New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(22)

“Yeah, yeah.” She shoved at the mess of her two-toned hair. “He headed up the program, was like the counselor, and he did that stuff for inmates. I got messed up when Isaac cut me off, and I dropped out of the program, got sort of deeper into the issues awhile. I’m clean now. Swear to God.”

“I believe you. Did he ever talk to you about his plans?”

“Well, sometimes he talked about finding a way out, and when he did how he’d set the record straight with the cop who set him up. I guess that’s you.”

“Did you ever smuggle anything in to him?”

“Look, look, I’m clean. Nine months clean, and I got a regular job. It may not seem like much to you, but I haven’t been clean, not really, since I was fifteen.”

“I’m not going to hassle you about it,” Eve told her. “But”—she tapped Julie’s photo again—“I need to know.”

“Okay, well, maybe, sometimes, I’d pass stuff to Stib, or to this guard—”

“Lovett?”

“If you already know why ask me?”

“What stuff?”

“Well, maybe, sometimes, some kiddie  p**n . He had a weakness, who was I to judge?”

“Is that all?”

“Maybe electronic stuff.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know—hand to God—I don’t know much about that shit. He’d give me lists, and I’d go get it. Even paid for it mostly. Prick! He said how electronics was a hobby, and they wouldn’t let him have the stuff he wanted inside. I mean, what was the harm? He was so nice. He called me baby doll. Nobody ever called me baby doll. And he sent me flowers. Twice.”

“A real romantic.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I thought.” Slumping, she sulked into her coffee. “Then he gave me the boot, and now you’re saying he really did that to those kids. Maybe I should’ve known it, but I had those issues back then. You see things different when you’re clean.”

“If McQueen contacts you, contact me. If he comes to the door, don’t let him in. Alert nine-one-one and contact me.”

“You bet your ass I will.” She took Eve’s card.

“Do yourself a favor. Don’t contact Stibble.”

“I got zip to say to that son of a bitch. Jesus, I really liked the guy. Sick f**k.”

“Your take?” Eve asked Peabody as they headed back to the car.

“Same as yours. She was telling it straight. I don’t think McQueen’s given her a thought in the last two years. I can’t see him paying her a visit.”

“No, but the thought he might will have her telling us anything else she thinks of, and it confirmed Stibble as the liaison.”

“And we’ve got a lot more than zip to say to that son of a bitch.”

“Bet your ass.”

5

They found Stibble in a shoe-box storefront he used for addiction counseling. He looked, Eve decided, even more like a ferret in person than in his ID documents. The short, curly beard he sported didn’t do anything to soften his pointy chin, and the rosetinted shades on his short hook of a nose only added an element of silly.

Those, the skinny braid down the back of his white, hooded tunic, and the pair of leather bracelets around his bony ankles combined to fall somewhere between affected Free-Ager and urban monk.

Which, she supposed, was what he’d aimed for.

He sat with three people on the floor in a circle. Some sort of pyramid-shaped paperweight stood in the center. Harps and gongs trilled and bonged.

He paused, beamed a welcoming smile at Eve and Peabody.

“Welcome! We’ve begun our visualization exercise. Please, join us. Share your first name if you feel comfortable doing so.”

“That would be Lieutenant,” Eve said, and took out her badge. “And you can visualize taking a trip down to Cop Central.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Isaac McQueen’s a big one. You arranging his auditions for a new partner while collecting a fee from the State’s another big one for you.”

Stibble folded his hands at his waist. “It sounds as if you have inaccurate information. We’ll need to straighten this out. I have another forty minutes in this session, so if you’d come back—”

“Would you like to stand up voluntarily?” Eve asked pleasantly, “or would you like me to help you? Class is dismissed,” she said to the trio on the floor.

“Hey, I paid for the hour.”

She studied the man who’d objected, the scruff of beard, the exhausted eyes.

“What’s the damage?”

“Charge is seventy-five. Special introductory fee.”

“Buddy, you’re so getting hosed. Peabody, give this gentleman the address for the closest Get Straight location. It’s free,” she said to the man. “They don’t make you sit on the floor or look at pyramids. And they serve halfway decent coffee and cookies.”

“I really object to you insinuating I—”

“Button it,” she advised Stibble. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” she told everyone else. “Your counselor’s required elsewhere.”

“I’m happy to reschedule.” As his group filed out, Stibble hurried after them. “Please don’t let this minor problem cause you to stumble on your journey to health and well-being!”