The In Death Collection Books 16-20 - J. D. Robb [254]
“Textbook stuff,” Eve agreed. “And what’s funny is she didn’t follow the dots. That tells me she’s either oblivious or stupid, hiding something, or the possibility she might have helped raise a psychopath doesn’t enter her tidy little world.”
“What’s your money on?”
“The last one. She’s a pincher, all right, and worse. You get a lot of her type in the foster system. Somebody like her wouldn’t consider she had a mentally or emotionally twisted charge as long as the kid presented the illusion of submission.”
“Did you?”
“Not so much, but I could when it was worth my while. And I know a lot of kids, most kids, come through something like that and lead normal lives. Renquist could be one of them. His sister might very well have been clumsy. But I don’t like coincidence. I’ve got to mull this over and I’ve got to go meet the Boston cop.”
“I’ll drop you.”
“No, better I catch a cab or take the underground. This guy sees me show up in a hot car with a fancy piece behind the wheel, he’s not going to like me.”
“You know how I love being referred to as your fancy piece.”
“Sometimes you’re my love muffin.”
He managed a strangled laugh. She could, at the oddest times, surprise him. “And I try my very best to earn the name. In any case, I’ve got some business I can take care of. Why don’t you contact me when you’ve finished, and let me know what comes next?”
“You’re pretty amenable for a fancy piece.”
He leaned down and kissed her lightly. “I’ve been thoroughly disciplined.”
“My ass.”
“Which is certainly part of the package. No rush,” he added as he slid into the car. “I’m going to be at least an hour myself.”
It took Eve over a quarter of that to travel through the hideous Boston traffic. It still put her at the bar and grill a half block from Haggerty’s station house ahead of time.
It was a typical cop haunt—good, cheap food and drink with no fancy notes. Booths, a scatter of two and four tops, and plenty of stools along the bar.
There were a number of off-shift cops, in and out of uniform, winding down from the day. Attention slid her way when she entered, the brief beat of observation, then recognition of breed. Cop to cop.
She’d expected Haggerty to come in early—marking his territory—and wasn’t surprised by the signal from a lone man at a table.
He was toughly built—bull-chested, big-shouldered, with a ruddy, square face topped by a short crop of sandy hair. He studied her as she crossed the room.
There was a beer, half gone, in front of him.
“DS Haggerty?”
“That’s me. Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Thanks for making time.”
They shook hands; she sat.
“Want a beer?”
“Could use one, thanks.”
She let him order it, since it was his territory, and let him take his time sizing her up.
“You got an interest in one of my open cases,” he said at length.
“I got a vic. A strangulation, rape with object. A run-through IRCCA for like crimes turned up yours. My theory is he was practicing, perfecting, before he did the New York job.”
“He wasn’t sloppy in Boston. Neither am I.”
She nodded, sipped her beer. “I’m not here to bust balls, Haggerty, or to question your investigation. I need a hand. If I’m right, the guy we’re both looking for is working in New York now, and he’s not done. So we help each other, and we shut him down.”
“And you get the collar.”
She drank more beer, let it simmer. “I take him in New York, I get the collar. That’s the way it works. But your boss will know if any information you share with me aided in the arrest and conviction of this son of a bitch. And you’ll close your case. Your cold case,” she added. “Unless you’re a fuckup, you’ll be able to hang another murder on him. When this goes down, there’s going to be a lot of media. You’ll get your share of that, too.”
He sat back. “Pissed you off.”
“I start off my day pissed off. My investigation has