The Eyes Have No Soul

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoThis wasn't over. Clare stood staring at Harley's door, trying to imagine how that conversation could have taken any other direction. Her dreams dashed again.

“For now,” Clare growled at the office, the scent of defeat only a whiff in her nostrils.

“What's for now?” A voice, polite and very familiar, enquired. Versace perfume confirmed the presence of a friend.

Clare turned away from hurling imaginary insults at her nemesis, to find the diminutive Tina Svinsky, all bubbles and cheer, smiling up at her. “Walk with me.”

Tina fell in beside her, the frenetic movement of a shorter person attempting to keep up with her taller companion comedic in nature. Clare produced a rueful smile. Tina Svinsky was ten years her senior and at an inch over five feet in height, five inches shorter. During Clare's tenure in forensics, Tina had become the darling of the precinct. She made detective younger than anybody in the history of Worcester P.D., served on several multi-jurisdictional federal taskforces combating organized crime, and had earned the nickname 'The Golden Sweeper' for her insight and seemingly preternatural ability to clean up an ever-growing list of murder-one cases. The world was going straight to hell, except for Tina's aptitude for solving crime. She had become everything Clare wanted to be.

“So do you want to tell me what happened back there?” Tina said this without looking at her as they traversed the hallways of the precinct. Fortunately for Clare, the station was a large enough hub that she could avoid Harley should she so desire.

“He stiffed me,” Clare muttered. “I didn't make patrol again. That's the third time in six years. The promotion panel was full of his cronies and they sent me to him for my own personal interview.” She snorted a laugh of derision. “Apparently, I am one hell of an analyst but will never be detective material so I'm not even going on the beat.” Her comment was ladled in sarcasm.

“Where was Captain Latchford? Isn't he responsible for promotions in his department?”

“They said he was taken ill. Right before I went in. I had the call from him not thirty minutes before the interview.”

A janitor bustled past, pushing a bucket on wheels with the handle of his mop. He kept his head down as he passed the two women, but Clare watched him as he moved to the far side of the hallway. The janitor stole a glance at her as he slunk around a corner on his way to what she presumed was his lair in some distant part of the building. He looked at her as though he knew her, his face somewhat familiar; it creeped Clare out.

Tina followed Clare's gaze. “Everything all right?”

“I feel like I know that guy.”

“The janitor?”

Clare brushed her hair back with a finger. “I don't know. It's one of those days, I guess.”

Tina reached round with an arm, constricting Clare with a tight squeeze. Small definitely did not mean weak. “I'm sorry, sweetie. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Can't you speak to your bosses? I can do this, Tina.”

“Sorry, hun. They are out of town. That's the thing about working for multiple jurisdictions. Nobody knows from one day to the next where they might end up. Besides, you know they keep their own counsel on who they choose to join their ranks. Until you are noticed, or I join the ranking officers of the task force, your job is here. Your best chance is doing something unprecedented.” Tina stopped at a gray door, very nondescript and unassuming. She placed her hand on Clare's arm. “Look, I'm here for a week or so. I'm babysitting some junior detectives who're looking into thefts at the unopened wing of St Vincent's hospital. I've got to head out now to that half-staffed county jail for a couple hours. That's where they're holding the suspects. When I get back, let's get together to work on highlighting your transferable skills and honing the instinct you don't appear to need. In time, maybe you will get that chance.”

“My analysis of the situation concludes you are correct.”

Tina grinned impudently in return, evidently pleased that she had gotten through, and with a quick bob of the head, disappeared into the dark room beyond the gray door.

Clare signed and resumed her trudging march to the forensics lab.

Two flights of stairs and several sterile hallways later, Clare was still wondering what her purpose in life really was as she entered her home away from home, the Worcester Police Department's forensic analysis labs. She took a deep breath, leaning forward until her forehead touched the rough surface of the doorframe where varnish had long peeled away. They were going to want to know what went on upstairs. She pulled on the cool stainless steel handle, breaching the divide between the archaic past and the scientific future of policing.

The forensics lab was one of the few parts of the precinct to have been upgraded. Along with the morgue, which would once not have looked out of place in a fifties horror flick, Clare's lab had been granted funds by a state committee who were attempting to bring policing into the twenty-first century. Naturally, the upgrade had been resisted by Harley and his troop of eighties throwbacks. In a rare move, the District Attorney had thrown out their objections and forced them to embrace the technological advances of the new world. Everybody had an agenda.

Clare pulled the door closed with a little too much force. The slam caused all three of her colleagues to stop and look up from their respective niches in amongst shelves bearing reference books, ultra-modern spectrometers and other assorted gadgetry. She took a moment to breathe in the scents. Ancient knowledge, passed down in writing since the first great scientists realized that evidence could solve cases with irrefutable proof, mixed with newly polished wood and modern fabrics. It calmed her. The lab was bright with fake lighting, but this was new; the aim was to simulate day. No wonder the team had the reputation of living in another world from the rest of the precinct.

“Here to pick up your junk?” asked Sunny Chen, a second generation Chinese American, without looking up from the mass spectrometer. His words were blunt, but he meant well.

“Not this time.” Clare attempted to put a brave face on, but her voice was full of frustration.

The youngest member of the team, Alison, who was twenty-five and had only joined the previous year, approached still clad in lab coat and blue rubber gloves. She wrapped her arms around Clare, who was grateful for the contact.

“I'm sorry,” she said, a few wisps of red hair coming loose across her face. “At least you still have us.”

Alison's innocent comment made Clare smile. The warmth she radiated was infectious. “That's true. What would I do without my little family?”

“So there was no chance at all?”

