Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(102)

“You believe you can make it stick?” When she hesitated, he jabbed her shoulder.

“Ow.”

“You better f**king believe it or they won’t. Don’t waste my time here, or everybody else’s.”

“I know it. I know it. I’m tired. Half punchy, half twitchy.”

“I’d tell you to take a booster but you’ve probably had a cargo hold of coffee already.” He took a long, merciless study. “Go . . . do something with your face.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever it is your kind does. It’s one thing to look overworked, and another to look wrung out when you’re trying to pull a warrant this way.”

“You think because I have a vagina I cart around face enhancers?”

“Jesus, Dallas, you don’t have to use language like that. Borrow some, for Christ’s sake. You don’t want them looking at you thinking, ‘Man, Dallas needs some sleep.’ You want them focused on what you show them.”

“Fine. Fine. Crap.” She yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, put this on private.”

“What? Is there a break?”

“Are we private?”

“Yeah, what—”

“Do you have any face gunk?”

“Ah . . . sure. I got a supply in my desk for—what’s wrong with my face?”

“It’s for me. And if you say a word, if you breathe a syllable, I’ll rip your tongue out with my bare hands and feed it to the first rabid dog I find. Meet me in the bathroom, and bring the crap.” She clicked off. “Satisfied?” she demanded of Feeney, and stomped out.

It only took about five minutes, and that with Peabody trying to offer advice and instruction. The first thing she did was put her head in the sink, grit her teeth, and turn the water on full and cold.

It shocked the edge of fatigue away.

She toned down the circles under her eyes, added some color to cheeks she had to admit looked pasty and pale.

“That’s it.”

“I’ve got some nice lip dyes, and this mag eyeliner, and some—”

“That’s it,” Eve repeated, and raking her fingers through her wet hair, headed back to the conference room.

The scent of food hit the empty pit of her stomach. In the few minutes she’d been gone, someone had brought in another table and loaded it with paninis, subs, pizza.

Roarke picked up a panini, held it out. “Eat. You’ll think more clearly. And later, you can have a cookie.”

She didn’t argue, but took a huge bite. And just closed her eyes. “Okay. Good. You got cookies?”

“It seemed apt. Now take this blocker. No point going into this with a headache. Just a blocker,” he added, popping the little pill in her mouth, then handing her a bottle of water. “Hydrate.”

“Jesus. Cut it out.” She guzzled water, took another bite of panini. “I’m in charge here.”

He tugged a damp lock of her hair. “And it suits you. Your bullpen’s buzzing.”

“I need five minutes of quiet before—”

“Food!” McNab, who probably smelled pizza in EDD, led the charge.

“Take your five,” Roarke told her, and she nodded.

She settled for crossing to the windows, and blocking out the sound of cops pouncing on a bonanza of free food.

When she heard the commander’s voice, she turned. Mira came in, walked straight to her. “I wasn’t able to get away sooner.”

“Were you able to review any of what I sent you?”

“I read all of it. You make a number of persuasive points. If we could take another hour, I think we could refine several of them.”

“It’s already midday on a Friday. In July, when half the people who live here go somewhere else for the weekend. I’ve got to lay this out for Reo, have her convince a judge to issue warrants. I want to get it down before the end of business. We’re just waiting for her now, so . . . and there she is. I’m going to get started.”

She moved to the center of the room. “Officers, Detectives, take your seats. If you’re going to continue to gorge, do so quietly. Commander, thank you for taking the time.”

He nodded, took a seat. He had two slices of pizza on a plate and looked . . . guilty, she realized, and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“The wife doesn’t like him eating between meals,” Feeney muttered in her ear.

“I thought I’d missed lunch.” Reo chose a seat, nibbled on half a panini.

Eve let the murmurs, the shifting, the laughter run on for a moment. Let them settle. She glanced at Roarke. He hadn’t sat, but stood leaning against the wall by the windows.

She walked over, shut the conference room door, then moved back to the center of the room.

“I’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the board.” She used a laser pointer, highlighting each photo. “Bristow, Melly, Zimbabwe, Africa,” she began, and named them all.

“All of these people were killed by Winston Dudley and Sylvester Moriarity. I know that with absolute certainty, just as I know with absolute certainty that they will kill again if they aren’t stopped.”

She let that sink in, just two beats of silence.

“Detective Peabody and I have built a case that I believe is substantial enough for search warrants for the suspects’ homes and businesses and vehicles. With the murder of Adrianne Jonas, Detectives Reineke and Jenkinson joined the investigative team. Earlier this afternoon, I assigned every officer in this room specific tasks relating to this investigation. Together, we’ve built a stronger, wider case. We’ve correlated with EDD, Doctor Mira, and the expert consultant, civilian.