White Collar Girl by Renée Rosen

expenses approved?”
    â€œI assume they were.” He pressed the pads of his fingertips together before bouncing them off one another. “I couldn’t say for certain. That sort of thing gets approved by the finance committee, so I’d have to go back and check.”
    â€œAnd would it be Sean McCarty who approves payment?”
    â€œYes. That would fall under the finance chair’s discretion. Of course, that’s after he’s reviewed each case.”
    â€œAnd would that be after Dr. Edgar MacAleese reviews the report from the physician who treated the injured officer?”
    â€œWell, I see you’ve already been looking into this.” He smiled and made a notation on his calendar that I sensed had nothing to do with our conversation.
    â€œWere you aware that the majority of injuries filed came from District 35?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Miss—Miss . . .”
    â€œWalsh. Jordan Walsh.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Miss Walsh, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short.”
    â€œI just have a few more questions.”
    â€œOh, and I do wish I could stay and answer them.” He smiled again, even wider, with the teeth of a Doberman. “I have an appointment that I’m running late for, but I’d be happy to speak with you again. You just call my secretary. And tell Walter he owes me a drink.” He laughed as he held his office door open.
    Moments later I found myself standing outside on the sidewalk wondering what just happened to me. I’d never been more abruptly or politely dismissed in all my life. I glanced at my watch. I still had some time before I needed to get back to thepaper, so from there I went down to police headquarters at 11th and State. The building had thirteen floors, an unlucky number. Danny Finn worked on the sixth floor.
    â€œWell, well, well,” he said when he looked up from his desk. “To what do I owe this nice surprise?”
    Ever since we’d met at the D’Arco wedding, I’d been keeping in touch with him. Every few weeks or so I’d drop by and grab a drink with him, see if he had some scoop for me. So far he hadn’t offered me anything other than invitations for dinner.
    That afternoon we went down the street to a bar on Plymouth Court. Danny smoothed his hands down the front of his uniform and placed his hat on the edge of the table. I reached for it and put it on my head.
    â€œHow do I look? Think I could cut it as a police officer?”
    He smiled. “You’d definitely be the best-looking one on the force.”
    I smiled back and removed his hat, setting it back on the edge of the table. I took a sip from my drink and I told him what I was up to.
    â€œAnd here I thought you came to see me because you missed me.”
    â€œOh, but it goes without saying that I missed you,” I said teasingly. “But c’mon, tell me if you know
anything
about this.”
    â€œWish I could help you.” He picked at his beer label. “One of these days I’m bound to have something for you. Something big.” He winked and took a pull from his beer.
    Over the next few days I met with one of McCarty’s aides and with Dr. MacAleese. The aide was polite but guarded and shed no new light on the documents produced by the finance committee, and all Dr. MacAleese did was confirm that McCarty’s reports were accurate.
    I tried to focus on my regular assignments from Mrs. Angelo, but each time I took a break, my mind went back to theinsurance fraud, going over and over the facts. It was like a tangled chain I was trying to work through.
    One morning at breakfast I asked my father for advice. “What did you used to do when you were investigating something and you hit a dead end?” I immediately regretted my choice of words, but he didn’t seem to notice.
    Without looking up from his newspaper, he said, “Depends on the story.” He