‘It’s getting much worse. But we shouldn’t focus only on him,’ I said.
He listened, eyes locked on mine, hands folded on the case file of the murdered man he had just been discussing on the phone.
‘It would be all too easy to become so obsessed with Gault that we don’t really work the cases. For example, it is very important to identify this woman we think he murdered in Central Park.’
‘I would assume everyone thinks that’s important, Kay.’
‘Everyone will say they think it is important,’ I replied, and anger began quietly stirring. ‘But in fact, the cops, the Bureau want to catch Gault, and identifying this homeless lady isn’t a priority. She’s just another poor, nameless person prisoners will bury in Potter’s Field.’
‘Obviously, she is a priority to you.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Why?’
‘I think she has something yet to say to us.’
‘About Gault?’
‘Yes.’
‘On what are you basing this?’
‘Instinct,’ I said. ‘And she’s a priority because we are bound morally and professionally to do everything we can for her. She has a right to be buried with her name.’
‘Of course she does. NYPD, the Transit Police, the Bureau – we all want her identified.’
But I did not believe him. ‘We really don’t care,’ I flatly said. ‘Not the cops, not the medical examiners, and not this unit. We already know who killed her, so who she is no longer matters. That’s the black and white of it when you’re talking about a jurisdiction as overwhelmed by violence as New York is.’
Wesley stared off, running his tapered fingers over a Mont Blanc pen. ‘I’m afraid there’s some truth in what you’re saying.’ He looked back at me. ‘We don’t care because we can’t. It isn’t because we don’t want to. I want Gault caught before he kills again. That’s my bottom line.’
‘As it should be. And we don’t know that this dead woman can’t help with that. Maybe she will.’
I saw depression and felt it in the weariness of his voice. ‘It would seem her only link to Gault is that they met in the museum,’ he said. ‘We’ve been through her personal effects, and nothing among them might lead us to him. So my question is, what else might you learn from her that would help us catch him?’
‘I don’t know,’1 said. ‘But when I have unidentified cases in Virginia, I don’t rest until I’ve done all I can to solve them. This case is in New York, but I’m involved because I work with your unit and you have been invited into the investigation.’
I talked with conviction, as if the case of Jane’s vicious murder were being tried in this room. ‘If I am not allowed to uphold my own standards,’ I went on, ‘then I cannot serve as a consultant for the Bureau any longer.’
Wesley listened to all this with troubled patience. I knew he felt much of the same frustration that I did, but there was a difference. He had not grown up poor, and when we had our worst fights, I held that against him.
‘If she were an important person,’ I said, ‘everyone would care.’
He remained silent.
‘There is no justice if you’re poor,’ I said, ‘unless the issue is forced.’
He stared at me.
‘Benton, I’m forcing the issue.’
‘Explain to me what you want to do,’ he said.
‘I want to do whatever it takes to find out who she is. I want you to support me.’
He studied me for a moment. He was analyzing. ‘Why this victim?’ he asked.
‘I thought I’d just explained that.’
‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Be careful that your motivation isn’t subjective.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Lucy.’
I felt a rush of irritation.
‘Lucy could have been as badly head injured as this woman was,’ he said. ‘Lucy’s always been an orphan, of sorts, and not so long ago she was missing, wandering around in New England, and you had to go find her.’
‘You’re accusing me of projecting.’
‘I’m not accusing you. I’m exploring the possibility with you.’
‘I’m simply attempting to do my job,’ I said. ‘And I have no desire to be psychoanalyzed.’