High Noon

them?”
    “Mama always feels better after a visit from you. We all do. Why don’t you come to Sunday dinner?”
    He kicked back in his chair. “Would that mean sugar-glazed ham?”
    “It could be arranged. Thanks for this.”
    “Phoebe…” Straightening again, he cleared his throat. “I want to say I regret there’s been any speculation or gossip inside the department regarding an inappropriate relationship between us.”
    “Such as me giving you bj’s in your office.”
    “Oh, Jesus.” The tips of his ears went pink, as she knew they did when he was mortally embarrassed. “I’m old enough to be your father.”
    “First, you’d have been a very precocious fifteen to have pulled that one off. Second, since when does age factor into inappropriate sexual behavior? Neither of us is responsible for the speculation of small, ugly minds.”
    He picked up a ballpoint pen, clicked it a few times. “I opened you up for this when I asked you to take the desk in this department.”
    “You gave me an opportunity—which I grabbed—to do the work I’m good at. Am I qualified for the desk?”
    “You know you are.”
    “There you are, then.”
    “Meeks, junior and/or senior, may push this into IAB.”
    “And we can both stand up to that, should that happen. Don’t worry about me in this.”
    But he did. Even as he lifted the phone to put in the call she’d asked for, he worried.
     
    Phoebe had a moment alone in Observation, studying Arnie Meeks through the two-way mirror. He looked careless, she decided. Carelessly confident. A kind of screw-you posture of a man who believes whatever he’s done isn’t going to stick to him.
    He’d know he was being watched, or could be watched at any time. He didn’t give a damn, Phoebe concluded.
    And when she imagined his hands on her, his fingers inside her, her stomach rolled.
    She gave too much of a damn.
    “Lieutenant.” Liz stepped in with a tall, reed-thin brunette. “ADA Monica Witt, Lieutenant Phoebe Mac Namara.”
    “Lieutenant.” Monica shook hands with Phoebe. “How are you feeling?”
    “Better, thanks. I take it you’ll be prosecuting the case.”
    “If you can make one. We have Annie Utz’s statement, and her phone, which shows an outgoing call at nine fifty-eight. We can’t tie that to Arnold Meeks. The number called was to a toss-away phone, untraceable. We don’t have any physical evidence linking Meeks to the attack.”
    “You have motive. You have opportunity, and a pattern of insubordinate and threatening behavior.”
    “My boss wants more than that to charge a police officer with assault and battery, with sexual assault on a fellow officer. Get me more, and I’ll charge him.”
    Two men stepped in. Phoebe recognized Liz’s lieutenant, nodded in acknowledgment. Just as she recognized, through the strong family resemblance, Arnie Meeks’s father.
    He was thicker than his son through the chest, stronger along the jawline, harder in the eyes. But there was no mistaking the relationship. Just as there was no mistaking the insulted anger that pumped off him despite his ramrod posture.
    “Lieutenant Anthony and Sergeant Meeks will also be observing.”
    “We’ll get started.” Liz walked to the door, held it open as Phoebe followed.
    “When my boy’s clear of this,” Sergeant Meeks said as he shifted to block Phoebe’s path, “and his suspension lifted, this won’t be over for you, Lieutenant Mac Namara.”
    “Sergeant, you’re here as a courtesy.” Anthony laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t abuse that courtesy.”
    Phoebe moved around him to the door of the interrogation room. “Like father,” she said under her breath.
    “Shake it off,” Liz advised. “I take the lead on this.”
    “We’ve been this round before.”
    “Just a friendly reminder.” Opening the door, she walked in.
    He didn’t spare Liz so much as a look, Phoebe noted. His eyes aimed straight for her, held.
    “Boys.” Liz smiled easily, with a nod toward the trio at the table. She set the recorder, fed in the data, read Arnie his rights. “You understand all that, Officer Meeks?”
    “I’ve given the Miranda enough times, I better.”
    “That’s a yes?”
    “Yeah, I understand my rights. Shouldn’t you be in bed somewhere with an ice pack and some Darvon?” he asked Phoebe.
    “Arnie.”
    Arnie shrugged off the quiet warning from his attorney.
    “I’m surprised by your concern, Arnie,” Liz began. “The way I hear it, you’re not