“I signed a confidentiality agreement. I can’t say anything more than this: Chris and Cady are butting heads over her future. He could lose big bucks in the coming year if Cady gets her way. You saw him, LT. Two weeks ago he was dead set on her having total protection, and now he talks her out of getting security cameras?”
“Understood,” Hawthorn said. “But none of this is what we’d normally classify as serious intent to harm.”
“Which is a flaw in the law, and in your way of thinking.” Caleb Webber spoke up unexpectedly. “It’s psychological. The most damaging thing you can do to a woman is make her think she’s not safe. As long as she thinks she isn’t, she’s off-balance, easier to control. This could easily be an attack not on her person but on her creativity.”
Sorenson’s face changed ever so slightly from professional blankness to faintly assessing. She gave him a small nod. “McCormick’s got a good point. Cady’s managed to tune out the internet trolls, but this is personal. If her manager wants to control her, this would go a long way toward doing that.”
“He’s not here, though,” Dorchester said. “You’d think he’d swoop in to save the day.”
“Maybe that’s the next step,” Conn said. “Freak her out, then calm her down. Problem solved, especially if the threats end.”
“Did anyone else hear the SoMa trolley in the background when Chris was talking?” Eve asked.
They all stared at her.
“You’re right,” Conn said. “That was the dinging during his call. I knew it was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”
“The trolley quit running after Labor Day,” Eve said. “The city shut it down until the holiday season. It’s a great plan. They decorated the interior and exterior, and they’re using it to shuttle people between the different business districts. It gets people used to using the trolley, and it boosts traffic to the local shops.”
“If that’s the SoMa trolley, that means he’s still in Lancaster,” Conn said. “He lied to Cady. To me. He said he was going home. But he’s still in Lancaster.”
“You don’t know that,” Sorenson said. Caleb Webber stood to her left, watching the conversation with an intensity Caleb knew meant he was filing away every word.
“The trolley’s bells were modeled after the street cars that used to run in the fifties,” Eve said.
“Lots of cities had street cars,” Conn said, his brain working away furiously. “But not anymore.”
“San Francisco does,” Sorenson said. When Dorchester lifted an eyebrow at her, she added, “What? Vacation last year. They’re quaint.”
“He lives in Brooklyn,” Conn said, keeping the conversation on track.
“Are there street cars still running in Brooklyn?”
“No idea,” Conn said, and made a note to check.
Eve had tactfully wandered away to inspect the items on Cady’s shelves while Cady carried on her conversation with Chris. “We can’t do anything without her permission,” Hawthorn said, keeping his voice low. “We need proof he’s gaslighting her before we make an accusation like that.”
“I’ll get it,” Conn said. He’d get it or go down in flames trying.
“Don’t tell me anything else,” Hawthorn said, like he was reading Conn’s mind. “All I’ll say is this: You don’t need to make it stand up in court. You just need enough to make him stop.”
“I’ll get it, LT,” Conn repeated. “Can I have a minute before you leave?”
Hawthorn looked at him, then at Sorenson and Dorchester. “Head back to the precinct,” he said quietly.
“Call me if you need anything,” Caleb said to Cady. “The firm can handle any transaction for you, and run interference if you need it.”
“Thanks, Caleb.”
Dorchester collected Eve, following Caleb and Sorenson out the front door. It closed with a quiet snick of the latch. Conn wondered if everything Matt Dorchester did sounded lethal.
“What the progress into Jordy’s beatdown?”
“Nobody saw, heard, or did nothing, ever, in the history of the world,” Hawthorn said.
“Someone always rolls, LT,” Conn said.
“Not this time. This time, nobody’s talking. I offered every incentive I could think of to everyone who would normally sell his mother down the river to get a cop on his side. Not a thing.”
Conn shoved his fists into his pockets and blew out his breath, trying to get his emotions under control.
“I recognize that look on your face,” Hawthorn said. “It’s the look someone gets right before he does something he’ll have to explain later.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t feed me that line of bullshit, Officer McCormick,” Hawthorn said amiably. “You think this is the first time I’ve supervised a hotshot with a temper? I’ll give you a clue. It’s not. Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.”
“Sir,” Conn said.