Clare shrugged, moving across the room to her desk, where a row of folders sat on a shelf above a gray desk, bare but for a laptop and a small framed photo of her tortoiseshell cat, Steve. Clare always kept her office space logical and tidy. She flicked on the laptop, seeing an email waiting in her inbox: confirmation that she had been unsuccessful. She deleted the message without reading it and slapped the laptop closed, causing Sunny to jump. “There's only one way to advance in this place: Work with Harley.”

“Good. You aren't busy,” said a voice from the other end of the lab where Helen, the boss, presided over the team. “Clare, come join me in my office please.”

The door to Helen's office was open; Helen Cook, the detective in charge of the various Crime Lab teams had witnessed all of Clare's conversation. Her face without expression, Clare crossed the intervening space and shut the door behind her.

“Take a seat,” Helen invited, pointing at the chair opposite her own at a small round table.

Clare did as bidden. She had always loved this office. Floor to ceiling shelving held a wealth of literature, medical and otherwise. The grand, white L-shaped desk that was Helen's center of power stood unused for now. Helen only sat there on official business, so this was to be informal.

“Water?” Helen offered.

“Please. I've been parched lately.” Clare drained the proffered glass in one go upon receipt.

Helen watched her for a moment before continuing. “Are you all right?”

“What do you mean? Has my work not been up to standard?”

“No, that's never been a problem. You just appear a bit… underfed is probably the most accurate word. I need to make sure you are all performing as best you can. Beyond that, I care.”

Again Clare examined her hands. “Maybe I could eat a bit more. It doesn't seem that important lately.”

Helen leaned forward. “See that you do. You can't function if you don't eat properly. Now, tell me what happened.”

Clare attempted to calm the turmoil within her thoughts. “Would it really be any surprise to you? We all knew Captain Latchford was a man of fairly progressive views. He was taken ill between the phone call and my getting to the interview. Harley staged the whole event to show me up.”

“That's a pretty strong accusation,” Helen warned.

“You know the story as well as anybody. He's blocked me from the very first time we met. There are files out there with information about what happened to my parents, I'm convinced of this.”

“Have you considered that this fact might be the very reason you are blocked from joining the squad of the very man you are trying your best to bring down? You have aptitude and intelligence but you fight him every step of the way. It's professional suicide or at the least strongly masochistic.”

Clare frowned. “I wasn't applying to his squad. I was applying to Latchford's. I'm not afraid of him.”

“That is evident. But fear is not the issue. Andrew Harley is old world, with a network of like-minded thinkers. There is no place in his division for a woman, especially one with guts.”

“Tina?”

“Detective Svinsky isn't subject to Harley's influence in her task force, Clare. That is not the case for Worcester-based cops. I just got off the phone with an old friend. One who knows more about this precinct than most of the other officers; Devin, Captain Latchford, was causing waves among his fellows. They don't like his progressive thinking. He is seriously ill, in the ICU at UMASS. They aren't confidant he will make it. I'll tell you what that means. Harley is in charge of the detective bureau. However, he has his fingers in all sorts of pies. If the legal system didn't prevent it, he would send forensics back to the dark ages. He is a dinosaur, but one with clout.”

Clare's eyes narrowed. “You agree with me.”

“I do. However, you have to remember I can't afford to have idealism expressed in such an obvious way. You haven't been exposed to the management in such a profound manner before. You do not want to make enemies out of people who are already not fond of you.”

Clare's heart began to thump hard in her chest. Support unlooked for was always welcome and the adrenaline surged through her body. A bead of sweat began to wind its way down her neck. “You agree with me; yet, you want me to stay quiet?”

“I want you to consider what impact your actions might have if you try to cause a stir. You won't just be exposing yourself to them, but this entire department, and the advancements that benefit us.”

“Harley has bigger ambitions.” Clare mulled this over for a few moments. Corruption. How deep did it run? The promotion panel, certainly. Any appeal was out of the question in the state of Massachusetts without obvious discrimination. Were her colleagues corrupt? Clare glanced out at the lab through the window beside the door, and then back at Helen.

“He wants to be Chief. That's it, right?”

Helen crossed the room, pausing to glance at the team before she drew the blinds. “He could well end up in that position. Chief Goldsmith is far past retirement age. Promotion is likely to come from within given the network Harley has.”

“Chief Harley,” Clare spat. “That sounds like a bad joke.”

“It's been years in the making. You are on his side, or you don't have a side. That's really all there is to it.”

Clare stared in a moment of silence at her boss, a woman she had always trusted to lead the team forward, full of sensible decisions. She played the game just like the rest of them.

“I never stood a chance did I?”

“Let me give you some advice, Clare. If you continue to seek the answers here in this manner, you will find life very difficult. I only offer this to you because I am fond of you. I have protected you more than you know. However, with this turn of events, it won't be enough. Keep your head down.”

Taking a deep breath, Clare stood. “You won't want me to say anything, I presume?”

“Best not.”

“Look, it's been a hell of a day so far. I'm gonna take some time to assess my situation. I just can't stay in here right now.”

Helen didn't move. “I think that would be preferable. Don't do anything precipitous.”

Clare pushed her way out of the office. In the lab, Sunny and Alison had again stopped working, watching her.

Stopping only to grab her bag, Clare said, “I'll be back.” She refused to look them in the eye, focusing on the door to the lab. She passed through, letting the door swing shut behind her. Outside, those in the hallways scrambled to get out of her way, or stopped and stared, mocking smiles on their faces. Did everybody here know about her? There was a nervous aroma in the air, as if everybody were reluctant to be seen even standing next to her.

Clare ignored them all and walked out of the precinct, heading for her car. She glanced back. In a window near the entrance stood the janitor, watching her without moving.