Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(26)

“It’s a good thought. Time to set up the next step.” She used her pocket ’link to contact Webster.

“Well, good morning, Dallas.”

While his attractive face filled the screen she heard the sounds of traffic. “Where are you?”

“Walking to work on this fine summer day. Why?”

“Got company?”

“A few million New Yorkers.” He sipped from a go-cup of coffee, but she saw his eyes change. Flatten. “No company.”

“I need a meet. Remember where we met during a little federal matter?”

“I remember.”

“There. In two hours. You’ll need to take this as personal time.”

“I’ve got a boss, Dallas.”

“So does he, and so does his boss. This comes from the big chair, Webster. If you don’t want it, I’ll tag another rat.”

“Funny. Two hours.” He clicked off.

“Tag Crack,” Eve ordered Peabody. “Tell him I need him to have his place open in a couple hours.”

“You want me to tag a giant sex club owner at this hour of the morning, knowing I’ll be waking him up?”

“Find your spine, Peabody,” Eve suggested.

The neighborhood looked worse in the daylight, Eve decided, when every stain, every smear showed in sharp relief. A sad little convenience store sagged near the corner, papered with warnings.

NO CASH ON PREMISES!

MONITORED BY ON GUARD!

DROID OPERATORS ONLY!

A handful of people moved along the sidewalk, heads down, going about their business while it was too early for most thugs and toughs and troublemakers to hassle them.

“It’s a hard life here,” Peabody commented. “A couple blocks away, it’s different, but here it’s hard and mean. If you’re born here, how do you get out?”

Eve thought of Roarke, a child, navigating the violent Dublin alley-ways where hard and mean would have been a holiday. “Hook or crook,” she murmured.

After parking, engaging all alarms and her On Duty light, Eve got her field kit out of the trunk. “Curtain up. Record on. Let’s seal up.” She tossed Peabody the can of Seal-It. “In case this turns out to be something other than a waste of time.”

Peabody obeyed, tossed the can back. “We could’ve had some uniforms check it out.”

“My tip. No point in wasting the resources until we take a look.” She pulled out her master as they approached the building. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived in this place during this century, but see here—that’s a new lock. Nobody’s bothered to bust it yet.”

“Looks like that’s it for security. No cams, no pads.”

“If it had them, they’re long gone. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, bypassing lock, entering premises to validate or refute report of a body by a confidential informant.”

She bypassed, drew her weapon. Then eased the door open. “Now, that’s a lovely stench. If this is the flight of the wild goose, that weasel’s going to get a serious scolding. Weapon and light, Peabody. Let’s start clearing.”

As she had hours before with Roarke, she swept the first level.

“This was probably a nice place once,” Peabody commented. “You can see some of the original flooring and plasterwork.”

“Sure. It’s a real fixer-upper. Level one clear,” she said for the record. “Crap, these steps better hold. If you fall through, I’m not hauling you out.”

“I believe that’s a comment on my weight. I may file an official complaint.”

Eve snorted out a laugh. “You do that. God, the smell just gets better. It’s like a shit pile bouquet perfumed with ... crap.”

“Shit is crap.”

“For Christ’s sake, Peabody, you’ve worked Homicide long enough you should be able to smell a DB even through this. Weasel said in the tub. Clear as you go,” she ordered, and sweeping areas made her way back to the ruined bathroom. “This must be Juicy.”

“I guess you owe the weasel an apology.”

“He’ll get his twenty.” Eve approached the tub. “Swimming in puke. An exaggeration, but close enough. Let’s ID him, call it in.”

“Dallas, it’s bad in here. If we don’t want to spend an hour in the sanitizer, we should put on protective gear.”

“Got a point.” Eve stepped back, and as Peabody bent to remove the cover-ups from the kit, reached up and behind her for the cam Roarke had positioned. She slid it into her pocket, disengaged, then took out her communicator.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

Dispatch, Dallas acknowledged.

She reported the body, the location, the situation, requested uniforms to assist. Done, she unsealed the protective wrap Peabody offered her.

As before, Eve used her pad for ID. “Victim is identified as Keener, Rickie, age twenty-seven. Mixed race male, five feet and nine inches, one hundred and thirty pounds. Brown and brown. Vic is curled in a broken bathtub, empty needle syringe is in the tub with him. Other illegals paraphernalia also in evidence.”

“TOD’s coming in at oh four hundred yesterday, Dallas. It’s reading approximate due to time lag and ambient conditions.”