by J. D. Robb
“I know. They’ll cremate her tomorrow, and hold a memorial in a few days. I’ll go to Atlanta for that, where there will be more people she mattered to. I know, in the odd way of these things, I’ll find some comfort. But knowing you’ll find who killed her gets me from moment to moment. Will you speak to me later, tell me what you know?”
“Yes.”
Morris squeezed her hand again, then his gaze shifted over her shoulder. Eve turned to see Mira and her husband.
Mira moved naturally, simply put her arms around Morris and held him. When he dropped his head on Mira’s shoulder, Eve looked away.
Dennis Mira rubbed Eve’s arm, and made her throat burn. “When death strikes home,” he said in his quiet way, “it’s harder, I think, for those who face it every day.”
“I guess maybe it is.”
Something about him, Eve thought—his gangly frame in his oddly formal black suit—was as comforting as she imagined Mira’s hug would be. “It’s the knowing how it works, and what it leaves behind.”
He studied one of the photographs. “She was very lovely, very young.” And looked at Eve. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in uniform before. Have I?” His eyes took on that vague, distracted look that appealed to her. “In any case, you look formidable.”
“I guess I am.”
He smiled at her, then stepped up to Morris. Eve slipped away.
She took Clifton next, winding her way toward the detective where he stood with a group of cops. She caught a snippet of conversation, centering around baseball.
Meant nothing, Eve admitted. People talked about all matter of things at memorials.
“Detective.”
It took him a half a beat, Eve noted. The uniform threw him, she thought. “Lieutenant.” He shifted away from the others. “Any word?”
“We’ve got a couple of leads. We’re on them. Any thoughts of your own?”
“I told you what I know, and from what I hear you should be watching your back.”
“Should I?”
“Heard the killer sent you her badge and weapon, then tried to take you out. Smells like a cop killer who targets female officers.”
“Well. You’d be safe then.”
She watched temper kindle in his eyes. “I didn’t pick up a badge to be safe.”
“No? Did you pick it up so you could tune up suspects?”
“I get the job done.”
“You’ve got some interesting rips in your jacket, Detective.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just making conversation.”
“You homicide cops. You come in after it’s over. We’re the ones out in it every day, trying to keep assholes from killing each other.”
“Gee, I guess if you did a better job, I’d be out of one.”
He edged in on her with a little tough guy move—quick roll of the shoulders, curl of the lip. “Look, bitch, you don’t have a clue what a real cop does.”
“Oh? Then why don’t you educate me?”
The lip curl went to a sneer.
“Dak.” Cleo Grady strode up. “Newman’s looking for you. He got a bang on the Jane Street case.”
Clifton gave Eve the hard eye for another few seconds. “School’s out. I’ve got to go do some real cop work.”
“Good luck with that,” Eve said pleasantly, then turned to Cleo. “Was that true, or a way to keep your squadmate from taking a shot at a superior officer?”
“It’s true, the other part’s just good luck. We’re all wound a little tight these days, Lieutenant.”
“My impression is Clifton’s always wound a little tight.”
Cleo only shrugged. “We feel shut out some, on top of the rest. We come in here, and it hits us in the face. Somebody took her out, and we’re not part of the investigation. We don’t know you, but we know you’re looking at us. You don’t expect some resentment?”
“Resentment doesn’t bother me, Detective Grady. Murder? That just pisses me off. If Newman got a bang, why didn’t he tag Clifton instead of looking for him in the crowd?”
“You’d have to ask him,” Cleo said coolly. “But maybe to show some respect.”
“When one of you gets a bang on an ongoing when you’re off shift or separated, how do you tag each other?”
“Depends on the circumstances.”
“I’d say communicator if you’re soloing in the field. But if one of you was, say, at home, a ’link tag makes more sense. A lot of cops stash their communicators along with their weapon, their badge, and so on.”
“That’s what I’d do. If you’re asking.”
“Me, too. But I’d try the house ’link first. Hanging at home, why have your pocket on you? Except then that tag would be on the ’link. You tag the pocket, well, all you have to do is take it with you.”
“Goddamn it,” Cleo said under her breath. “You are looking at us.”
“I’m looking at everybody.”
“Look all you want, while whoever did this to Ammy walks away. What kind of cop drags other cops through the blood?”
Cleo spun around, stormed away.
“And here you are, making friends as always.”
Eve glanced over her shoulder, into Roarke’s eyes. “I’ve got a couple more to go.”
“I’ll leave you to it, and pay my condolences to Morris.” He trailed a finger over the shoulder of her uniform jacket. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Okay. As soon as I can. Crowd’s starting to thin out, so I’ve got to piss off a couple more people before this is over.”
“If anyone can,” Roarke said, and left her to it.
