Connections in Death (In Death #48)(34)

“Duff got that started, and now she’s dead, too. And you know what I’m going to find? I’m going to find the same three who killed Pickering killed Duff. To shut her mouth. I’m going to find those three are three of yours.”

“The fuck you will.”

“Count on it. Who wants a war with the Dragons? Who wants one enough to violate your neutral zone with rape and murder?”

“Ask the Dragons. If they want one, they’ll get one.”

Eve watched his face while he squeezed anemic ketchup on his runny powdered eggs. “There’s a lot of collateral damage in wars. People hunker down at home, don’t go out to eat or shop. They don’t look to move into the area. Wars are bad for business, aren’t they, Slice, and you’ve got considerable business in this sector.”

He began to eat, his eyes on his plate now rather than on her. “My business is my business.”

“Where’d you get the scratch to buy into the building where you flop? And this place? And Wet Dreams?”

“My business.” He scooped up more eggs. “Is my business.”

“Banger business mostly runs to illegals, sex work, the protection racket, a little identity theft, a little fraud. You’d pull in a share of that, a top-level share, but it’s hard to see that share spreading out enough to buy into property.”

“We in the security business. We offer up security to locals, help keep the neighborhood safe.”

He gestured to the waitress. “We keep the neighborhood safe around here, Melba?”

She smiled like a woman with a stunner at her throat. “You sure do, Slice.”

“We got licenses for the sex work,” he continued. “We got those who flop at one of our places pay rent for it. If I got business, it don’t mean I ain’t loyal to my crew.”

It wasn’t only temper under his tone, barely controlled, but nerves. He didn’t like her pushing on his outside enterprises.

So she pushed again.

“Maybe you don’t see taking a little extra off the top as disloyal. Others may disagree. In fact, some in your crew might wonder how it is you can buy property with a disgraced lawyer and his skirt—then charge rent.”

She could smell the nerves on him now, the way she could smell what passed as sausage on his plate.

“Owning shit’s no crime. Seems to me you’re saying all this was to spark off a war, and how I got business interests that could get squeezed by a war. Makes no sense for me to get it going.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Property values go down, you buy it up cheaper. All kind of angles here, Slice.”

“Screw your angles.” He flicked his eyes up to hers now, eyes filled with rage. “I got nothing more to say.”

“Then think about this while you’re finishing your breakfast. If you didn’t order these hits, somebody in your crew went around you and ordered them. Who wants a war?” she repeated, and slid out of the booth.

“Something to think about,” she added, leaving him to his runny eggs and orange grits.

“You don’t think he ordered either hit,” Peabody said as they walked back to the car.

“Fifty-fifty’s down to sixty-forty against. Both kills were sloppy. I don’t think he’d be that sloppy. He’s a killer, and if he had reason, he’d have taken both of them out.”

Once again, she got behind the wheel, studied the HQ. “Then there’s that forty. Maybe the sloppy had purpose. Maybe he’s got an eye to buy up more, scare people into selling or moving. You fight your way up to top ranks because you want power. You go into business because you want to make money. Right now, he’s got both going.”

She started to pull out when her ’link signaled. She took it on her wrist unit as she drove. “Dallas.”

“Strong. I just got in—had an op closing up—and got your message. Lyle Pickering.”

“In the morgue. So is his one-time skirt, Dinne Duff. What do you know?”

“I know we need to talk. I can come to you.”

Something in the tone had Eve deciding to skip the trip to Casa del Sol to talk to Pickering’s boss and coworkers. “I’m heading into Central. Give me thirty.”

“I’ll see you in your office in thirty.”

“I’ll want Peabody so the lounge might be better.”

“Your office, sir. Please.”

“Okay then. In thirty. Something there,” Eve mused. “For now, Peabody, check in with EDD on Pickering’s ’link. He had to have a sponsor. Let’s see if we can pin that down, and have him or her come in to Central. Seems to me a recovering addict might tell another recovering addict more than he does his family. Add the family to the list, too. We need to have conversations. They come to us or we go to them, whichever works.”

While Peabody worked, Eve mulled. She turned over what she knew with what she believed. Juggled it all again, turned it over again.

By the time she pulled into the garage at Central, she figured she had about fifteen of her thirty left to set up her board, her book.

“Okay, EDD ID’d the sponsor from the frequency of transmissions, and the content of same as Matthew Fenster. Forty-one, he’s employed at the Clean House rehabilitation center and also helps run their halfway house—where Pickering did his stint after making parole.”