“No need to apologize. You don’t want your son to grow up to be a crime fighter. I don’t blame you at all.”

“It’s not that, it’s—”

“Really, Dana, I get it. If I could do it all again, I’d definitely be a princess too.”

“Exactly,” I say, now laughing. “I’m glad we’re on the same page on this. Why on earth would anyone want to risk their life and have to keep their work a secret when they could live in a palace, have beautiful gowns, and be married to a handsome prince?”

He laughs too. “Let’s go see the great man,” he says.

It’s long struck me as odd that as people rise to senior ranks in any organization, the larger their desks seem to get even though the amount of paper they actually deal with decreases. Aside from a thin sheaf, nothing burdens Drake McKenney’s desk except for trophies—the kind lawyers collect, like acrylic paperweights enclosing miniaturized court decisions.

His secretary lets us in, but McKenney doesn’t move from behind his desk to greet us. Not to open the door or even to stand to shake our hands.

I don’t have a strong opinion about the District Attorney. I know I should, as seemingly everyone does. Lauren certainly wasn’t a fan, often complaining that McKenney prioritized chasing headlines over the real work of the office. But I’ve always treated our DA like the weather—something in my life that I have no control over. So complaining when it’s bad seems like a waste of time. Besides, like the weather, he’s not always bad.

I suspect Gabriel doesn’t agree. Most cops loathe McKenney on account of the fact that he has not shied away from prosecuting them. On top of which, McKenney comes across as an asshole most of the time. His little power play of not getting up to greet us is a case in point.

“Thank you for seeing us, sir,” I say.

“Of course,” he says with a politician’s smile. “I don’t have much time, though. I’ve got to meet Judge Lawson in about ten minutes. I meant what I said before, though. This investigation takes top priority over everything else, so you have my undivided attention until I have to leave.”

This is Drake McKenney’s way of limiting our discussion. It’s likely something he does with everyone, to make sure he isn’t trapped in a meeting. I know that Gabriel is going to assume that it means McKenney has something to hide.

“How’d it go with Richard Trofino?” McKenney asks.

Another power-play move. We only have a few minutes with the man, and McKenney’s selected the first topic of discussion.