Secret of the White Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

more traditional methods of investigation failed.
    “Alistair always ends up stuck in the middle of some controversy. So do you, apparently.” Mulvaney didn’t miss a beat. “I got two calls already this morning: one from Deputy Commissioner Saunders, then another from Commissioner Bingham himself.”
    I shot him a look of annoyance. “So you already knew about the judge’s death last night. When, exactly, were you planning on telling me?”
    “Sorry,” he said with a rueful smile. “I wanted your version of it, not what the big brass have to say. Their primary concern is the threat of a larger anarchist plot. You’re going to be working under the man himself.”
    “You mean Bingham?” I was incredulous. It was a dubious honor, for Bingham was notoriously difficult to work with. But I wasn’t blind to the fact that this presented a rare opportunity to work with the city’s chief officer.
    Mulvaney put it more bluntly. “This opportunity with Bingham will either make or break your career—and you’ve got no choice in the matter. In fact, you’ve got a meeting with him this afternoon at one o’clock.”
    I stared at him blankly for some moments before recovering myself.
    “I knew Alistair planned to make my involvement official,” I said in a low voice, “but not at this level.”
    Mulvaney chuckled. “Your professor has his share of influence, I’m sure. But he isn’t responsible for your current predicament. You’ve the judge’s widow herself to thank for this.”
    “But I barely exchanged a word with her last night,” I said with a frown.
    “Then you otherwise made an impression—or Alistair secured her request. I take it they’re acquainted.”
    “Alistair went to law school with Judge Jackson. I understand they grew apart over the years, but their wives remained friends.”
    “Alistair’s wife?” Mulvaney’s eyes widened. “I thought they were divorced.”
    “I don’t think so,” I hastened to say. I knew little of Alistair’s estranged wife, except that she now resided permanently abroad—and had, ever since their son Teddy was killed while on an archeological expedition in Greece three years earlier. Though I wasn’t privy to the details, I knew it wasn’t uncommon for the loss of a child to cause an irreparable rift between the parents. I also suspected that Alistair’s womanizing had something to do with it.
    “Is the Nineteenth going to be involved in some capacity?” I asked.
    “Not yet. The commissioner hopes it will be a simple case, since the judge had more than his share of death threats on record—many of them from known anarchists. He believes that with enough men making the necessary inquiries, the judge’s murderer—and any anarchist conspiracy—will readily come to light.”
    “Maybe.”
    “You’re off to a good start on this case, if you already disagree with the commissioner.” A look of exasperation crossed Mulvaney’s face. “Out with it, Ziele. Either something you learned last night troubles you—or else you’re being hoodwinked by your professor’s malarkey.”
    I smiled, knowing that Mulvaney never had much tolerance for Alistair’s criminal theories. Alistair believed we needed to understand why particular criminals behaved as they did if we were to apprehend them more efficiently—and ultimately rehabilitate them. Once we understood more about the criminal mind, Alistair argued, then we would solve crimes faster—and one day stop them altogether.
    But for the more pragmatic Mulvaney, the why was unimportant; what mattered was ensuring that the criminal couldn’t strike again. And he believed that was best accomplished by jail cell bars—not education and understanding.
    Once, I had been of the same mind as Mulvaney. But time—not to mention a handful of tough cases—had taught me to recognize there was value in understanding the enemy we faced. I’d learned that the behavior criminals exhibited at their crime scenes revealed