In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

chair, then walked to the buffet, poured coffee.
    “You brought me coffee.”
    “Don’t get used to it.”
    “It’s usually my job.”
    “Because I’m the lieutenant.” Eve sat. “I pulled you into Homicide because I looked at you, and I thought, that’s a cop. Solid, a little green, but solid. And I could help her be a better cop. I have.”
    Peabody stared into her coffee, said nothing.
    “You have a cop’s work to do for Devin. I put that in your hands because, well, I’m the lieutenant. I have to know my men—their strengths, weaknesses, style. I have to know them, and I have to trust them to do the job. Or I haven’t done mine.”
    Eve sipped her coffee, considered her words. “Meetings like I’ve got set up? That’s cop work, too, but it’s the drag of command, Peabody. It’s the politics and deal making, the pissing contests. It has to be done, and I have to do it.”
    “Because you’re the lieutenant.”
    “Damn right. I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be in command, to have rank since Renee Oberman. Not just about what it means to be a cop, but to be a boss. The responsibilities, and the influence, the obligations to the badge, to the public, to the men and women under your command. I wanted it, and I worked for it. I had to be a cop. It’s all I could be. I’d been a victim, so I knew I could stay broken, or I could fight. I could learn and train and work until I could stand for the victim. We all have our reasons for being a cop.”
    “I wanted to make detective, so bad. Being a cop ... it meant I could help people who needed it, and that was important. Making detective, well, for me, it meant I was good, and I’d get better. You got me there.”
    “I helped get you there,” Eve corrected. “I didn’t want the rank for the office, for the pay raise.”
    “You’ve got one of the crappiest offices in Central,” Peabody told her. “It makes us proud.”
    “Seriously?” Surprised, then foolishly pleased, Eve shook her head.
    “You don’t care about the fancy, you care about the job. And your men. Everybody knows it.”
    And that, Eve realized, didn’t merely please. It warmed her, in the deep.
    “Anyway,” Eve continued, “I wanted it because I knew I could do it. I knew I’d be good, and I’d get better. I know when I walk into that bullpen I can depend on every man there. But it’s just as important, maybe more, that every man there knows he can depend on me. That I’ll stand for them and with them, and if necessary, in front of them. If they don’t know that, have absolute faith in that, in me, I’ve failed.”
    “You haven’t failed.” Peabody sniffled a little. “We’ve got the best damn division in Central.”
    “I happen to agree. Part of that’s me, and I’ll take credit for it. I’m a damn good boss, and the boss sets the level. Renee set hers, Peabody, and some cop who maybe—maybe—would have done the job, would have respected the badge chose to use it and to dishonor it because the person responsible for them said it was okay. Because the person responsible for them dug down for the weakness and squeezed it.”
    “I never thought of that, or thought of it like that, I guess.”
    “Other cops, good cops like Devin, died because the person responsible for her, the person she should have been able to have absolute faith in, made that call.
    “You’re going to bury her for it.”
    Peabody looked up again, blinked at the sudden fierceness in Eve’s tone.
    “I’m the lieutenant, and I’m telling you you’re going to stand for Detective Gail Devin, and you’re going to get her justice.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now, set up the meet with Reo.”
    “Can I just run a couple things by you, on the avenues I’m taking?” Peabody smiled a little. “Because you’re the lieutenant.”
    “Make it quick. I’ve got politics and pissing contests on my slate.”
    “You advised me to treat it like a cold case, so I’ve studied the file, the reports, the wit statements. The investigation was minimal because there were statements from cops—Renee’s cops—that Devin peeled off during the raid, lost her cover. And during that time was assaulted and killed. She got some streams off, took down a couple of the bad guys before she went down.”
    “And?” Eve prompted.
    “It reads like a cover, Dallas. An obvious cover. Like she screwed up, but her team edged from that so she’d get the posthumous honor. It reads blue line. No point