Promises in Death (In Death #28)(29)

“Not yet. For one, I don’t want the people who know people to signal him we’re coming to see him. For another, I don’t want to get so bogged down in Alex Ricker, when there’s no clear evidence he’s involved. Coltraine’s the priority. I’m going to run her financials. I’m going to run them from here because I don’t want to set up any flags there either. I’m hoping she was clean, and if she was clean, I don’t want to be responsible for even a whisper she might’ve been dirty.”

“I’ll run them. I’ll do it,” he said when she started to protest. “I can do it faster, as we both know. And it’ll be easier for you if you don’t have to do it yourself. I know it troubles you to look at one of your own this way.”

“It’s worse. She’s dead. I can’t ask her. She can’t defend herself. She can’t say, ‘Fuck you, bitch, for even thinking it.’ ”

She dragged a hand through her hair, then crossed the room to stand and look out the window. “And here I am, using illegal means to try to find out if she was tangled in something wrong. If she was on the take, or Alex Ricker’s weasel.”

“As chief medical examiner, Morris could access this case file?”

“Yeah, he could find a way to get it. So by making sure this area of investigation isn’t in that file, am I protecting him or myself?”

“Darling Eve, I see nothing wrong with doing either, and both. If you find the worst, he’ll have to know. If you don’t, what good would it do you or him for him to know you felt compelled to look?”

“You’re right. You do it. You’ll be faster.”

She stayed at the window, staring out at dark and light. Had Morris taken a soother, given himself a chance to sleep, to put it away for a few hours? Or was he staring out at the dark and the light?

She promised she’d find the answers for him. But what if those answers were the woman he loved was a bad cop, a liar, that she’d used him? What if the answers were as painful as the questions?

“Eve.”

She turned, braced. “What?”

“I can do another level or two, try some tricks, but what I’m seeing here is a woman who lived within her means. You may be interested to know a New York City detective third grade makes a bit more than an Atlanta detective. But the cost of living balances that out. She paid her bills on time, and now and then went a little over budget on her credit card and carried a balance for a month or two. There aren’t any unusual deposits or withdrawals, no major purchases.

“I’ve tried the most usual mix of names—hers, her family’s, Atlanta, and other key words that make sense to me and the computer to search for a second account. I haven’t found one.”

Most of the tension eased. “So, at this point, it doesn’t look like she was on the take.”

“You were in her apartment. Was there any art, any jewelry?”

“Nothing that rings the bells. Framed posters, street art, a couple of good pieces of jewelry, the rest tasteful costume. Let’s let this alone until we talk to Alex Ricker. I don’t want to do this to her any more until I have to.”

“All right.” He ordered all data saved, then laid his hand over the palm plate again. “Roarke. Power down.”

When the console winked off, he crossed to her, put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s harder when it’s personal.”

She closed her eyes a moment. “I can’t stop thinking about him. How he’s dealing, or not dealing. What I might find, and how whatever that is will affect him. I should take myself off the case, for all the same reasons I can’t and won’t take myself off the case. Because a friend’s life has been turned inside out.”

With a nod of understanding, he stepped back to take her hand, to walk her to the elevator. “Tell me your instincts about her—your feelings. No filters,” he added as they stepped into the car. “Master bedroom,” he ordered.

Eve hesitated, then shrugged. “I was a little bitchy about her, I guess.”

“Because?”

“Well, it sounds stupid. But because of Morris. Because he’s . . . He’s Morris, and I didn’t see her coming until she was already there and he’s gooey-eyed. It’s not like I have—ever had—that kind of thing with Morris. Or wanted one, or even thought about him. Not like Peabody and her sexual fantasies. I mean, Jesus.”

“Why that slut. I thought I was her sexual fantasy.”

Relieved with how he’d played it, she gave him a bland stare as they stepped into the bedroom. “You lead the charge, but apparently Peabody’s got the capacity for lots of fantasy partners. Probably all at the same time.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“And I probably just violated some girl code by saying that, which doesn’t apply to your question anyway.” She pushed her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what I thought of her, exactly, because it was all filtered through that ‘Wait a damn minute, this is Morris’ attitude. Which is embarrassing now that I really think about it.”

“You have a connection. An intimacy. Not all intimacies are sexual. She was an interloper.”

“That’s it.” Eve pointed a finger at him. “That’s exactly it. And she didn’t deserve that from me. She made him happy. Anybody could see it. I’d say, now that I think about it, her apartment didn’t surprise me. The look of it, the neatness of it, because that’s how she struck me. A woman who had things in place, and knew what she liked. Dressed well—not flashy, but well. Sexual. She gave off the sexual and the female more than the cop, but the cop was there. Under it. She took her time, in how she talked, how she moved. That’s a Southern thing, isn’t it? Nothing New York about her. I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “It’s not much.”