She found Delong just outside the doors in conversation with ME Clipper. Delong broke off as Eve approached.
“Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Lieutenant Delong.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Clipper said, “I haven’t yet paid my respects.”
Delong waited a moment, then gave Eve a come-with-me signal and moved another couple of feet away from the entrance. “I know you’ve got a job to do,” he began, “and nobody, nobody wants you to do that job successfully more than I do. But I’m telling you, here and now, I resent you pushing at my squad. I particularly resent you pushing at my squad here when we’re mourning one of our own.”
“So noted.”
“I hope it is. I’ll also tell you I fully intend to make my feelings known on this to Commander Whitney.”
“You’re free to do so. Meanwhile, I’ll tell you that I believe Detective Coltraine left her apartment that night to go on the job. She left her apartment to go on the job because someone contacted her and lured her out. Someone who knew her habits, someone she trusted. Someone she worked with. Or for.”
Color flooded Delong’s face. “You don’t know that. A cop goes out, she straps it on. For the job, or to go pick up some goddamn milk.”
“Not this cop. If you knew your detective, you know that.”
He didn’t have Clifton’s tough-guy move, but he edged in on Eve just the same. “Do you think you can try digging up dirt on my men? Say one of them killed their fellow officer and not pay a price for it?”
“No, I don’t. If someone did the same to my men, I’d kick some ass. I’d also be asking myself some hard questions. I’d be looking harder and deeper than anyone.”
“I’m not you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Be careful where you push, and how hard.”
He might have stormed off then, but Whitney and his wife stepped off the glide. Instead, Delong walked stiffly up to them. Hands were shaken, Eve noted, condolences certainly offered. Then she saw Whitney nod before Delong strode onto the upward glide.
The Whitneys crossed the distance to Eve.
“Commander, Mrs. Whitney.”
Mrs. Whitney, trim in her stark black suit, took Eve’s hand in both of hers. The gesture, so out of character, had Eve blinking. “You have a difficult job. More difficult today.”
; “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll be right in,” Whitney said, and patted his wife’s arm. He blew out a breath when she went into the bereavement room. “A cop goes down, those with the bad luck to be married to one feel it. Well. Lieutenant Delong wants to speak with me, at my earliest convenience. You wouldn’t know what that may be about, would you, Lieutenant?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
“Won’t say. You’re cutting close to the bone, I expect. As squad boss, he’d want to defend and protect his men.”
“Yes, sir. Or he’s protecting himself.”
“If you connect him, or any of his squad to Ricker, make it solid. If we aim to put a cop in a cage, I don’t want any room for error.”
Though she wanted to get back upstairs, Eve took the time to corner Clipper. “What did Delong want?” she demanded. When Clipper merely looked pained, she hissed out a breath. “I’m investigating a cop murder. If it applies to my case, I want to know what he said.”
“He just asked if there was anything I could tell him, and why he’s blocked from receiving any reports on the case. He’s upset and frustrated, Dallas. Who wouldn’t be?”
“What did you tell him?”
“That my hands are tied. You’re in charge. That’s the way it is, and that’s the way my boss wants it. So my hands are tied.” Clipper used one of them to rub the back of his neck. “He’s steaming over you. I figure you know that already.”
“Yeah, I got a sense.”
“Every one of his men have contacted or come down to the morgue, hoping for information. I’ve got it locked down.”
“I appreciate that. Any of them give you grief?”
Clipper gave his trim goatee a slow, thoughtful stroke. “We’ll say Detective Clifton suggested I make love to myself, and suggested I’d already done so with my mother, on several occasions.”
“You’re a card, Clip. Did he get physical?”
“I was holding a laser scalpel at the time of our conversation. I can say I had the impression he might have wanted to dance otherwise.”
“Okay.”
“There’s really nothing I can tell any of them.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that. Let’s keep it that way.”
Eve caught Roarke’s eye as he spoke with the Whitneys. She angled her head toward the door, then signaled to Peabody.
Roarke, she thought, knew where to find her.
“Impressions,” Eve said as she started up with Peabody.
“That’s a very unhappy squad, with some anger just under the line. Word’s circulating that we’re spending more time and energy looking for dirt on them than on pursuing alternate leads.”
“Where did the word originate?”
“You know how it is, Dallas. This one says he heard that from this one who said that. Cops are gossip whores. I will say I haven’t been pumped so many times in such a short span since McNab and I moved into the apartment and felt honor bound to do it in every room. Twice.”
“Yes, my day wouldn’t have been complete without hearing that.”
“Various techniques,” Peabody continued, “which also bring back fond memories of that night. Delong’s straight out, with an authoritative snap. Like I’m required to answer his questions because he’s rank. The Newman guy sort of circles around, trying to get you to trip up and spill. O’Brian’s got the sad eyes and fatherly demeanor going for him. Grady tries the solidarity between us girl detectives. And Clifton goes direct to bully.”
