Free Second Street Station by Lawrence H. Levy Page B

until he arrived. I realize he’s—”
    “Alderman Goodrich had absolutely nothing to do with it,” Jourdan assured him. “This comes straight from Chapin.” He was referring to the mayor of Brooklyn, Alfred C. Chapin. Jourdan then nodded ever so slightly toward the window behind him. “The women’s groups have been stirring up trouble. Apparently, some of them have friends in high places, and the mayor feels we need to placate them.”
    “They belong in the kitchen and the bedroom and no place else, damn it!” said the ever-combustible Briggs, capping it off by spitting out a piece of his cigar.
    “I can’t put an inexperienced female on a murder case. She’s bound to falter.”
    Briggs put his two hands on Jourdan’s desk and leaned forward. “That would be awful, a real crying shame.”
    “Naturally, you will give us progress reports on her activities, and we’ll be conducting our own investigation while the press follows her,” Jourdan continued, any attempt at subtlety already foregone by Briggs.
    After pausing to consider his alternatives and finding none, Chief Campbell said, “I understand, gentlemen. I’ll find someone.”
    Further discussion would be useless. Chief Campbell knew an order when he heard one. He stood, they all shook hands, and he left.
    Briggs could no longer contain himself. “I hope this works. Any day I expect to see Campbell’s goddamn name on my door.”
    His fear wasn’t misplaced. Chief Campbell’s reputation as a very competent detective was growing every day.
    “Not after this,” Jourdan calmly replied. “Trust me. Chapin has done us a favor.” He smiled mischievously. “Definitely not after this.”

    It didn’t take much thought for Chief Campbell to realize the commissioners were using Mayor Chapin’s request to set him up. Subtlety was definitely not their strong suit. What they didn’t know was that Chief Campbell had no desire to have either of their jobs. He liked being out in the field and didn’t want to be trapped behind a desk. But he doubted they would believe him even if he told them so. They wouldn’t be able to fathom not wanting a promotion.
    Chief Campbell had to obey orders, and he’d been pondering how he could do so in the least damaging way. Mary Handley appeared to be bright and observant, and had apparently studied criminology. The coroner had confirmed her assessment of the crime and even found three books in the garbage with a bullet hole through two of them and a bullet in the third. That exhibited a reasonable level of competence, certainly more than had been displayed by that fool Russell. He was annoyed that she had hustled her way into the crime scene and had planned to reprimand her accordingly, but that kind of resourcefulness could also be a plus. The way he reasoned, in the short time he had, he could do worse.
    “In addition to the fifteen-hundred-dollar reward the department is offering for catching the culprit, how does seven dollars a week sound?” he asked Mary, part of him hoping she’d walk out the door.
    “To an unemployed sweatshop worker?”
    Chief Campbell found himself liking Mary. He admired her spirit, her sense of humor, and unlike some men, he admired women with brains. His wife was always a step ahead of him, and that suited him just fine. He couldn’t tell her that her job was to be a dupe, but he could at least stress certain dangers that would be involved.
    “I wouldn’t take this lightly, Mary.”
    “Chief, one thing I’ve always been able to count on is my mind. When I’m put on an even playing field, I can compete with anyone.”
    “There will be nothing even here. You will be a woman in a sea of men working on a high-profile murder case. As far as I can recall, it’s never been done before in Brooklyn, New York City, or any place in these United States. The press will be relentless, and your life will be fraught with danger. You’ll have enemies everywhere, within the department, too,