“My sentiments exactly. However, one of the less appealing aspects of working this particular desk is playing politics. You lose, Detective.”

“Captain, we’re closing in on that robbery on Lexington. I’ve got a new lead on the hooker murders and a message on my desk from a snitch who could know something about that stiff we found down on East Twenty-third. How am I supposed to work with some ditzy woman hanging over my shoulder?”

“This is the ditzy woman you have a personal relationship with?”

Alex opened his mouth, then closed it again. How to explain Bess? “Sort of,” he said at length. “Look, Captain, I already agreed to talk to McNee about police work, in general, now and again. I never agreed to specifics. I sure as hell don’t want her riding shotgun while I work.”

“A day in your life, Stanislaski.” With that same grim smile, Trilwalter crushed his cup and tossed it. “Monday next, to be exact.”

“Captain—”

“Deal with it,” Trilwalter said. “And see that she stays out of trouble.”

Dismissed, Alex stalked back to his desk. He was still muttering to himself when Judd wandered over with two cups of coffee.

“Problem?”

“Women,” Alex said.

“Tell me about it.” Because he’d been waiting all morning for the chance, Judd sat on the edge of Alex’s desk. “Speaking of women, did you know that Bess was engaged to L.D. Strater?”

Alex’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Used to be,” Judd explained. “One of the teachers at Holly’s school’s a real gossip-gatherer. Reads all the tabloids and stuff. She was telling Holly how Strater and Bess were a thing a few months ago.”

“Is that so?” Alex remembered how they’d danced together at her party. Kissed. His mouth flattened into a grim line as he lifted the cup.

“A real whirlwind sort of thing—according to my sources. Before that, she was engaged to Charles Stutman.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“You know, the writer. He’s got that hot play on Broadway now. Dust to Dust. Holly really wants to see it. I thought maybe Bess could wangle some tickets.”

The sound Alex made was neither agreement nor denial. It was more of a growl.

“Then there was George Collaway—you know, the son of that big publisher? That was about three years ago, but he married someone else.”

“The lady gets around,” Alex said softly.

“Yeah, and in top circles. And, hey, Holly was really blown away when she found out that Bess was Roger K. McNee’s daughter. You know, the camera guy.”

“Camera guy?” Alex repeated, feeling a hole spreading in the pit of his stomach. “As in McNee-Holden?”

“Yeah. First camera I ever bought was a Holden 500. Use their film all the time, too. Hell, so does the department. Well.” He straightened. “If you get a chance, maybe you could ask Bess about those tickets. It sure would mean a lot to Holly.”

McNee-Holden. Alex ran the names over in his head while the noise of the squad room buzzed around him. For God’s sake, he had one of their cameras himself. He’d bought their little red packs of film hundreds of times over the years. The department used their developing paper. He was pretty sure NASA did too.