“Did he put hands on you?”
“Not quite. I think that was going to be next, but O’Brian drew him off. Before that, Clifton got pissy I wasn’t telling him whatever he wanted to know and accused me of being an ass kisser. I responded that I have yet to have the privilege of kissing your ass, which I rate as the best—female variety—in the department.”
“That sounds like a pucker-up to me.”
Peabody snorted. “It was worth it. He went all puce. Or is it fuchsia? Which is the weird name that means hot pink?”
“I have no idea, nor want one.”
“Anyway, he went that color, and I’m pretty sure he was going to give me a shove. Then O’Brian came up, got in front of him.”
“That was enough?”
“He said, ‘Remember where you are, Dak. Don’t shame our Ammy, or the rest of your squad.’ Clifton said it was a couple of homicide bitches trying to shame the squad. But he backed off, walked away. Then O’Brian apologized for him, with the sad eyes and father demeanor.”
Eve grunted, and walked straight into the locker room. “Interesting. Interesting dynamics over there.” She thought it through as she undressed.
“O’Brian’s the father figure. The oldest, the most experienced. The rest of them look to him, even before they look to the lieutenant. He has them over for barbecues and—what do you call them—potluck dinners.”
Eve sat to remove the hard black shoes. “Newman, he’s the average joe, just your roll-with-it guy. The one you have a brew with after shift. Keeps his head down, and his mouth mostly shut. Direct opposite of Clifton. Hothead, short fuse, bad attitude. He likes using the badge or his fists to push people around.”
“Well, so do you. Kind of.”
“Yeah, so do I. But for me it’s a nice by-product. With him it’s the priority. Rules and regs, screw that. If you’re going through a door, he’s the one who’s got to go first. His control button’s faulty. The rest of them keep an eye on him, talk him down. But sooner or later . . .” She shook her head. “That short fuse is going to blow.”
Eve hung up her uniform, stowed the shoes, then began to dress. “Grady? She’s smart enough to use the fact she’s got tits when it works for her, and to forget them when it won’t. She’s ambitious, and you can bet she knows how to work everyone else in the squad.”
“She wants the boss’s chair?”
Eve glanced around. “Maybe, but she’s not working as hard for it as I’d expect. But she seems to like being in the small pond. As for the lieutenant, he’s a steady-as-it-goes type. Sticks mostly with the paperwork. Stands for his men, and I can’t fault him there, but Jesus, he’s going to complain to Whitney about how I’m doing my job. That’s weak. It’s fucking weak to go to command like that. You don’t have a strong squad if the helm’s weak.”
Peabody sighed as she buttoned her shirt. “It’s going to be one of them, isn’t it?”
“That’s my money. Maybe more than one of them.” Eve checked her wrist unit. “Callendar and Sisto should dock in about twelve hours. I put Webster’s report on your unit. Read it. Roarke’s got something, so I’m going to talk to him. Then maybe we’ll see if we can invite Alex Ricker down for some conversation.”
“He’ll be neck-deep in lawyers.”
“And won’t that be fun?”
“Like a barrel of rabid monkeys. Oh, Nadine came by. She didn’t bring a crew,” Peabody said quickly. “It was a sympathy call. Genuine. She couldn’t stay, and you were busy, so she said she’d see you tomorrow.”
“About what?”
“Dallas. The shower’s tomorrow. Louise’s shower.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Right.”
“We’ll be by around two to set things up.”
“What things?”
“Stuff.”
“If I can light a fire under . . .” Peabody’s face turned kicked-puppy pitiful. “All right, all right.” No point in pulling out her hair, Eve thought. Just no point. “You set up whatever, and let me know when it’s done. I can work until.”
Maybe longer than until, Eve thought as she headed out, if Callendar came through. It was probably too much to hope for, but it helped to think she might be slapping restraints on Ricker’s contact instead of watching a bunch of women coo over some stupid shower present. Besides . . .
“Oh shit, oh shit, stupid shower present!”
Now she did pull her hair as she made the dash to her office.
Roarke sat in her visitor’s chair, comforta
bly involved with his PPC. He glanced up, let loose a regretful sigh. “You changed. And I didn’t have any time to ogle you in uniform.”
“I have to go shopping!”
Staring at her, Roarke pressed his fingertips to his temple. “I’m sorry, I believe I must have had a small stroke. What did you say?”
“This isn’t funny.” She bent down, gripped him by the lapels. “I forgot to get a thing for the thing, and I don’t even know what the thing is supposed to be. Now I have to go out and hunt something down. Except—” Her eyes went from slightly mad to speculative. “We have all kinds of things around the house. Couldn’t I just wrap something up and—”