Promises in Death (In Death #28)(52)

“He wouldn’t have taken his unregistered out across a public lobby.”

“No.” She switched to elevator security. Again she saw Sandy step in, ride down, get off. Others took the car to other floors. Then the screen went blank and black. “What the—is that the disc or my equipment?”

“Neither. The security cam shut down. Was shut down,” Roarke corrected. “No blip, no static, no jump such as you’d get if there was a malfunction. The building would have a basement, utility areas, a delivery entrance.”

“Delivery entrance on the cross street.” Eve shifted to that disc. “Son of a bitch, coordinated shutdown. Smooth. Even if I dig up a wit from the building, or the buildings across the street that saw loading and unloading, it proves nothing. Still . . .”

“He’d need a vehicle—truck or . . . a van to move the equipment.”

“And to carry the new furniture in. He wouldn’t have used a stolen van,” she added, in response to Roarke’s unspoken question. “Furniture delivery truck maybe. He owns an antique store on Madison, and another downtown. Maybe I get somebody to ID it, and say, ‘Yeah, I saw these guys carting out boxes, carting in a dresser,’ it’s not evidence. But this tells me he took care of business the morning after Coltraine was killed. He covered his ass.”

“Devil’s advocate, darling, but under the same circumstances, I’d have been covering mine hours earlier if I’d done murder. By the time the body was discovered, there’d be nothing on the premises I didn’t want the cops to see.”

“He’s not as good as you. I said that before.”

“I never tire of hearing it.”

“On the night she died we’ve got him on the cam, coming and going at the times he gave us. Or close enough not to argue with. But he shuts it down to remove his unregistered and take a furniture delivery. No, not as good as you.”

She gave Roarke a thoughtful look. “You’d’ve doctored the discs if you felt you needed to. But most likely, you’d have let it all go on record. What the f**k do you care if the cops see packages leaving your place? Something new coming in. No crime in it. The cops hadn’t had the first word with you. You’d’ve let it stand and said prove it. With the ‘f*ck you’ implied.”

“How comforting to be so well understood. He’s given you just what you wanted to know, hasn’t he? He’s—as you put it—on the shady side, and he had something to hide.”

“Which doesn’t make him a killer,” Eve admitted. “But if the shady side included cops on the payroll, why stop at one? I’ve got to take another look at her squad, which probably means reaching out to IAB again. Crap.”

“Again. Yes, I gleaned that when you talked to Morris.”

Realizing she’d yet to mention her meet with Webster, she glanced over. “If a lead indicates the vic may have been a dirty cop, I’ve got to tap that resource.”

“Define tap.”

Even though she realized it was his intent, Eve nearly squirmed. “I had a meet with Webster. I used the Down and Dirty—Crack says hey. We’re both keeping it off the log, for now.”

“Interesting venue.”

“The connection with Crack makes it my turf. We’re sharing data.”

Roarke tapped her chin. “Isn’t it lucky I’m not the jealous type?”

She simply stared at him. “Oh yeah, that’s lucky.”

When he laughed, she shook her head, then walked over to study her murder board one last time. “The killer’s on here. The trigger or the one who cocked it. Nothing else makes sense. But what did she do? What did she do, what did she know, who did she threaten to bring it down on her?”

She slept on it, and didn’t sleep well.

In the dream, Eve sat on a slab in the morgue, with Coltraine sitting on her own. They faced each other while the mournful sounds of a saxophone played through the chilled air.

“You’re not telling me enough,” Eve said.

“Maybe you’re not listening.”

“That’s bullshit, Detective.”

“You can’t think of me as Ammy, or even Amaryllis. You’re having a hard time seeing me as just a woman.”

“You’re not just a woman.”

“Because of the badge.” Coltraine held hers in her hand, turning it over, studying it. “I liked having it. But I didn’t need it. Not like you. For some, the job is just a job. You know that about me, you know that much. It’s one of the reasons you can think, can believe, I used the badge for personal gain.”

“Did you?”

With her free hand, Coltraine brushed back her blond, glossy hair. “Don’t we all? Don’t you? I don’t mean the pitiful pay. You gain, personally, every day, by being in charge, in control, doing the work. Pushing, pushing, pushing what you were aside for what you are.”

“It’s not about me.”

“It’s always about you. Victim, killer, investigator. The triad, always connected. Each one links the other, each one brings what they bring to the table. One can’t be without the other two in this game.” Coltraine puffed out a breath, a soft sound of annoyance. “I never expected to die for it, and that—let me tell you—is a total bitch. You do.”