For now, the most important apply to our own responsibility. The logs, transcripts, statements and corns show that you upheld yours. Now." He turned back to the crisis commander. "When the gunfire occurred... "
After the meeting, Phoebe went down to the firing range to work off some frustration. She set the target, put on her ear protectors and fired a clip.
Then could only sigh at her scores. She set again, fired again. "You've always been a crappy shot."
Reviewing her grouping on the target, ear protectors lowered,
Phoebe shrugged at Dave. "Extremely crappy. I don't practice enough."
"A good negotiator's rarely going to have to draw, much less discharge, a weapon. Not when she listens and talks as well as you do.
Which is why-since you do-I wonder what you were doing up there in that meeting."
"Asking questions like someone taught me. Trying to make sure the focus isn't so narrow we miss what may be outside the blinders. I don't understand what happened out there, and I can't just swallow the easy solution."
"Has it occurred to you that you don't understand, and you can't swallow, because you did what you were supposed to do? You talked him down, talked him out. And you still lost him. You've been doing this long enough to know what an impact losing one has."
As he spoke, he set himself up with a fresh target. Once he'd fired his clip, he and Phoebe studied his results together. "You're a crappy shot, too."
"Yeah, but you're still crappier. How have you been sleeping?"
"Spotty. I know the signs, Dave. And yes, I have some of the classicsI feel let down, stressed, restless, irritable. But I know it, and I know why. What I don't know is why that boy's dead. That's the reason I spoke up in the meeting."
"Phoebe, the chief isn't what we'd call a creative thinker. He's more politician than cop-"
"I thought the same thing when we were up there. I guess we share more than crappy shooting."
He let out a half laugh, rubbed her shoulder. "Well, believe me, he's more concerned now with public relations and the possibility of civil liability than why a sixteen-year-old gangbanger's dead."
"You have ambitions for me." She loaded another clip. "I know that, too, Dave. I appreciate it."
"If I've got a legacy, it's you and Carter." Someone fired down the line, and the sound was harsh in contrast to his quiet voice. "When I'm ready to turn in my papers, I want to know you're taking my desk." He'd wanted children; his wife hadn't. Though he'd never told her, Phoebe knew it because she knew him. So she and Carter were his. "You're worried if I speak up too often and don't say what the brass wants to hear, I'm shooting myself in the foot. Which is something I believe I could manage in the literal sense as it's fairly close range."
"The chief wants this put to bed. If he has to sacrifice Harrison in the public arena, he will. He'd sacrifice you, but there're no grounds. The simple fact is, Phoebe, logic and circumstances strongly support the idea that this was gang-related. A crime of opportunity and turf. That's the drum that's going to be beat."
"Maybe someone should listen to what's under the drum." She lifted her weapon again and fired.
Stupid, Phoebe thought later. Stupid to push and prod where the only result was going to be annoyance to all parties. Politics and public relations were going to play this out, she reminded herself as she changed into a gray suit-black seemed too presumptuous somehow.
She had nothing to add to the mix that wasn't already on record. Except for a few minutes before she'd taken over negotiations, and that horrible aftermath, she'd been inside the diner.
Nobody liked a Monday-morning quarterback, she told herself.
She would go to Charles Johnson's viewing, then she would have to put it away. No comment, she promised herself, unless the department directed otherwise. What more did she have to say, in any case?
She pinned her hair back. Nothing would sober the color, she mused, but the style seemed more respectful than loose.
She stepped into the family parlor. Her mother was crocheting in front of the TV, and Carly was sprawled on the floor paging through a picture book. Puppies, Phoebe realized with a little sink in the belly. "I'm heading out now. I shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Mama! Wait, Mama, look! Aren't they cute?"
Carly scrambled up to hold out the book. The page was full of irresistible