Festive in Death (In Death #39)(118)

“I’m Jewish, sir.”

“Okay, Happy Hanukkah.”

She spoke to the head nurse on duty, relayed the status to Dr. Campo via ’link.

“Her sister’s going to suffer.”

“She’s married to a steady guy—a fricking rock. But, yeah, she’ll suffer. Murder doesn’t stop at the vic, not most of the time. She set him up good, and he was such an ass**le, it played. Little niggles here and there, but it played. They’re so much alike—Copley, Quigley. He could’ve done it, for all the same reasons. Except, he doesn’t have the balls to damn near kill himself to get away with it.”

“You closed it. You got both your victims justice.”

“Messy, but closed. Now I have to go spring Copley, that ass**le.”

“You could do it in the morning, let him rot just a bit.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

“It’s what makes you not a bit like either of them.”

“It’s a pisser right at the moment. It’s going to take me a while.” She looked up at him as they stepped out of the elevator. “Couple hours to deal with the paperwork, the lawyers. Screws up our Christmas Eve.”

“We’ve already had the crescendo, the rest can wait.”

“Yeah.” They stepped out into the night. The cold rain had stopped. She thought she caught the glimmer of a couple stars.

She took his hand, gave his arm a swing. “Nice coat,” she said, made him laugh.

She’d do her duty, do her job. Then she and the man who knew her and loved her anyway would go home for Christmas.