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“We can review the lobby tapes, check out anyone with briefcases or satchels.”

“There are five floors of offices in this building. Every second person carts in a briefcase. There are fifty-two shops. Every third person has satchels.” Eve moved her shoulders. “We’ll look anyway. Summerset didn’t do this, Peabody.” When her aide remained silent, Eve turned impatiently. “Brennen was five-ten, but he was a hundred and ninety pounds—and a lot of that was muscle. Maybe, just maybe, a skinny, bone-ass fart like Summerset could take Brennen by surprise, but he doesn’t have the arm to have severed flesh and bone with one swipe. And one swipe was what it took. Say he got lucky and managed that—how do you figure he hauled dead weight from here to the bedroom, then managed to drag that nearly two hundred pounds of dead weight up two and a half feet onto the bed? He isn’t physical enough. He’s got strong hands,” she murmured, remembering well how those fingers had gripped her arm from time to time and bruised. “But he’s got no muscle, no arm, and he’s not used to lifting much more than a tea tray or his nose in the air.”

Now she sighed. “And you have to figure that if he’s smart enough to play electronic games with us, to fiddle with security discs, he’d have done better than to let himself get tagged walking into the lobby of the murder scene. Why didn’t he wipe those discs while he was at it?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Peabody admitted.

“Somebody’s setting him up, and they’re setting him up to get to Roarke.”

“Why?”

Eve stared into Peabody’s eyes for a long ten seconds. “Let’s seal up here.”

“Dallas, I’m no good to you if you stick blinders on me.”

“I know. Let’s seal it up.”

“I need air,” Eve said when they were outside again and Peabody’s recorder was tucked away. “And food. Any objections to getting both in Central Park?”

“No.”

“Don’t pout, Peabody,” Eve warned as they climbed back into the car. “It’s not attractive.”

They drove in silence, squeezed into a street level parking spot, and headed off into the denuded trees. The wind had enough kick to make Eve fasten her jacket as they crunched dead leaves under their feet. At the first glide-cart Eve debated between a veggie hash pocket and a scoop of soy fries. She opted for grease while Peabody ordered a single healthy fruit kabob.

“Your Free-Ager’s showing,” Eve commented.

“I don’t consider food a religious issue.” Peabody sniffed and bit into a pineapple spear. “Though my body is a temple.”

It made Eve smile. She was going to be forgiven. “I’m in possession of certain information that, as an officer of the law, I am duty bound to report to my superior. I have no intention of doing so.”

Peabody studied a slice of hothouse peach, slid it off the stick. “Would this information have relevance in a case currently under investigation?”

“It would. If I share this information with you, you would also be duty bound to report it. Not doing so would make you an accessory after the fact. You’d risk your badge, your career, and very likely some portion of your freedom.”

“It’s my badge, my career, my freedom.”

“Yes, it is.” Eve stopped, turned. The wind ruffled her hair as she studied the earnest face, the sober eyes. “You’re a good cop, Peabody. You’re on your way to earning a detective’s shield. I know that’s important to you. I know what mine meant to me.”

She looked away to where two uniformed nannies watched their young charges play on the grass. Nearby a jogger stopped along the path to stretch, to shift the bottle of antimugging spray on his hip when a licensed beggar meandered in his direction. Overhead, a park security copter cruised lazily with monotonous thudding blades.

“This information I have affects me personally, so I’ve made the choice. It doesn’t affect you.”

“With respect, Lieutenant, it does. If you’re questioning my loyalty—”

“It isn’t a matter of loyalty, Peabody. This is the law, this is duty, this . . .” Heaving a breath, she dropped down on a bench. “This is a mess.”

“If you share this