The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [209]
“A lot more work.” McNab polished off his waffles. “A lot more complicated. Just adding in the tax filing shit wouldn’t make that real practical.”
“So we hope we hit first pass. Can Feeney spare you if I want you on this?”
“I don’t know how he runs EDD without me, but if you ask, he nods, I’m yours. What about the ID search?”
“Can Callendar handle it?”
“She’s almost as good as I am.” He grinned. “And I’ve pointed her in the right direction anyway.”
“I’ll tag Feeney. Meanwhile, get down to Central and start contacting and interviewing these Linos.” She tossed him a disc. “If Feeney can’t live without you, just hang onto it for now. I have a copy. Peabody, with me. And if the two of you have to lock lips before parting ways, make it fast.”
Eve headed out so she didn’t have to watch.
But the rosy flush riding her partner’s cheeks when Peabody caught up told Eve there’d been more than a quick lip bump.
“Where first?”
“Morgue.”
“Waffles, corpses, and slabs. The cop’s trifecta. Did you get any sleep?”
“A couple hours.”
“I wish I could bounce on a couple like you do.”
“I don’t bounce. McNab bounces.”
“Yeah.” Peabody stifled a yawn as they walked out the front door. “I guess you plow, and I’m down to a crawl.” She flopped down in the passenger seat of the vehicle parked at the base of the stairs. “So, the side dish isn’t on your suspect list?”
“Dumb as a cornstalk. Roarke says sweet, and I guess I see that, too. Loyal, I’d say. She may be part of the motive, but she wasn’t part of the execution.”
“You said how we may intersect lines with the Flores case. But I don’t see it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I know it looks like they should cross, or merge. Same method, same basic victim type. Except they’re not basically the same victim type. And if it’s a killer on a mission, why is he keeping the mission to himself? Maybe the vics are connected in another way, but I can’t find it. I spent some time doing background on Jenkins. I just can’t see where he’d have run into the guy posing as Flores, where they’d have common ground.”
“You may not bounce or plow, but you’re crawling pretty well on a couple hours.” She made it nearly five blocks before she hit the first hideous traffic snarl. “Crap. Crap. Why do they call it rush hour when it lasts days and nobody can rush anywhere?”
She engaged her dash ’link to tag Feeney.
She’d barely finished securing McNab to the team when her ’link signaled an incoming.
“Dallas.”
“Lieutenant.” Mira’s admin sniffed on-screen. “Dr. Mira’s schedule is fully booked today.”
“I just need—”
“However, the doctor would be happy to discuss your current cases over her lunch break. Twelve o’clock. Ernest’s.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Be on time. The doctor doesn’t have time to wait.”
Before Eve could work up a scowl, the screen went blank. “Like I sit around and play mahjong all frigging day.”
“What is mahjong, exactly?”
“How the hell do I know? Am I playing it? Screw this.” If nothing else, Mira’s dragon’s attitude annoyed Eve enough to have her slapping on the sirens and going vertical.
Peabody gritted her teeth and gripped the chicken stick as Eve skimmed over the roofs of honking Rapid Cabs and compact commuters, as she veered around the hulk of a maxibus, veered back around the dingy wedge of a delivery van.
“He’s still going to be dead when we get there,” Peabody pointed out in a squeak. Then huffed out a breath of relief when Eve landed the vehicle in a short span of clear road.
“Look at that.” Eve pointed a finger at one of the animated billboards running news headlines.
There, looming over the circus of Times Square, was Jimmy Jay Jenkins, choking out his last breaths, falling like a huge white pine under the ax.
“They’ll be running that