Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(68)

The space they provided gave him the opportunity to observe them.

They cheated, he noted, and by the fifth hole he’d deciphered their codes and signals. Smooth and subtle, he concluded, and very well practiced.

They were a bloody pas de deux, he thought.

Midway through the course Roarke and Su opted to send their cart ahead and walk to the next hole.

The temperatures hadn’t yet reached their peak, and on the tree-lined green in Queens, with the occasional breeze to stir the air, the heat was pleasant enough.

And the walk, as far as Roarke was concerned, provided more entertainment than bashing at a little white ball with a club.

“They’re disrespectful to you,” Su said, “in the most polite of ways.”

“That doesn’t concern me.”

But Su shook his head. “They wear their rudeness as comfortably as their golf shoes.”

“I expect they put more thought into the shoes. The rudeness is simply second nature.”

“So it appears.” He gave Roarke a curious look as they walked. “In the years we’ve done business together, you’ve indulged me in a round of golf, which you dislike, but this is the first time you’ve arranged a foursome in this way. Which you did,” Su continued, “by maneuvering Dudley into suggesting it.”

“One of the reasons I like doing business with you, David, is you see clearly no matter how thick the bullshit.”

“A skill we share. And so seeing, I think you have other concerns here.”

“You’d be right. It was an opportunity to ask your opinion, as you know Dudley’s father. What do you think of the son?”

“That he and his friend aren’t the sort I would play golf with as a rule.”

“Because they cheat.”

Su stopped, narrowed his eyes. “Do they? I wondered. But why would they risk censure by the club for a casual game? We have no bet.”

“For some, winning’s more important than the play.”

“Will you report them?”

“No. That doesn’t concern me either. I’m happy to let them win this game, in their way, as there’s a bigger one they’ll lose. This game was, for me, a way to observe, and a chance to add to their sense of entitlement, overconfidence. Should I apologize for drawing you into it?”

“Not if you’ll give me more details.”

“As soon as I can. How well do you know Dudley’s father?”

“Well enough to tell you the father is disappointed in the son. And I see now he has cause.” Su sighed. “It’s a pity you don’t put more time and effort into your golf game. You have a natural ability and an excellent form, without the interest. If you had it, I think even with the cheating we could beat them.”

Well then, Roarke mused, he was here to entertain an associate. “I can make it harder for them to cheat.”

“Is that so?”

“Hmm.” Roarke slipped a hand into his pocket, tapped his PPC, which boasted a number of off-the-market modifications. “In fact, it might be more to the point of the exercise to do just that. The game itself, David, will be mostly on you, but I’ll put myself into it with more . . . interest from this point.”

Su’s smile spread sharp and fierce. “Let’s bury the bastards.”

Eve turned toward the bullpen at Homicide as Baxter and Trueheart walked out.

“You’ve got a Patrice Delaughter looking for you,” Baxter told her. “We put her in the Lounge.”

“Huh. Word spreads fast.”

“It does. Such as looking forward to Saturday.”

“Appreciate the invitation, Lieutenant,” Trueheart added.

“Right. Good. Peabody—”

“Listen, Trueheart’s too shy to ask, but I’m not. Can the boy bring a date?”

“I don’t care,” Eve said as Trueheart turned light pink and hunched his broad shoulders. “I guess that means you want to bring one, too.”

“Actually no.” Baxter grinned. “A date means I’d have to pay attention to somebody, and it’s going to be all about me, brew, and cow meat. We’re due in court.” Baxter tapped a finger to his temple and strode toward the glide.

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Casey’s going to be really excited about Saturday. Um, can we bring something?”

“Like what?”

“A dish?”

“We have dishes. We have lots of dishes.”

“He means food,” Peabody interpreted. “Don’t worry about it, Trueheart. They’ve got plenty of that, too.”

“Why would somebody bring food when they’re coming to your place to eat?” Eve wondered when Trueheart hurried after Baxter.

“It’s a social nicety.”

“There are too many of those, and who started them? It’s like dresses and suits.”

“It is?”

“Never mind. I’ll take Delaughter. Write up the interview with VanWitt, and start digging into the travel.”

“All over it.”

Eve headed into the Lounge with its simple, sturdy tables, vending offerings, and smell of bad coffee and meat substitute. A scatter of cops took a short break there, or conducted informal interviews.