Creation in Death (In Death #25)(65)

“Leaving her apartment four days before her body was found. She’d been scheduled to work that evening, called in sick. She wasn’t reported missing for two days because—”

“She’s the one who took an overnight bag, clothes. Good clothes.”

“Good memory. Yeah. It was assumed she’d gone off with some guy. Which, I guess she did. First woman said Othello had a voice like silk—soft and smooth. Wore heeled boots and a high headdress—compensating.”

“Short guy, we got that.”

Nadine’s brows lifted. “Oh, do you?”

“You’ll get everything when you get it. Anything else?”

“She said he talked about music—opera particularly—like it was a god. She said a lot of bullshit, actually. His eyes were burning red, his hands like steel as they closed around her throat. Blah, blah. But there was one more interesting thing that sounded true. She said she asked about his work, and he said he studied life and death. In a twisted way, that could be what he’s doing, or thinks he’s doing.”

“Okay. That’s okay.”

“Worth any inside info?”

“I leak anything at this point, it’s my ass. Don’t bother with the media briefing. Send a drone. When I’m clear, you’ll get it all.”

“Off the record. Are you close?”

“Off the record. I’m getting closer.”

S ince the two conversations had eaten away her prep time, Eve just gathered everything up. She’d organize on the fly. Lining it up in her head, she headed out, reminding herself there was now—courtesy of Roarke—decent coffee in the conference room.

She glanced over at raised voices, saw one of her detectives and a couple of uniforms dwarfed by a man about the size of the vending machine they’d gathered in front of.

“I want to see my brother!” the giant shouted. “Now!”

Carmichael, generally unflappable in Eve’s estimation, kept her voice low and soothing. “Now, Billy, we explained that your brother’s giving a statement. As soon as he’s done—”

“You’ve got him in a cage! You’re beating him up!”

“No, Billy. Jerry’s helping us. We’re trying to find the bad man who hurt his boss. Remember how somebody hurt Mr. Kolbecki?”

“They killed him dead. Now you’re going to kill Jerry. Where’s Jerry?”

“Let’s go sit over—”

Billy screamed his brother’s name loudly enough that cops stopped, turned, slipped out of doorways.

Eve changed direction, headed toward the trouble. “Problem here?”

“Lieutenant.” The unflappable Carmichael sent Eve a look of utter frustration. “Billy’s upset. Somebody killed the nice man he and his brother work for. We’re talking to Billy’s brother now. We’re just going to get Billy a nice drink before we talk to him, too. Mr. Kolbecki was your boss, too, right, Billy? You liked Mr. Kolbecki.”

“I sweep the floors and wash the windows. I can have a soda when I’m thirsty.”

“Yeah, Mr. Kolbecki let you have sodas. This is Lieutenant Dallas. She’s my boss. So now I have to do my job, and we’re all going to sit down and—”

“You’d better not hurt my brother.” Going for the top of the authority ladder, Billy plucked Eve right off her feet, shook her like a rag doll. “You’ll be sorry if you hurt Jerry.”

Cops grabbed for stunners. Shouts rang in Eve’s ears as her bones knocked together. She judged her mark, estimated the ratio of his face and her fist. Then spared her knuckles and kicked him solidly in the balls.

She was airborne. She had a split second to think: Oh, shit.

She landed hard on her ass, skidded, then her head rapped hard enough against a vending machine to have a few stars dancing in front of her eyes.

Warning! Warning! the machine announced.

As Eve reached for her weapon, someone took her arm. Roarke managed to block the fist aimed at his face before it landed. “Easy,” he soothed. “He’s down. And how are you?”

“He rang my bell. Damn it.” She reached around, rubbed the back of her head as she glared at the huge man now sitting on the floor, holding his crotch and sobbing. “Carmichael!”

“Sir.” Carmichael clipped over, leaving the uniforms to restrain Billy. “Lieutenant. Jesus, Dallas, I’m sorry about that. You okay?”

“What the f**k?”

“Vic was found by this guy and his brother this morning when they reported for work. Vic owned a little market on Washington. It appears the vic was attacked before closing last night, robbed and beaten to death. We brought the brothers in for questioning—we’re looking for the night guy. We don’t believe, at this time, the brothers here were involved, but that they may have pertinent information regarding the whereabouts of the night clerk.”

Carmichael blew out a breath. “This guy, Billy? He was fine coming in. Crying a little about the dead guy. He’s, you know, a little slow. The brother, Jerry, told him it was okay, to go on with us to get a drink, to talk to us. But he got worked up once we separated them. Man, Dallas, I never thought he’d go for you. You need an MT?”

“No, I don’t need a damn MT.” Eve shoved to her feet. “Take him into Observation. Let him see his brother’s not being beaten with our vast supply of rubber hoses and saps.”