Betrayal in Death (In Death #12)(72)

"Yes, sir."

Eve waited until Peabody had finished gathering what she needed and had moved out of the room like a droid. "This is really going to suck," she decided. "Just listen, he says. A lot he knows about it."

Doing her best to push Peabody out of her mind, Eve sat down and made the call to the federal building.

"Stowe."

"Dallas. I need a meet. Just you and me. Tonight."

"I'm busy, and have no interest in meeting you tonight or anytime. Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I couldn't figure out who fed that reporter?"

"She eats just fine on her own." Eve waited a beat. "Winifred C. Gates" was all she said, and watched Stowe go pale.

"What about her?" she returned, with admirable composure. "She's one of Yost's likelies."

"Tonight, Stowe, unless you want me to go into detail over the 'link."

"I can't get away until seven."

"Nineteen-thirty hours, the Blue Squirrel. I'm sure a smart federal agent can find the address."

Stowe lowered her voice, moved closer to the screen. "Just you?"

"That's right. For the moment. Seven-thirty, Agent Stowe. Don't keep me waiting."

She broke transmission, checked her wrist unit and did her best to gauge her time. Feeling slightly less apprehensive than she might have if going in to face a team of chemi-heads armed with laser scalpels, she walked down to the squad room, detoured into her office for her jacket, then out to Peabody's cubicle.

"You tag Charles?"

"Yes, sir. His client met the man purporting to be Roles at a Sotheby's auction last winter. He outbid her on a painting. A Masterfield landscape, circa 2021. She believes it went for two million four."

"Sotheby's. It's after five. They'd be closed. Okay, you're with me." She started out, waited for Peabody to fall in step. "Did she have impressions?"

"Charles said she found Roles impeccably mannered, knowledgeable about art, and elegantly aloof. She admitted she'd tried to wrangle an invitation to see the painting once he had his displayed, but he didn't even nibble. Charles says she's a stunner, a real babe, mid-thirties, and falling-down rich. Since most men would have jumped at the chance, she figured he was into men. But when she tried out the chatter -- you know, who they might know, what club he patronized, and all that -- he evaded and slipped away from her."

"If she's such a babe, why does she need to hire an LC?"

"I guess because Charles is a babe, and there isn't any danger of strings. He'll do whatever she wants during the scheduled time." Peabody sighed as they stepped out into the garage. "People hire or hang with LCs for a lot of reasons. It isn't always about sex."

"Okay, okay. We'll see what we can dig up in Sotheby's tomorrow." That, she thought, might be something to tap Roarke about.

"Yes, sir. Where are we going now?"

"Up to you." Eve opened her car door, stood looking at Peabody over the roof. "Want to go get drunk?"

"Sir?"

"I had a big mess-up with Roarke not that long ago. That was my choice. It's a pretty good temporary cure."

Peabody's eyes filled, not just with tears but with gratitude. "I'd rather have ice cream."

"Yeah, most of the time, given the choice, so would I. Let's go get some ice cream."

Eve stared down at the hot fudge supreme in the dish in front of her with a combination of greed and nausea. She would no doubt eat it all. She would no doubt be ill after.

The things you had to do for a pal.

She dug in for the first spoonful. "Okay, spill it."

"Sir?"

"Let's hear what happened."

Peabody stared, more dazzled now by Eve's statement than by her own banana boat surprise. "You want me to tell you about it?"

"No, I don't want you to tell me about it. I'm telling you to tell me about it because that's how this friendship thing is supposed to work. I hear. So." She dug for more ice cream with one hand, waved a go-ahead with the other.

"That's so nice of you." Peabody got misty again, and soothed herself with non-dairy whipped topping. "We were in one of the maintenance closets, sort of fooling around, and -- "

Mouth full, Eve held up a hand, swallowed. "Excuse me, you and Detective McNab were engaged in some sexual activity on departmental property, while on duty?"

Peabody pokered up. "I'm not going to tell you if you're going to start citing regulations. Anyway, we hadn't gotten to the actual sex part yet. We were fooling around."

"Oh, well then. That's different. Cops are always fooling around in maintenance closets. Jesus, Peabody." She shut her eyes, shoveled in more fudge, breathed out. "Okay, I'm over it. Move on."

"I don't know what it is. There's this thing, this primal sort of thing."

"Oh. Ick."

Maybe it was having kick-ass Dallas say "ick," maybe it was the pained way it was said, but the response made Peabody grin and didn't bruise her feelings a bit. "I would've thought so myself until we did it. The first time was in an elevator."

"Peabody, I'm trying here. But do we have to go back that far and discuss you and McNab doing it? It puts really weird pictures in my head."