Page 95 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Overtime

grounds for complaint, and Maisy had adroitly turned it around on
him and labeled him a trouble-maker, neutralizing any negative
effects on her career. At the same time, they shared a common
interest in having the Y2K project succeed: she to gain advancement,
he to continue on the almost obsolete quest for a decent pension.
“How do you do.” Maisy broadcast every sign of impatient
politeness: pen in one hand, phone in the other; both arrested mid-air
momentarily to deal with the interruption. Her eyes were as blue and
icy as Lieutenant Gramercy’s were green and gem-hard, but her
posture came across to me as defensive. Labelle permitted herself a
small smile, and I knew in a flash that she knew that Maisy knew that
she was a cop, not an insignificant underling. And I also realized, to
my chagrin, that bringing an office gossip like Leah into the
deception was intentional, not a tactical error by the detective. The
word had gone out. The whole floor had to be in the know. Now the
detective could have it both ways, and watch for the stress reactions
of anyone she encountered. She could maintain the fiction when and
with whom she pleased. Or not.
“I am in fact a police officer investigating the death of Vincent D.
Kates. Did you notice any behavior out of the ordinary on his part
last Friday?”
Maisy visibly relaxed. It would be a duel between tough broads,
and she knew plenty about infighting. Her glance flicked at me and
then at the door. I closed it behind us. Labelle had not been offered a
chair, but she pulled one over to Maisy’s side of the desk, sat down
and took out her electronic notepad. That forced Ms. Cornflower to
turn away from the source of her security and authority and face her
interlocutor with no place to hide her hands. My money was on
Labelle.
“No. I spoke with him once or twice concerning his project. He
seemed to be perfectly healthy.”
“I am referring to his actions, not his appearance. Did you know
that he would be working overtime Friday evening?”
Maisy could not restrain a sidelong glance at her desk and its often
too-revealing computer screen, as if to confirm her next statement.
“Not specifically. He often stayed late. The professional staff does
not punch a clock. If a deadline needs to be met, the responsible
parties are expected to do what is necessary.”

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