High Noon

way it is. But no one recently, and never anyone to the extent Meeks and I rammed heads. I slapped him back, I suspended him, I recommended a psych eval. He wanted to kick my ass then and there, and in fact considered drawing on me. I saw it in his eyes, in his body language. As did Sykes, who interrupted for that reason.”
    “Yeah, I spoke with Detective Sykes, and he concurs that he sensed trouble from Meeks that day in your office. ‘Sensed’ isn’t going to be enough. I’ve got nothing that places him in that stairway. In the building, yes, with a grudge against you, yes. He’s called in his delegate, and he’s got his father’s considerable weight behind him. If you can give me more, if you remember anything, any detail.”
    “I gave you everything.”
    “Let’s go over it again. Not just from the attack, but from when you left the house that morning.”
    Phoebe knew how it worked. Every repetition of the story could add another detail, and another detail might turn the investigation.
    She went through it. Heading out to catch the bus as her car was in for repairs. She’d borrowed the MP3 player Ava liked to use when she gardened, and had tried to convince herself the bus was more relaxing, maybe more efficient than driving herself.
    She detoured for coffee before taking the to-go cup into work.
    “Did you notice anything? Anyone? Get the sense you were followed?”
    “No. I can’t say I wasn’t. I wasn’t tuned for that, but I didn’t have any sense of it either. I went straight up to my office, started paperwork.”
    She went through it, the officers and detectives she’d spoken with, the movements. Routine, routine, routine, she thought. Just another Monday morning.
    “After my conversation with the captain, I started down.”
    “You always take the stairs.”
    “Yes. It’s habitual.”
    “Did you stop, talk to anyone?”
    “No…Yes. I stopped by my PAA’s desk to tell her I was going down to the session. Wait.” Phoebe set down her coffee, sat back, closed her eyes. She pulled it back into her head, the running image of herself striding out of her office, across the squad room.
    “She held me up there for a minute, asked me some questions, nothing necessary—especially since she’d know I was running close to the clock. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, except for being a little annoyed because I was cutting it close, and because she already knew—or should have—that I had the session waiting on me.”
    “Who’s your PAA?” Liz asked as she pulled out her notebook.
    “Annie Utz. I’ve only had her a few months. She stalled me.” As she thought back, tried to bring it into focus, Phoebe closed her eyes. “I think she was stalling me, just a minute or two. Then she said something about how I’d be taking the stairs down, like always.”
    Phoebe opened her eyes, and now they were fierce with fury. “She was signaling him, by radio or phone. Son of a bitch, she was letting him know I was on my way.”
    “Do you know if Arnie Meeks and your PAA have a personal relationship?”
    “No. She’s new, like I said, only a couple of months on the desk. Sharp-looking, single, friendly. Maybe a little on the flirty side, but nothing over the line. She was nervous, a little nervous yesterday. I was in a hurry so I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t think of her, of that quick conversation again until now.”
    “I’ll talk to her.”
    “No. No, we will. I’m going in with you.”
    “Lieutenant. Phoebe—”
    “Put yourself in my place.”
    Liz drew a deep breath. “Do you need any help getting dressed?”
     
    Phoebe was struggling, sweating and cursing her way into a shirt when Essie steamed into the room. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
    “Trying to get into this goddamn shirt. I have to go with Detective Alberta.”
    “You’re not to go anywhere but back to bed, Phoebe Katherine Mac Namara.”
    “I should be back within an hour.”
    “Don’t make me drag your stubborn self into that bed, Phoebe.”
    “Mama, for God’s sake.” Frustrated and starting to ache again, Phoebe dropped her arm. “Will you help me button this stupid shirt?”
    “No. I said you’re not going anywhere.”
    “And I said I am. There’s a lead on my case, and I—”
    “You are not a case. You’re my child.”
    Out of breath, Phoebe cradled her bad arm. And through her own anger and annoyance saw the warning glints of panic in her mother’s eyes.