Connections in Death (In Death #48)(94)

“Right. Later. Don’t forget to—” Now Peabody shot him a look, with a little plea it in. “Okay, later.”

When he left, with a last glance back, Eve took a seat. “How bad is it? And don’t bullshit me. I’m asking as your boss, and I fully intend to contact Louise, so don’t bullshit me.”

“He’s just being sweet,” Peabody began, then shifted under the cool stare. “The knee’s the worst. I’ve got to wear the brace for a couple days. Or a few maybe. And do a little PT. I didn’t break anything, but there’s a little tearing. Not bad,” she insisted. “Not like they have to go in and do anything. Just the brace, icing, the PT, and elevation when I can.”

“The shoulder?”

“Better—honest. Louise said it’ll be sore, and I won’t have full range of motion for a couple days. She gave me some exercises to do to help that. I banged my hip pretty good, but that’s better, too, and bright side, I figure I banged it pretty good as I don’t have as much padding as I did. Loose pants.”

“The rest?”

“Just some bumps and bruises, I swear. She’ll tell you the same. And if I can just say, boss, you look worse than I do.”

“Concrete biceps on Zeus to the face. It might not look pretty, but it doesn’t require desk duty.”

“Oh, but—”

“You’ve got the interview assignments,” Eve interrupted. “You can do those sitting down. When we nail them, Peabody, and we will nail them, you’re riding the desk for the rest of the week, or until your doctor clears you for active.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Peabody muttered.

“Then you should have already had your pouting time. And I want your word—don’t fuck with me—that if you need a break, you tell me. This is the long haul. You need a break during the haul, you take one.”

“I’m not sitting in interview with my leg up on a chair like some invalid.”

“No, you’re not. So you take breaks as needed.”

“Okay, deal. No bullshit, and no fucking with you.”

“Then let’s go. We take Washington first.”

“Snapper. I reviewed the report, his sheet.”

“I need you to start out good cop. Once we get a sense of him, get a rhythm, you adjust as you go, as you think, but start out sympathetic.”

“Lull him, got it.”

Eve stopped outside of interview when she saw Mira.

“I’ll be in and out of Observation,” Mira told her. “I’ll help when and where I can. I’ve cleared as much of my schedule as possible.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Good luck.”

With Peabody, Eve stepped into interview. “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia, entering interview with Washington, Denby, on the matter of case files . . .” She paused, consulting her file, as if she needed to, then ran them through for the record.

“Y’all cops look beat up.” He grinned when he said it.

He had a hulking build, not as big as Aimes, but the sort who spent a lot of his time bulking up because he thought it made him look tough.

It didn’t.

Acne scars sprinkled over his dark skin. His short dreads had fading red tips, and his jaw carried an impressive bruise from Roarke’s fist.

His data set his age at eighteen. He looked younger—until you saw the mean in his eyes. That read old and bitter.

“You, too, Denby,” Eve said as she sat.

“This here’s from police brutality. I be suing first chance.”

“Is that so? Strange, the record very clearly shows you incurred that injury while attempting to jack a police vehicle—while armed. That’s one of the charges pending against you.”

“Bullshit charge.”

Below the table, his fingers snapped. Eve could hear the snap, snap, snap.

“I’m trying to warn the van people shit’s going down, and dude sucker punched me, that’s what.”

“So when you were shouting—on the record—” Once again she consulted her file. “`Get the fuck out the van or I kill you motherfuckers,’ you were warning them because it sounds, clearly, like a threat to do bodily harm.”

“That weren’t me. Somebody else.”

“It was confusing out there,” Peabody began.

“Damn right. Shit’s going down, and I’m just trying to get clear and warn people. I’m just walking down the street, and shit’s going down.”

“You were inside the building,” Eve said flatly. “That’s also on record. Inside, Washington, you lying sack, and when the shit went down, you ran outside like a coward.”

“I ain’t no coward, bitch.” Now his hands jumped to the table in fists, and those old, bitter eyes flamed hot. “You take these cuffs off me, and we’ll see who’s the coward.”

“Mr. Washington.” In that reasonable tone, Peabody soothed. “We’re trying to straighten out what did happen. It’s best if you try to stay calm.”

Shifting, Washington tried making his case directly to Peabody. “I run in to see what shit’s going down, then I ran on out to warn people. That’s it.”