The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [99]
“Good day to you, Inspector.”
By the time Eve got back to the hotel, lunch had worn off and jet lag was fuzzing her mind. She found the suite empty, but there were a half dozen coded faxes waiting on the machine. She added more coffee to her overburdened system while she scanned them.
She yawned until her jaw cracked, then put through a call to Peabody’s palm ’link.
“Peabody.”
“Dallas. I just got in. Have the sweepers finished with the white van found abandoned downtown?”
“Yes, sir. Wrong trail. That van was used in a robbery in Jersey and dumped down on Canal. I’m still pursuing that lead, but it’s going to take more time to eliminate vehicles. The cabdriver was a wash. He didn’t even know his tags had been lifted.”
“McNab make any progress on the jammer?”
Peabody snorted, then sobered. “He claims to be making some headway, though he phrases all of it in electro-ese and I can’t make it out. He had a great time with some e-jockey of Roarke’s. I think they’re in love.”
“Your snotty side’s showing, Peabody.”
“Not nearly as much as it could be. No transmissions have come through, so our boy’s taking a break from mayhem. McNab is staying here at your home office tonight in case there’s a send. I’m staying, too.”
“You and McNab are staying in my office tonight?”
Her mouth moved perilously close to a pout. “If he’s staying, I’m staying. Besides, the food’s superior.”
“Try not to kill each other.”
“I’m showing admirable restraint in that particular area, sir.”
“Right. Is Summerset behaving himself?”
“He went to some art class, then out for coffee and brandy with his lady friend. I had him shadowed. It was all very dignified according to the report. He got back about twenty minutes ago.”
“See that he stays in.”
“I’ve got it covered. Any progress there?”
“That’s debatable. We have a list of potentials, which was shorted by half during interviews. I’m going to take a closer look at six,” she said, rubbing her tired eyes. “One’s in New York, and one’s supposed to be in Boston. I’ll run them when I get in tomorrow. We should be back by noon.”
“We’ll keep the home fires burning, Lieutenant.”
“Find that damn van, Peabody.” She disengaged the ’link and ordered herself not to wonder, or worry, about where Roarke could be.
He knew better than to go home. It was foolish and fruitless and irresistible. The shanties had changed little since he’d been a boy trying to crawl his way out of them. The buildings were cheaply constructed, with roofs sagging, windows broken. It was rare to see a flower bloom here, but a few hopeful souls had scratched out a stamp-sized garden at the doorstep of the six-flat building where he’d lived once.
But the flowers, however bright, couldn’t overcome the odor of piss and vomit. And they couldn’t lighten the air that lay thick with despair.
He didn’t know why he went in, but he found himself standing inside the dim lobby with its sticky floors and peeling paint. And there were the stairs his father had once kicked him down because he hadn’t made his quota lifting wallets.
Oh, but I had, Roarke thought now. What was a kick and tumble compared to the pounds he’d secreted away? The old man had been too drunk, and often too stupid, to have suspected his whipping boy of holding back any of the take.
Roarke had always held back. A pound here, a pound there could make a tidy sum for a determined boy willing to take his licks.
“He’d have given me his fist in my face in any case,” he murmured and gazed up those battered stairs.
He could hear someone cursing, someone else weeping. You would always hear cursing and weeping in such places. The odor of boiled cabbage was strong and turned his stomach so he sought the thick air outside again.
He saw a teenage boy in tight black pants and a mop of fair hair watching him coolly from the curb. Across the street a couple of girls chalking the cracked sidewalk for hopscotch stopped to watch. He walked passed them, aware there were