Memory in Death (In Death #22)(87)

Knowing that didn't bother her a bit.

"You have everything you need here," Roarke reminded her.

"Don't." She shouldered on her weapon harness. "Don't have Feeney, for one. Don't have Mira. And I'm going to try to snag her long enough to get a profile on Zana and Bobby. Don't have whoever's bad luck has them in the lab today. And I want to go by the hotel, the hospital, do follow-ups there."

"Perhaps you haven't heard." He stretched out his legs to enjoy another cup of coffee. "There's a marvelous invention called the telelink. Some, as we have here, are also equipped for holo-conferences."

"Not the same." She pulled a jacket over her weapon. "You sticking home today?"

"If I said I was?"

"You'd be lying. You're going in, same as me, finishing things up personally. Going to let your staff go early, you softie, but you're heading in."

"I'll stay if you do."

"I'm going, and so are you." But she walked over, framed his face, and kissed him. "See you in a few hours."

"Well, have a care, will you? The roads are bound to be treacherous."

"So's a chemi-head with a lead bat, but I've handled those."

"Figuring as much, I had one of the all-terrains brought around." He lifted a brow when she frowned.

"I'll be using one myself, so you've no argument there."

"Fine, okay." She glanced at the time. "Well, while you've got your worrywart on, maybe you could check with the shuttle, see if Peabody got off okay."

"Already did, they're in the air and already out of the weather. Wear your gloves," he called out as she went through the door.

"Such a nag," she mumbled under her breath.

But she was grateful for them, and the thin, soft fur lining that had somehow found its way into her coat. How did he manage that stuff?

Whatever was spitting out of the sky felt like nasty little needle pricks as cold as Mars. She climbed into the muscular vehicle, found its efficient heater already running. The man missed nothing. It was almost spooky.

Even warm, and in a vehicle with the traction and power of a jet tank, she had an ugly fight on her hands all the way downtown. Where before she'd cursed people who ditched work for an extended holiday as lazy wimps, now she cursed them for not staying the hell home. Or for driving a vehicle that couldn't handle the icy roads.

Twice she came upon fender benders, felt obliged to stop and get out, determine if there were injuries before calling it in to Traffic.

When traffic stalled, again, she imagined what it would be like just to roll over the cars in her path. The tank she was in could handle it, she thought.

When she arrived at Central, she calculated that more than twenty percent of the slots on her level were empty.

One of the detectives hailed her when she walked into Homicide.

"Slader, aren't you on graveyard?"

"Yes, sir. Caught one a couple hours before end of tour. Got the guy in the cooler. Vic's his brother, who was visiting from out of town for the holidays. Ends up with a broken neck at the bottom of the stairs. Guy in the cooler has some swank place over on Park. Vic's a loser, no fixed address, no visible means of employment."

"He get helped down the steps?"

"Oh, yeah." Slader's smile was thin and wry. "Guy claims the brother was stoned—and we'll get the tox on that—but he did have some Juice on him. Suspect said he was in bed, heard the noise of the fall, and found his brother at the bottom of the steps. Thing is, he apparently didn't think we'd notice the vic's facial bruises, or hoped we put them off on the fall. But seeing as our guy's got scraped knuckles, and a split lip, we're figuring otherwise."

Eve scratched the back of her neck. People, she thought, could be unbelievably stupid. "You work him toward the self-defense or accidental angle?"

"Yeah, but he's sticking to his story. He's an exec for an ad company. Figure he doesn't want to get his name on-screen. We're going to go at him again after he sweats a little more. Guy broke down and cried twice, but he's not moving off the story. Thing is, Lieutenant, we're into overtime."

"Keep at him, get it wrapped. I'll clear the OT. Half the damn squad's out. I'm not passing it off. He call for a lawyer?"

"Not yet."

"You run into a wall, tag me. Otherwise, just put it to bed."

She left her coat in her office after skimming the waiting paperwork and what had accumulated overnight. It bred, she thought as she headed to EDD, like rabbits.

For once, the walls of EDD weren't bouncing with voices, music, or electronic chatter. There were a handful of detectives in cubes or at desks, and some of the machines humped away, but it was, for this division, eerily quiet.

"Crime could run rampant with the number of cops at home hanging their damn Christmas stockings."

Feeney looked up. "Things are mostly quiet."

"That's what happens before things blow up," she said darkly. "Things get mostly quiet."

"You're cheerful. Here's something that's going to put a kink in your hose."

"You still haven't pinned down the account."

"I haven't pinned down the account, because there is no account. Not with those numbers, in that order."