On sixth floor, a few techs at their desks glanced at him. Same long look that officers gave him, but with a subtle difference. Curiosity. Like they wanted to ask questions but knew better.
Lee greeted him as he walked passed. At the threshold to Bronson's office, Gordon knocked on the open door.
"Chief."
Bronson told him to have a seat and shut it closed. Gordon hadn't settled in his seat when the chief started.
"Loeb reached out. He wants to meet with you," said Bronson, watching him quietly for a moment. "My suggestion to you would be to have it here."
"I agree."
"I'll let him know," Bronson allowed another long pause. "Unfortunately, we don't get much info on what goes on with him. Whispers mostly. He keeps himself surrounded by guys who are quiet and loyal enough, so I can't offer you much. Maybe your friend can get you more info."
Gordon said nothing. Bronson chewed on something in his mouth, annoyed slightly. The two of them worked the same way, allowing the silence to seep.
"Spoke to Harv," said Bronson, changing the subject, "He said you might not stick around?"
"Thinking about it."
Bronson shifted slightly in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk, "I never thanked you for what you did for my son."
Now it was Gordon's turn to shift around in his seat, "No need. Was just doing my duty."
"I served once too—course I was drafted like Kevin—but I remember. There's following orders and there's going above and beyond the call. If you hadn't done what you did, I wouldn't have a son."
Gordon adjusted glasses, looked away and waited.
"What I did—telling Gillis to not give you partner and assign you gangland shootings—it was to help you."
Gordon nodded, his lips pursed. He understood, even if he didn't agree with it. "There's no need to explain, sir."
"There is, because of what I'm going to tell you now." Bronson leaned, eyes fixed on a patch of wood on his desk as if the words were carved into the grain.
"I'll be retiring before summer hits."
Gordon's eyes snapped to him.
Bronson cleared his throat. "Loeb will stick a loyal guy here. He'll make life hell for anyone who's not in. It'll be bow your head or quit." He leaned close. "And those are the options, Jim. You play by their rules. You do as you're told. Last time Loeb killed cops was when he took over—but we know it's always on the table." He leaned back in his chair. "I'll speak with some chiefs, see if any will take you, but I can't promise you anything."
"I appreciate it, Chief."
"Keep it between us for now."
When Gordon stepped out, he took a minute. Stood beside Lee's desk and said, "Those second tests say anything different?"
"No, detective. My guess is it's a contaminated sample. It must be."
Gordon nodded. Human-derived poison. Lee must be right, he thought taking the stairs down.
On the fifth floor, Bullock was on the phone. He snapped his fingers at Gordon to get his attention, then covered the mouth of the phone.
"Dent's got it. Let's roll."
They grabbed their coats and headed downstairs. Gordon forced the thoughts aside. The chief stepping down, what it meant for him, the stares and whispers that clung to him. None of it mattered now. The missing girls, the dirty cops who murdered them. They were his focus.