Connections in Death (In Death #48)(83)

“Ah, well now. I suddenly regret only punching him once. You’ve made quite a haul, Lieutenant, and I expect you’ll be at this for a while. I’d like to have a look at Peabody before you start the next phase of this.”

“She got tripped up by one of the bad guys. They both went down the steps the wrong way. She’s lucid,” Eve said as they crossed to the mobile. “I don’t think she broke anything.”

“And you?”

“Most of this is from a female with arms like concrete. They call her Tank for a reason. But she looks worse.” There was, always, satisfaction in that. “Hey, that’s Louise.”

Roarke studied the woman applying ice patches to Peabody’s face. “So it is. We know our Peabody’s in good hands with Dr. Dimatto.”

When he reached her, Roarke laid a gentle kiss on Peabody’s forehead. “How’s our girl?”

“Louise gave me really nice drugs.”

“Yes, I did. And let’s sling that arm until you get another pass with a healing wand. No breaks,” Louise continued. “But a jammed shoulder, and her knee’s going to need more treatment. My clinic’s open.”

She glanced around, studied Eve’s face with cool gray eyes. “You’re next.”

“I’m fine.”

“Which one of us has the medical degree?”

It seemed wise to change the subject. “What are you even doing here?”

“Word went out there were a lot of injuries in this location. Sit down, and I’ll—”

But Eve’s attention moved elsewhere. “Later. McNab get Peabody to the clinic. Go with her.” Eve was already moving.

She grabbed the arm of a woman being loaded into a wagon.

“Where’d you get the bracelet?”

“Fuck you!” The woman bared her teeth. The layers of eye makeup had bled down to smear below her eyes costing the rage glittering in them some points.

“Book this one on accessory to murder, three counts.”

“What?” She tried to break out of the uniform’s hold, jerking one way, the other, and exposing even more of her left breast and its black rose tattoo. “I didn’t do nothing!”

“The bracelet.”

“What the fuck. Asshole wanted a BJ. I got the bracelet.”

“Which asshole is that? Name, or three counts.”

“Ticker. That’s all I know. New guy.”

“Hold on,” Eve told the uniform, and went to get an evidence bag. “You’re wearing stolen property.” Carefully, she unhooked the bracelet with its large colorful stones, slid it into the bag. “When and where did you make the trade?”

“This is bullshit.”

“I can add soliciting without a license.”

“Last night, after I got off work.”

“What time do you get off work?”

“Like three. He’s coming out of the house, and says give him a BJ and I can have the bracelet. So what, he stole it? How’m I supposed to know?”

With a shake of her head, Eve walked back toward Roarke, held up the evidence bag.

“That would be Rochelle’s.”

“Matches her description, and it was on the wrist of some Banger Bitch who got it from a new recruit named Ticker in exchange for a BJ. He’ll be in this sweep. I’ve got them. Just have to nail it down.”

Roarke glanced around. Those in custody were still being loaded, or treated. Cops getting treated or swarming in and out of the building. People from the neighborhood crowded behind the barricades. And if he wasn’t mistaken a media copter hovering overhead recording the scene.

Add to whatever Detective Strong had going at her location.

“Do you intend to manage the nailing tonight?”

Wouldn’t that be just fine? Eve thought. But. “No. We need inventory on what we confiscate, all these people have to be processed. First, I want to see what’s in the room with the extra filters. The one I believe BJ guy and the finger-snapper were in talking to Jorgenson.

“I need to ID this Ticker. Then I need to coordinate with Strong, write this up. Then we’ll see.”

“Somewhere in there you’ll have a round with ice patches and a healing wand.”

“Somewhere.”

“And a meal.”

She thought about it. “I could eat. But I want to see that room. You should go home.”

“Then who’d handle the ice patches, healing wand, and the meal?”

“I can take care of it.” The smirk she gave him stung her bloodied lip a little, but it was worth it. “Dreamcake.”

He smiled at her. “Let’s look at the room, and whatever else you need here. I’ll go into Central with you. Then we’ll see.”

She could go with that, and started back to the house with him. She found Baxter coming down the stairs.

“Most of this place is a sty,” he told her. “Individual flops high on the sty gauge. We’re logging illegals, stickers, saps, black-market stunners. How’s Peabody?”

“Should be at Dimatto’s clinic by now. Sweepers are headed in. You can get Trueheart, go have your home-cooked.”

“Yeah?”

“Briefing seven-thirty tomorrow. We’re going to be rotating cops and bad guys in and out of the box. It’s going to take hours to process all of them tonight, not to mention to process what we take out of here.”