Festive in Death (In Death #39)(45)

“Ah . . . that was nice of her,” Eve said cautiously.

“I figure how many bowls can somebody use, but that’s not something you say when you’re married to somebody who keeps making them. Unless you want to hit a rough patch.”

“I get it.”

“So I got this.” He reached into the inside pocket of his ugly jacket, took out a small, slim square wrapped in shiny red paper.

“Oh,” Eve said when he shoved it at her.

She was lousy at giving gifts; she was worse at getting them.

“I didn’t want to give it over tomorrow, with the party and the people and all that.”

“Okay. Thanks.” After an awkward pause, she deduced she was meant to open it on the spot.

She pulled off the paper, crumpled it, shot it into her recycler. She lifted the lid, just stared.

Small reproductions of the medals she and Roarke had been awarded the month before floated inside clear glass. Etched beneath each were their names, the award, and the date presented.

“This is . . .” Her throat closed up on her. “A lot,” she managed. “This is a lot.”

“I figured you could put it somewhere you could take a look at when the job gets heavy. Maybe not here. It’s a little like bragging if you put it in here.”

“Yeah. It should be at home. It’s Roarke’s, too.”

“The highest honor given a cop.” There was a light in his voice that had her throat clogging on her. “The highest given a civilian. I was real proud of both of you.”

She struggled for composure before she risked looking up at him. “That’s a lot, too.”

“Can’t get a little sentimental at Christmas, when can you? Well.” He gave her a light punch on the arm, settled them both. “I gotta get back. No monkey suit,” he reminded her.

“I’ll tell him. Thanks, Feeney.”

She stayed where she was when he walked out, ran her fingertip over her name, over Roarke’s.

She looked up at her board, at the image of Trey Ziegler propped in bed, that mocking note pinned to his chest with a kitchen knife.

“You were an ass**le, Ziegler. A user, a whore, a ra**st. I wish you were alive so I could toss you in a cage. But since you’re dead, you’re going to get the best I’ve got.”

Carefully she put the lid back on the box, set it aside.

She sat down with what was left of her coffee, and went to work.

Nearly two hours later, she programmed another cup of coffee, drank it standing at her skinny window looking out at the hustle-bustle of New York.

She heard the clomp of Peabody’s boots, didn’t bother to turn. “It gets dark so damn early.”

“We just passed the solstice, so the days are starting to get longer.”

“It takes too damn long. Copley looks ordinary. Parents divorced, half sib on the father’s side. Average student. Little ding on possession right out of college, that would probably have gone away if he hadn’t mouthed off to the cops. Traffic tickets, and I dug into those a little. He went to court on every one of them, and in two cases ended up paying an extra fine for mouthing off to the judge. So, some temper there, some righteousness, some ass**ley behavior. Nothing violent.”

“I didn’t find anything there, either,” Peabody said. “First marriage lasted four years—no record of domestic disputes, but he sure filed a lot of papers on the ex. The split probably cost him three times what it would have if he hadn’t kept pushing the buttons. Still, she had more money than he did, and no prenup, so he fought his way to a bigger chunk than he might’ve gotten.”

Intrigued, Eve turned. “I hadn’t looked at marriage one yet, but Quigley’s rolling in it. His income’s a fraction of hers. There’s a prenup, bet your ass. Second marriage for both, yeah, she covered herself. It might be interesting to get a peek at the terms of that one.”

“She’s the admitted cheater. It seems to me he’d make out bigger, considering.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s the only one who cheated.”

Peabody pursed her lips. “Hmm. Hadn’t gone there. I did take a first pass at his financials. I didn’t see anything out of line, nothing to indicate he’s stepping out. Unless he’s doing it on the cheap. No hotel bills in the city, no second rent going out, no personal travel that doesn’t jibe with the wife’s. And no withdrawals that say blackmail.”

“He’d have an expense account. That’s worth a look. And maybe, having married a second time to a woman with money, he learned something about socking money away.”

She’d see if Roarke wanted to play with that.

“From what I can see, he’s good at his job,” Eve continued. “Maybe a righteous ass**le when it comes to being caught doing something wrong, or with an estranged wife, but he’s worked his way up at ImageWorks to partner.”

“I couldn’t find anything that said other than he can be a jerk, but he’s pretty much a law-abiding professional with some skill in his chosen field.” Peabody lifted her shoulder. “I couldn’t find any real dings.”

“It doesn’t mean they’re not there. Pack it in for the night.”

“Are you?”

“Pretty much. I think I’ll swing by the Schuberts on the way home, poke at the husband a little. I might get another angle.”