Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(61)

“Would you? Sorry,” Peabody said immediately. “I shouldn’t ask, or even bring it up.”

Eve waited until they’d reached the car, then stood at the driver’s door, looking over the roof at Peabody. “It applies. Not the same situation, but close enough it applies. It took me a long time to remember what happened to me, to be strong enough to get through the protective blocks. And longer to get past the guilt and shame of what happened to me, and what I did to stop it from happening.”

She got in the car, settled behind the wheel, considered another moment. “I couldn’t, wouldn’t have allowed her to victimize me. And whatever Roarke’s instincts might have been to protect me, he’d have stood by that. For me. It’s the badge that gave me the will to survive—the goal of getting it, the work of upholding it. To survive and to be open enough to let Roarke push his way into my life. Betraying the badge, him, you—everyone I know would stand by me? Betraying myself?”

Not a question, Eve thought. Not an option.

“Couldn’t do it. I’d make sure she’d have done her time in a cage even if it was the last thing I could do with that badge.”

“Nobody would take your badge for what happened to you, or for what you did to make it stop.”

With a shake of her head, Eve began to drive out of the lot. “I killed Richard Troy. Patricide’s got an ugly ring.”

“Patricide, my ass. An eight-year-old girl defending herself against an incestuous pedophile monster after years of abuse,” Peabody corrected, with a bite. “You should get past thinking anybody—anybody—would call for your badge over it. You should get past thinking they’d have a right to.”

As she waited for the lot scanner to read her tag for billing, Eve flicked a glance at her partner’s rigid profile.

“I guess you’ve got a point. It may take a little more work to get there.”

Eve drove out of the lot. “But it applies. Someone killed Wylee Stamford’s monster, and maybe whoever did killed his blackmailer. Let’s get the case file on Big Rod.”

Still simmering, Peabody started to snap something back, then frowned. “Somebody’s still protecting him. I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s why my badge says Lieutenant, and yours doesn’t.”

The frown eased into a smile. “For now,” she said, getting an easy laugh out of Eve. “How about some coffee for the drive?”

“Yeah.” Eve’s shoulders relaxed. “How about some coffee? And we’re going to look at O’Keefe and his alibi. Loyalty runs deep in both of them. I heard him saying she should squat in a cage, and it rang like truth. But we take a good look. After you program which of Mars’s marks we’re cornering next.”

“On that.”





13

City Girl was shooting some exterior scenes in the West Village. Fans, Eve assumed, and those who just liked watching, gathered behind barricades with their cameras. Civilian paparazzi, braving the bitter cold for the prize of a photo or short vid.

Extras plucked from who knew where hustled over the sidewalk as Missy Lee Durante, a pink-and-white polka-dotted backpack over her fashionable purple coat, raced tearfully by on pink airboots.

Her colorful scarf flew out like ribbons; the pom-poms on her hat bounced madly. She fumbled with the latch of a little courtyard gate, burst through it, then ran toward the door of a tidy brick townhouse.

“I bet that jerk Tad dumped her,” Peabody muttered.

“What?”

“Just thinking why she’s crying. See, Tad’s the high school football quarterback she’s been crushing on even though he’s a shitbag under it. And he’s been playing her so she’d do his assignments, but…”

Peabody trailed off when Eve simply held her under a cool, cool stare.

“Anyway.”

Somebody yelled, “Cut.” Then swarms of people began moving around. A couple of them dashed to Missy Lee, began fussing with her face, the flowing blond hair under her winter cap, the line of the coat.

NYPSD barricades blocked off the sidewalk for a full block. Eve had to badge her way through. Crew, equipment, security for crew and equipment formed more barricades. While people repaired Missy Lee’s makeup so she could cry on cue, Eve flashed her badge again.

“NYPSD. We need to speak to Missy Lee Durante.”

“She’s a little busy right now.” The man in the earflap cap gave Eve a big, toothy smile. “I can see about arranging a quick hello after we get this scene. City Girl’s grateful to the NYPSD.”

“I’m not after a quick hello. This is official police business.”

Now he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we get that a lot. Look, we’re setting up for another take, so I really need you to just step back for a minute until—”

“Would you like to be arrested for obstruction?”

“Hey, trying to be cooperative. Just—”

Now somebody yelled, “And action!” Toothy Grin held up a hand, turned his back on Eve. Peabody grabbed Eve’s arm, shook her head fiercely.

“It can wait just a minute,” she whispered as the same pedestrians began the same hustle.

Missy Lee flew down the sidewalk, tears streaming. Fumbled with the latch, and this time let out a choked sob as she fought it open. Cameras followed her, angled to catch her run, her rush through the gate.