Free Eternity in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

soon.” She looked over as Peabody came in.
    “Nothing on the canvass so far,” Peabody reported. “I got in touch with the ex-husband. He lives a few blocks from here. He’s on his way.”
    “We’ll take him outside. He doesn’t need to see this.” Nobody needed to see what cops had to see. “Body can be bagged and tagged. There’s nothing else she can tell us here. Let’s see what she says to Morris.”
    She went out, grateful for the sunlight, and for the smell that was New York rather than death. She started to reach for her ’link to nag the lab yet again, when she spotted a six-and-a-half-foot black man with a body like a linebacker sprinting across the street against the light.
    He wore short dreads, sweatpants, and a T-shirt, and an expression of fear in his topaz eyes. When he tried—and was well on his way to succeeding—shoving past the uniforms at the crime-scene barricade, she called out, went over.
    “Rick Sabo?”
    “Yes. Yes. My wife—my ex-wife. A detective called and said…”
    “Let him through. I’m Lieutenant Dallas, Mr. Sabo. I’m sorry about your ex-wife.”
    “But are you absolutely sure it’s her? She had a panic button, a ministunner. She knew how to handle herself. Maybe—”
    “She’s been identified, I’m sorry. When did you—”
    She broke off when he just crouched down, dropped his head in his hands as a man would if pierced by a sudden and unspeakable pain. “Oh, God, oh, God. Alless. I can’t…I told her to quit that goddamn job. I told her.”
    “Why did you tell her to quit her job?”
    He looked up, but since he didn’t straighten, Eve hunkered down with him. “She worked in this cult club—vampire shit—which is bad enough. But it was underground, off Times Square. It wasn’t safe, it’s not safe down there, and she knew it.”
    “Then why’d she work there?”
    “Made three times what she made on street level. Sometimes four with tips. No doubles. She wanted to buy a house, a little house, maybe in Queens. We’ve got a boy.” His eyes watered up. “We got Sam, and she wanted a place out of the city. We share custody of Sam. But, Jesus, I told her it wasn’t worth it. I went down to check it out right after she took the job. Goddamn pit in a goddamn sewer. Alless.”
    There was love here, Eve thought. Maybe not enough to make a marriage work, but there was love. “Did she talk about her work, the people she worked with? For?”
    “No, not to me. Not after we went a round about it. Haven’t fought like that since we split. Don’t know that we fought like that before we split. I was scared, if you want to know the truth. Scared for her, and I handled it wrong.”
    His hands dangled between his knees now, and he stared at them as if they were foreign objects. “Flat out told her she was going to quit, and I know that’s just the way to make her dig into something. If I’d handled it better, she might’ve…”
    He looked up, looked past Eve. There were people gathered on the other side of the barricades, as people always did.
    What happened? They’d ask, and as word trickled down, they’d think how awful, how terrible, even as they continued to gawk, to linger, to hope to catch a glimpse of the dead body before they had to head off to work.
    Because it wasn’t them, it wasn’t theirs the city had swallowed up. So they could gawk and linger and congratulate themselves that it wasn’t them or theirs—and the next time it might be.
    Sabo didn’t see them, Eve knew that, too. Because for him, it was the next time.
    “Mr. Sabo, did you meet any of her coworkers or her employer while you were in the club, or after?”
    “What? No. No.” He scrubbed his hands hard over his face. “Didn’t want to. I only stayed about twenty minutes. Illegals passing around like party favors. People coming out of the private rooms licking blood off their lips, or it looked like it. She wanted a damn house in Queens.”
    “Mr. Sabo, I have to ask.