Free Fantasy in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

shower.”
    “Jesus, Peabody.”
    “Well, I didn’t ask for the dirty details, but all three of them just splurted it all out when they found out about the others. I really think most ginnies would say: Hey! Don’t even think about putting anything in there for a while.”
    “Ginnies?”
    “It’s a nice name for vagina. And I really think after a couple rounds, under most circumstances, your average ginnie would say, okay, that’ll hold me for a while. But does the penis just keep searching out the next orifice? I wonder since I don’t have one.”
    “In case you’re wondering, neither do I.”
    “I’ve seen you naked so I know this. I think even the most stalwart and energetic penis would, at some point, say enough’s enough for today or tonight, and since, hey, I’m all relaxed now, I’m taking a little vacation. Or just a nap.”
    “See now I’ve got this image of some cock sitting at a swim-up bar at a resort, wearing sunshades and drinking one of those stupid drinks full of fruit and paper umbrellas.”
    “Aw, that’s cute.”
    “It’s not cute. It’s mildly scary. Or disgusting. I’m not sure which. Both.” Eve blew out a tired breath. “I think both.”
    “It should have a little straw hat, too. Anyway, I don’t think it’s about sex with Dubrosky’s penis.”
    “Peabody, I can’t stress how much I don’t want to think about his penis.”
    “It’s addiction,” Peabody continued, unfazed. “I bet Mira’d agree,” she added, referring to the departmental profiler and shrink. “He equates his worth with his penis, and also uses it as a weapon.”
    “Okay, now I see it wearing a gold chain and toting a blaster. Stop now.”
    Shifting, Peabody gave Eve a look of delight. “You get the best pictures in your head. It’s why you’re a good cop. Dubrosky said all that crap about needing to be admired. But see, he’s probably talking about his looks, his manner, but subconsciously, he’s talking about his penis.”
    “Okay, if I agree with you, because actually I do, will you stop?”
    “I just think it’s interesting. Now take this DuVaugne—”
    Eve’s jaw tightened. “Do not start on his penis.”
    “A man ditches his wife of about twenty years for a big rack and a fresh young ginnie.”
    “Oh my God.”
    “He does that because he’s starting to think about his own mortality—and he really doesn’t want to. He needs the big rack and fresh young ginnie so he can say: Hey look what I’ve got, look where my penis gets to go, and it proves I’m still vital and virile. Which circles right back to the penis, which, yes, demands to be admired. You know, we could consult with Charles about this.”
    Eve pulled in at the morgue, and indulged herself by resting her brow on the steering wheel for a minute. “We don’t need a former licensed companion now sex therapist to investigate this case. Plus he and Louise are on their honeymoon.”
    “But they’ll be back in a few days. I think gaining insight into the penis may help in investigations down the road.”
    “Fine, you go right ahead and consult with Charles. Write me a freaking report on same. But now, I don’t want to hear the word penis for the rest of the day.”
    “There’s really no nice word for... that particular thing,” Peabody continued as they headed inside. “Everything’s either too hard—get it?—or too silly. But when you think about it, it’s pretty silly to have that particular thing swinging around down there. So—”
    “I will kill you. Save the taxpayers’ money by doing it right here in the morgue. It’s efficient.”
    Eve used the cool air, the white walls to offset the images Peabody’s theories etched in her brain. She spotted Morris in the tunneling corridor, speaking to one of the white-coated techs.
    “I’ll be in to check in a few minutes,” he told the tech, then turned to Eve. “I wondered if you’d make it in today.”
    “I wanted to catch you before you left.”
    “I