New York to Dallas (In Death #33)(60)

“Did you go bad cop?”

“No.” On screen, Peabody sulked. “I wanted to, but Baxter pointed out he has more evil genius. We worked him until nearly midnight. Civet kept calling for breaks, tossing out crazy loco trades. At one point he wanted a walk on the illegals charges, free ice cream for life, and season tickets to the Yankees.”

“How the hell did you let him play you that way?”

“Dallas, I swear he wouldn’t be squeezed last night. Said we could toss him back in the cage, no problem. This time he’d come out a judge.

“I think he meant it. He could cite all these weird regulations and laws and bullshit.” As she spoke Peabody rolled her dark, tired eyes. “He was enjoying the whole deal. I figure he was trying out his bullshit lawyer chops.”

“Did you get anything?”

“We broke at midnight, then went back at him this morning, bright and early. He took the deal. He was going to take it all along, the little bastard. He knows of McQueen, swears he never had direct dealings with him. We don’t believe him.”

“No kidding?”

Peabody offered a wan smile. “We made like we bought it to get the rest. He admitted he’d had regular transactions with a Sandi Millford, who—”

“Did you say Millford?”

“Yeah. M-I-L-L—”

“I know how to spell it.”

“Okay, then. She claimed—this would be if and when he took payment in trade, and they partied together—that she was McQueen’s woman, and they had big plans. He was getting out, and they were going to f**k up who f**ked with him, then they’d be swimming in money. He figured she was full of it. I believe him there. He’s a reptile, but once he got the deal—in writing, in trip—he talked for a freaking hour. We ran Millford and got a Sandra, showed him the pic with a handful of others. He picked her out first shot.”

“This is good. It’s good. Run Millford,” she said to Bree, “Davidson and Sandi and/or Sandra.”

“Who’s that? Is it Roarke? I miss you guys. Can I say hi before—”

“It’s not Roarke.”

“No Davidson Millford in Dallas or New York,” Bree told her. “But I’ve got Sandra at a New York address.”

“I guess you’re working with somebody else.” Peabody went back to sulking. “Is she pretty?”

“Oh, Jesus. I want you to dig on Sandra Millford, and a Davidson Millford. Get me some data, Peabody.”

“Sure. I’ll send you a copy of the interview with Civet now, and my report once I write it up. We were going to check out the New York address after I connected with you.”

“Do that. I’ll send you an update from here asap.”

“Can you just tell me what—”

“Not now. I’ve got a briefing—and then I’m going to bag me a bitch.”

“I want to bag a bitch with you, Dallas.”

“There are plenty more. Later.”

She clicked off, saw Roarke watching her from the doorway. “We should take her a souvenir. Maybe cowboy boots.”

“What? Who? Peabody? For God’s sake. What did you get?”

“It’s a duplex, with the lease in the name of Davidson Millford— signed in absentia—ten months ago. It’s about a ten-minute drive to the mall where the girl was taken, by my calculations.”

“It’s her place.” Fresh energy buzzed through Eve’s blood. “She’s there. McQueen won’t be far away. Let’s put it together, take it in.”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m contacting your LT on the way,” Eve told Bree. “We need eyes on that location. He can work with the feds to decide whose eyes, but that’s it. Just eyes. We don’t want to move on her.”

“She could lead us right to Melinda and Darlie.”

“You bet your ass she could, and if we work it right, she will.”

Who was in charge? That was the sticking point in Eve’s mind. The Dallas LT was good, was solid, but too damn polite. And the feds, well, they just assumed they were taking over. It was ingrained. But Nikos skewed a little too much by the manual and numbers for Eve’s taste.

So she was taking point. If the rest didn’t like it, they’d have to muscle her aside. And she wouldn’t move easy, not on this one.

She said as much to Roarke as he drove and she worked out her operation strategy on her PPC.

“Ricchio knows the area, and the men,” Roarke pointed out. “That’s where he’d best lead.”

“Agreed, and that’s what I plan to outline. I don’t know how he works an op, how he lays things out, puts it together. And I don’t have time to find out. The feds . . . Nikos knows her take on McQueen snatching a kid was off, and she’s dealing with that. She may be more cooperative because of it. Laurence, he’s got the best eye, nose, gut in my opinion. And he takes in the big picture fast. But I don’t want the federal group-think system crowding me on this.

“Do this right, we end it today. All I want when we do is a piece of McQueen and the woman, in whatever box they choose.”

“I’m closer to his accounts,” Roarke told her, “if that’s any help at this point. I’ve found his pattern, and there’s always a pattern. His is a very good one, with lots of tricky lures and dead ends. But I’m close now.”