . . in the background. We shook hands. Hers rough, strong.”
“A bodyguard?”
“Maybe.”
“Pretty, delicate, educated blonde?”
“No. Tall. Aggressive.”
That rang no bells. “I didn’t see her. Was she hiding in the back when I arrived?”
“She . . . she left before you came in. Told the man she’d take care of the other things.”
Things like Mia Guedry’s possession? If not Olivia Brady, then who?
The nurse signaled Time’s up. Fearing to press those boundaries, Cee Cee nodded and smiled at the gutsy doctor.
“Concentrate on getting better. You’ll have work to do when you’re up to it.”
Voice frail, the doctor sighed, “Nothin’ to go back to.”
“There will be. Rest. Get better. It’ll be there for you when you’re ready.”
With those cryptic words of encouragement, Cee Cee slipped into the hall, burdened by more questions than answers.
After rejoining Babineau in the car, she filled him in as they headed back the station to update Atcliff. She checked her phone. No further messages after the one from Max. Not that she needed another urgent matter to deal with.
The two detectives exchanged a look when only Cee Cee was called into their superior’s office. Expression carefully neutral, Babineau showed her in, closing the door behind her. Once invited to sit, she took the hot seat across from Atcliff and ran through all they’d uncovered to date, except what Ophelia had confided regarding her sister. She offered her conclusion that circumstances warranted further investigation of foul play if forensic evidence supported it. Then she waited for his assessment.
“I commend both you and Detective Babineau for your thorough work. Dovion has promised to expedite his findings, and those, along with yours, I believe will validate the conclusion of death by his own hand.”
Cee Cee closed her sagging jaw with a snap. After a jerky swallow, she argued, “Sir, don’t you think that’s premature? We’ve barely begun our review.”
“Resolution, quick and confident, is what this city needs, not prolonged media coverage that feeds speculation.”
“Uncle Byron, the city and his family need to know the truth.”
“Detective,” his crisp tone slashed through her personal entreaty, “this city does not need to endure months of dirty laundry and scandal that will never come satisfactorily clean. It needs this unfortunate episode closed and forgotten so we can rebuild confidence in our authority and control.”
“By lying? Sir—”
“Detective Caissie, is it your professional opinion that this investigation will end corruption in this city? Or will it embolden criminals and frighten citizens who’ll no longer trust in our integrity?” He studied the stubborn set