The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [24]
“She’s lovely when she’s annoyed, isn’t she, Peabody?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“Fourteen minutes,” Eve warned. “And counting.”
“Why don’t we start at the top?” He offered Peabody his arm. “And work our way down.”
When they were out of earshot, she pulled out her communicator and called Feeney in the Electronic Detective Division. “I need a favor,” she said the minute his worn and weary face floated on-screen.
“If it ties to the cop killing, we won’t count it. Every man in my unit’ll put in whatever time you need on it. Son of a bitch thinks he can get off with doing a cop like that, he’s gonna find out different, and the hard way.”
Eve waited until he’d run down. “Switch this transmission to privacy mode, would you?”
Feeney frowned but made the switch and slipped on his headset. “What’s the deal?”
“You’re not going to like it. Let’s clear that up front so you don’t have to give me grief on it. I need you to run two cops for me. Lieutenant Alan Mills and Detective Julianna Martinez, both in Illegals out of the One twenty-eight.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I need a quiet run, Feeney. I don’t want any flags going up.”
His already mournful face dropped into sags. “I especially don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry to ask. I’d do it myself, but you can do it faster and quieter.” She glanced up to where Roarke and Peabody walked along the top level. “I don’t like it either, but I’ve got to open the door before I can close it.”
Though he was alone in his office, Feeney lowered his voice. “You just looking, Dallas, or are you looking for dirt?”
“I can’t fill you in now, but I’ve got too many connections to ignore. Do this for me, Feeney, and when it’s done, let me know. We’ll hook up somewhere, and I’ll bring you up to date.”
“I know Mills. He’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure.”
“But I can’t see him dirty, Dallas.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? We never want to see it.”
She pocketed the communicator, righted a bar stool, and sat. In her notebook she began listing names, putting Kohli’s in the center with arrows out to Ricker, connecting his with Mills and theirs with Martinez. She added Roth, curving a line to all, then in the bottom corner she added Webster. IAB.
She arrowed his to Kohli and wondered if she would be connecting him to anyone else before it was done.
Then, because it had to be done, she added Roarke, hooked him to Kohli and to Ricker. And hoped to God that would be the end of it.
Death, she thought, left a picture, told a story, from both the victim’s and the killer’s point of view. The scene itself, the body, the method, time and place, what was left behind, what was taken away. They were all part of the story.
Illegals, she thought, continuing to scribble in her book. Blood on the shield. Overkill. Strippers. Missing security discs. Vice. Sex? Money. Thirty credit chips.
She continued to make notes, frown over them as Roarke and Peabody worked their way back to her. “Why the credit chips?” she asked out loud. “Because he died for money? Not to make it look like a robbery. Another symbol? Blood money. Why thirty chips?”
“Thirty pieces of silver,” Roarke said, watching Eve’s blank stare. “Your state education, Lieutenant, wouldn’t have included Bible study. Judas was paid thirty pieces of silver for betraying Christ.”
“Thirty pieces of silver.” It clicked with her, and she nodded as she pushed to her feet. “We can figure Kohli stands for Judas. But who’s standing as Jesus?” She scanned the scene one last time. “Time’s up,” she told Roarke. “You’ll want to call your ride.”
“He’ll be outside by now.” Roarke opened the door himself, holding it. As Eve moved by him, he caught her, yanked her against him and closed his mouth warmly over hers. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant.”
“Oh man, he can really kiss.” Peabody all but sang it as Roarke strolled to the limo waiting at the curb. “You can tell, just by watching him do it, he’s a seriously excellent