Loyalty in Death (In Death #9)(34)

“Pokey get the vehicle ID?”

“Nah. Pokey, he’s not too smart, you know. And he said his hand was on fire and he didn’t think nothing of it until I come around asking about Fixer.”

“Black Airstream van?”

“Yeah, with the zapper. And oh yeah, he says how it had the full blast entertainment center in the dash. That’s how come he thought maybe to get in. Pokey, he sometimes trades off electronics.”

“Sounds like a real solid citizen.”

“Yeah, he votes and everything. So how about it, Dallas, that’s good data, right?”

She took out twenty. “If it leads anywhere, there’s twenty more. Now, how much do you know about Fixer’s military history?”

The twenty vanished inside one of the pockets in Ratso’s dirty coat. “History?”

“What he did in the army? He ever talk to you about it?”

“Not much. Couple times when we was drinking and he sucked down too many. He said he took out plenty of targets during the Wars. Said how the army called ‘em targets ‘cause they didn’t have the balls to call them people. He had a real hard-on for the army. Said how he gave them every f**king thing he had, and they took everything. Um, how they thought they could throw money at him to make it right. He took their money and screw ‘em. Screw the cops, too, and the CIA and the goddamn president of the U.S. of A., too. But that was only when he was sloppy. Otherwise, he never said nothing.”

“Have you ever heard anything about Apollo or Cassandra?”

Ratso swiped a hand under his nose. “Table dancer over at the Peek-A-Boo goes by Cassandra. She got tits like watermelons.”

Eve shook her head. “No, this is something else. You ask around, Ratso, but ask around real careful. And if you hear anything, don’t wonder if you should tag me. Just do it.”

“Okay, but I’m kinda low on operating expenses.”

She rose, then tossed another twenty on the table. “Don’t waste my money,” she warned. “Peabody.”

“I’ll start the run on Airstream vans,” Peabody said, “New York and New Jersey registrations.”

“Goddamn it!” Eve dashed toward her vehicle. “Look at this shit, would you?” she demanded, jerking a thumb toward the bright red frowny face someone had painted on her dented hood. “No respect. No respect whatsoever for city property.”

Peabody coughed, forced her face into stern, disapproving lines. “It’s a disgrace, sir. Absolutely.”

“Was that a smirk, Officer?”

“No sir, it certainly was not a smirk. It was a scowl. A righteous scowl. Should I canvas the area for spray cans, Lieutenant?”

“Kiss my ass.” Eve slammed into the car, giving Peabody just enough time to snort out the laugh that had been burning in her chest.

“I do,” she murmured. “Constantly.” She let out a long breath, shook off the grin, and climbed in the passenger seat.

“We’ll finish out the shift at my home office. I’ll be damned if I’m going to park this thing in the garage and have the precinct snickering.”

“That works for me. You’ve got better food.” And there’d be no chance of McNab swinging through to do one of his tap dances.

“Have you got Lisbeth Cooke’s address? We can swing by and see if we can catch her before we take the rest of this home.”

“Yes, sir, I believe it’s on the way.” Peabody called it up. “That’s just off Madison at Eighty-third. Should I call and set up an interview?”

“No, let’s surprise her.”

It was obvious they did, and that Lisbeth didn’t care for surprises. “I don’t have to speak to you,” she said when she opened the door. “Not without my attorney present.”

“Call him,” Eve suggested. “Since you’ve got something to hide.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’ve given you my statement, I’ve interviewed with the prosecuting attorney’s office. I’ve taken the plea, and that’s it.”

“Since it’s all neat and tidy, it shouldn’t bother you to talk to me. Unless everything you stated was a lie.”

Lisbeth’s eyes flashed. Her chin jutted. Pride, Eve saw, had been the right target.

“I don’t lie. I insist on honesty, for myself and the people I’m involved with. Honesty, loyalty, and respect.”

“Otherwise, you kill them. We’ve established that.”

Something flickered in Lisbeth’s eyes, then her mouth thinned and they were cool and hard again. “What do you want?”

“Just a few questions to tidy up my case file.” Eve angled her head. “Don’t you include neatness in your list of required virtues?”

Lisbeth stepped back. “I warn you, the minute I feel you’re out of line, I’m calling my representative. I can file harassment charges.”

“Note that down, Peabody. No harassing Ms. Cooke.”

“So noted, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Aw well, now you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Eve studied the living area, the absolute order, the flawless taste. Style, she mused, she had to admit the woman had style. She could even admire it, in the twin streamlined sofas in deep green and blue stripes that looked as comfortable as they did attractive. In the trim, smoked glass tables and the vivid paintings of seascapes.