Soul Murder. Daniel Blake

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       Monday, November 1st. 8:22 a.m.

      First thing Monday morning, Chance called Beradino and Patrese into a meeting; the three of them in the room, with Mayor Negley on speakerphone like the voice of God.

      Howard Negley was a billionaire businessman who’d won the mayoralty a couple of years back. Drawing a token salary of one dollar, he’d proved himself a dynamic presence in City Hall; too dynamic for most of the old stagers there, who’d swiftly found themselves seeking solace in their directorships. Ostentatiously using his business skills and contacts to help regenerate the city, Negley had consciously set himself apart from the endless infighting of career politicos. The public loved him.

      ‘I’m not having surgeons and bishops murdered in Pittsburgh, you understand?’ Negley said. ‘I will not stand by and see it happen. It’s bad for the city.’

      Bad for your popularity, you mean, thought Patrese.

      What Patrese could take from Beradino, as good and honest a cop as you’d find anywhere in the Lower 48, sounded false and shrill from an elected official. Besides, why did Negley always have to talk as though he were addressing a political rally?

      ‘Whatever you need to find the killer, you got it,’ Negley continued. ‘You want more officers, you tell me. You want men from other jurisdictions, I can arrange that.’

      It was all Patrese could do not to rotate his tongue in his cheek. To judge from the expression on Beradino’s face, and even Chance’s, he wasn’t alone in his opinion.

      Yes, they could have more officers, from inside Allegheny County and outside too, but that wasn’t within the mayor’s power to offer, let alone make happen.

      Typical Negley, Patrese thought. No wonder he’d married a Hollywood actress. The only thing more titanic than the mutual appreciation society would have been the clash of egos.

      He put it quickly from his mind, and turned his attention back to the room.

      ‘You should also bring the FBI in on this,’ squawked Negley from the box.

      Patrese was about to say he’d suggest the same thing – he knew Caleb Boone, the head of the FBI’s Pittsburgh office, and thought him a good guy – when he saw Chance look at Beradino, and Beradino shake his head.

      ‘We don’t think that’s appropriate at this juncture, sir,’ Chance said.

      Patrese knew Chance was a political animal; few people rose as high in the force as he’d done without being one. But he was also first and foremost a cop. Therefore, as he’d demonstrated at Patrese’s disciplinary hearing, he was flatly opposed to anything or anyone which threatened the integrity and independence of the police department.

      The FBI was top of that list. It was a turf war, and it was as atavistic and ineradicable as all conflict. There would always be turf; therefore there would always be war.

      ‘Why the hell not?’ Negley snapped.

      ‘Because all they’ll do is muddy the waters, sir. The more agencies you involve, the more confusion, which helps no one but the killer. Besides, we’re perfectly capable of handling this investigation ourselves.’

      ‘The FBI has unparalleled resources. It also tracks extremists – Islamic extremists, other religious fanatics – who might have wanted to do this.’

      ‘Running to the G-Men at the drop of a hat doesn’t send out the right message, sir. These are crimes against Pittsburghers. Pittsburghers want to see their own police force solve them.’

      ‘It’s obvious you’ve got a serial killer here, so you must call the FBI in. The Bureau has infinitely more experience than you in dealing with such people.’

      Chance actually licked his lips before replying.

      ‘I’m afraid not, sir, on both counts.’

      ‘I’m warning you…’

      ‘We don’t yet have a serial killer, sir, not necessarily. We have two murders, not necessarily linked. If they do prove to be linked, the FBI’s own criteria state a minimum of three before a murderer can be considered serial. And even then, we don’t have to call them in at all. Whether or not to seek the Bureau’s help is the decision of the local police department. Right now, we choose not to invite them.’

      ‘Allen, you know me well enough to know I’m not a man you want to annoy.’

      ‘And, sir, you know me well enough to know I’m not a man who needs to be told how to do my job. I don’t tell you how to run the city; don’t tell me how best to catch this man.’

      Negley was drawing breath to say something else, but Chance beat him to it.

      ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, sir, we have a killer to catch.’