“We can’t leave it at that, Marty. There was a board of inquiry. You have a deal. Or had one, maybe, because I’m not sure it’s going to last after tonight. You can’t do this. You have to understand that. I think you do understand it. You can’t do it. You have a deal; and if the deal falls apart, you have a suspension—and that suspension could last a very long time.”
“You try to fire me,” Marty said, “and I’ll file suit for sexual harassment against the department and against that. ” He pointed in Cord Leehan’s direction.
Gregor looked from the finger to Cord Leehan himself, stopped a little ways off and showing no signs of coming any nearer. He’d met dozens of gay men in his life. They’d ranged from high camp to you’d-never-guess. Cord Leehan was definitely a you’d-never-guess. If anything, he looked like a country singer or a NASCAR race driver.
Rob Benedetti had now taken off his coat. Gregor had no idea what he thought he was going to do with it.
“Look,” Rob said, taking a deep and seemingly endless breath, “this is the deal. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to approve of him. It really doesn’t matter—”
“It mattered to that idiot psychologist they brought in,” Marty said. “Homophobic. It’s an illness. I can be cured.”
“All right,” Rob said, “maybe that wasn’t the best way to go. We got through that, right? You’ve got the right to think what you think and feel what you feel. But goddamn, Marty, it sure as hell looks like an illness you’ve got from where I’m sitting. It looks like you can’t control yourself. It looks like you’re behaving like an irrational loon—”
“Why? Because I’d prefer not to work with a man who isn’t a man and who can’t keep his business to himself?”
“When in the name of God have you ever known Cord not to keep his business to himself? I mean that. When?”
“Well, there was that thing last spring about going up to Massachusetts to marry his ‘partner.’ What about his ‘partner,’ Rob? Does he wear a dress?”
“You’ve met Cord’s partner,” Rob said, “Jason Chisick. What are you talking about? He can’t even talk about his family?”
“The man’s not his family,” Marty said. “Has everybody gone crazy around here?”
“You talk about your family all the time,” Rob said patiently. “So does everybody else. There’s nothing wrong with Cord doing it. And it’s beside the point. Again, the point is that you had a deal, and the deal was you’d work with Cord for a year; and we’re not three months down the line, and we’re back to the same old crap. We really are. And don’t tell me it isn’t hurting the investigation because it is. You know it, and I know it. We’ve got eleven women dead—more if tonight is a Plate Glass find—and a man in custody that you didn’t arrest and the city is having a fit and John is running for mayor and you can’t do this. You really can’t. If you go on trying, we’re going to bounce your ass out of here, and that’s going to be the end of it.”
“When I came onto this force,” Marty said, “it’s his ass you would have bounced out of here—just for being what he is.”
“When you came on the force, Marty, the department wasn’t even fully integrated. Times change. Take your pick. Get with the program, or I’ll get on the phone to John and we’ll get you out of here.”
“You’re not my boss,” Marty Gayle said.
He turned away and walked toward the house. Fewer people were going in and out of the front door now. Gregor had the feeling that the night’s work was about to wind up.
“Well,” he said.
Rob Benedetti turned. “Yeah, well. He’s a good detective, Marty is. Or he used to be, before this became the thing he does day in and day out.”
“Has he been the detective in charge of the Plate Glass Killings from the beginning?”
“He’s been in this from the beginning, yeah,” Rob said. “In the beginning, we didn’t know we had a serial killer. Cord’s been in it, too, although they weren’t partners then. When we finally realized it was a serial killer case, they both wanted it. You wouldn’t believe the competitiveness.”
“I think I would.”
“Is something wrong?” Rob asked. “I mean, besides the obvious.”
Gregor shook his head. “I don’t know if something’s wrong. Something’s odd, yes, but that could be anything: the time, the place, the fact that Marty Gayle doesn’t like me much. Do you think it would be possible for me to get hold of the complete records on this thing from the beginning? They wouldn’t have to leave the control of the police department. I could go down to John’s office or to yours and look through them.”