“I’ve seen your file, Eddie. You’ve handled tough cases. The Macias thing where the father cut his children’s throats. The drive-by shooting that killed the little girl on the west side, where you tracked down the shooter in Arizona. I want to help you preserve the way you’ll be remembered as a police officer, Eddie. People in this department respect you. You need to think about your reputation, what you’ll be left with.”

No matter what else happened, Mahler thought, what he’d be left with was a dead girl talking to him whenever he was alone.

“I’ve come to let you go, Eddie. Effective immediately. Officially, it’ll be retirement. I’m bringing in Tony Call from Gang Crimes to head VCI. Interim basis at first, see how he works out. I’ve already written the press release.”

The words jolted Mahler. He wanted to launch himself on Truro and tear at this uniform. But he put both hands on the edge of the sink and felt his weariness. Then he yanked a string of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped his face. “We have photos of the killers.”

“What? Who are they? Can you ID them?”

“We don’t have an ID yet, but we will.” Mahler tossed his paper towels in the trash. Looking at himself in the mirror, he smoothed down his hair.

“And when were you going to let me know? I’ve got a press briefing at three.”

“The photos just came in from a witness in the park. The lab’s trying to find a way of getting more detail in the images. I’ll let you know when we know.”

“A witness? You have a witness?”

“Not exactly. I’ll put it all in a report.” Mahler walked up to Truro and waited for him to move out of the doorway.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Truro said. “You’re still finished. You’re no longer leading this investigation.”

“Really? We could have another homicide any time, and you want to have a new guy getting up to speed?” Mahler stepped around Truro. “This time, it’ll be on you, Truro, not me.”

The two men looked at each other. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to make an arrest,” Truro said and walked down the hall.

Chapter Twenty-Six

(i)

(THURSDAY, 4:13 P.M.)

Eden stood beside the entrance gate of the employee parking lot and watched a dozen uniformed officers approach as they came off shift. In the middle of the pack, she spotted Gina Cipriani and Bob Pace, the officers who’d helped two days earlier with the telephone tip line. They were laughing as they walked. Then Cipriani looked ahead, past the other officers, and met Eden’s eyes.

When they reached Eden, Cipriani nodded and smiled. “Detective Somers.”

Eden nodded back.

“Something else come off the tip line?” Cipriani asked. “I hear we ID’d the victim.”