Free In Death 18 - Divided in Death by authors_sort Page B
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day.”
“Yeah, a couple of continents, I imagine. Just like I imagine your rep will stand the hit, if it comes. It will,” she repeated when he said nothing. “And I’d make book you’ll fast-talk your way into keeping the bulk of those pendings.”
The first gush of anger cooled. “That’s considerable faith in me, Lieutenant.”
“Considerable faith in that Irish guile of yours, ace.”
She pulled out her communicator and called for an EDD pickup. She stepped into the studio from the bedroom area as Peabody stepped in from the gallery.
“Got the interview—the really long, rambling, theatrical interview with McCoy. Due to which, I just took a departmentally approved blocker for the amazing headache.”
“Where is she?”
“I let her go. She’s planning to lay prostrate in bed in her apartment, and permit herself to be swept away by the rising tide of her grief. That’s a direct quote. I did a standard run on her while she was babbling,” she added, and brightened considerably when Roarke stepped out. “She’s twenty-one, as advertised. Still working on her art and theater degrees, big surprise there. Employed here for the last eight months. No criminal. Born in Topeka.” She tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. Was Farm Queen her senior year of high school, another shocker. Moved here at eighteen to attend Columbia, partial scholarship. She comes up as clean and green as a Kansas wheat field.”
“Do a second-level run on her anyway.”
“On her?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way. You come in your own transpo?” she asked Roarke.
“I did. I’ll follow you over.”
“Good enough. Since you’re civilian consultant for EDD, contact Feeney and bring him up to date.”
“Yes, sir.” He winked at Peabody as they stepped into the elevator. “You look tired, Detective.”
“I’m whipped. It’s what . . . fourteen hundred. Twelve hours on the clock, on no sleep to speak of. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Just focus,” Eve ordered. “I’ll give you an hour’s personal in the crib at Central after this.”
“A whole hour.” Peabody gave up and yawned again. “Boy, that ought to set me up.”
———«»———«»———«»———
By the time they were double-parked in front of Caro’s building, Peabody’s droopy eyes were back on alert.
“Techno-terrorists, Code Reds, government alliances. Jeez, Dallas, it sort of rocks. It’s like spy stuff.”
“It’s like murder stuff, seeing as there are two bodies in the morgue.”
Even as she got out of the car, the doorman, spiffy in hunter green with gold braid, marched over. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t leave your vehicle there. Public parking is available two blocks west, on . . .”
He trailed off, snapped to attention like a new army recruit faced with a five-star general when Roarke strolled up to join them. “Sir! I wasn’t told you were expected. I was just informing this woman that her vehicle is in violation of the parking code.”
“This is my wife, Jerry.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.—”
“Lieutenant.” She ground it out between her teeth. “Dallas, and that makes this a police vehicle. That means it stays where I put it.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll make certain it’s not disturbed.”
He hustled to the door, opened it with some flourish. “Just call down if you need anything,” he said. “I’m on the door until four.”
“We’re fine. Nice to see you again, Jerry.”
“Always a pleasure, sir.”
Roarke walked directly to the automated security panel that was flanked by two tall urns filled with burnished gold fall flowers. “Why don’t I do it, and save time?” Without waiting for the go-ahead, he placed his palm on the plate, and was immediately cleared.
Good afternoon, sir! the computer said with the same delighted enthusiasm as Jerry the doorman. Welcome back. What can I do for you?
“Inform Ms. Ewing that I’m here, along with
“Yeah, a couple of continents, I imagine. Just like I imagine your rep will stand the hit, if it comes. It will,” she repeated when he said nothing. “And I’d make book you’ll fast-talk your way into keeping the bulk of those pendings.”
The first gush of anger cooled. “That’s considerable faith in me, Lieutenant.”
“Considerable faith in that Irish guile of yours, ace.”
She pulled out her communicator and called for an EDD pickup. She stepped into the studio from the bedroom area as Peabody stepped in from the gallery.
“Got the interview—the really long, rambling, theatrical interview with McCoy. Due to which, I just took a departmentally approved blocker for the amazing headache.”
“Where is she?”
“I let her go. She’s planning to lay prostrate in bed in her apartment, and permit herself to be swept away by the rising tide of her grief. That’s a direct quote. I did a standard run on her while she was babbling,” she added, and brightened considerably when Roarke stepped out. “She’s twenty-one, as advertised. Still working on her art and theater degrees, big surprise there. Employed here for the last eight months. No criminal. Born in Topeka.” She tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. Was Farm Queen her senior year of high school, another shocker. Moved here at eighteen to attend Columbia, partial scholarship. She comes up as clean and green as a Kansas wheat field.”
“Do a second-level run on her anyway.”
“On her?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way. You come in your own transpo?” she asked Roarke.
“I did. I’ll follow you over.”
“Good enough. Since you’re civilian consultant for EDD, contact Feeney and bring him up to date.”
“Yes, sir.” He winked at Peabody as they stepped into the elevator. “You look tired, Detective.”
“I’m whipped. It’s what . . . fourteen hundred. Twelve hours on the clock, on no sleep to speak of. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Just focus,” Eve ordered. “I’ll give you an hour’s personal in the crib at Central after this.”
“A whole hour.” Peabody gave up and yawned again. “Boy, that ought to set me up.”
———«»———«»———«»———
By the time they were double-parked in front of Caro’s building, Peabody’s droopy eyes were back on alert.
“Techno-terrorists, Code Reds, government alliances. Jeez, Dallas, it sort of rocks. It’s like spy stuff.”
“It’s like murder stuff, seeing as there are two bodies in the morgue.”
Even as she got out of the car, the doorman, spiffy in hunter green with gold braid, marched over. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t leave your vehicle there. Public parking is available two blocks west, on . . .”
He trailed off, snapped to attention like a new army recruit faced with a five-star general when Roarke strolled up to join them. “Sir! I wasn’t told you were expected. I was just informing this woman that her vehicle is in violation of the parking code.”
“This is my wife, Jerry.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.—”
“Lieutenant.” She ground it out between her teeth. “Dallas, and that makes this a police vehicle. That means it stays where I put it.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll make certain it’s not disturbed.”
He hustled to the door, opened it with some flourish. “Just call down if you need anything,” he said. “I’m on the door until four.”
“We’re fine. Nice to see you again, Jerry.”
“Always a pleasure, sir.”
Roarke walked directly to the automated security panel that was flanked by two tall urns filled with burnished gold fall flowers. “Why don’t I do it, and save time?” Without waiting for the go-ahead, he placed his palm on the plate, and was immediately cleared.
Good afternoon, sir! the computer said with the same delighted enthusiasm as Jerry the doorman. Welcome back. What can I do for you?
“Inform Ms. Ewing that I’m here, along with