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

Renee pressed her lips together. “Something we’re always prepared for around here.”

“But I’m not buying it.”

The tapping stopped; an eyebrow quirked. “Oh? Why?”

“Some variables. A few details I want a closer look at.”

“You think he was murdered?”

“It’s a strong possibility, in my opinion, at this time. You got that last contact?”

“Yes, sorry. I spoke to him via ’link on July eight from fourteen-ten to fourteen-fourteen regarding a tip on a Zeus kitchen on Avenue D. It was good data. We shut it down two weeks ago.”

“Could this have been a possible reprisal for passing the tip?”

As if considering, Renee sat back, swiveled in the chair again. “I had some concerns in the last couple of months that he was using heavier, and when he went up too far, he lost his filter. He’d brag. If it turns out it wasn’t an OD, he might have said the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

“You didn’t pay him off? On the tip?”

“He hadn’t contacted me for payment yet. Which, yes, wasn’t usual. He’d normally be hot for payment. I can’t say I gave it much thought. We’re always busy here, and paying him wasn’t high on my to-do list until he made contact.”

“You said he mostly dealt zoner. What did he tend to use?”

“Whatever came to hand. He liked the needle.” Renee’s brow creased, her fingers tapped on her desk. “If he’d gone to ground, he was either working something or he’d gotten his hands on something prime and didn’t want anybody trying for a share until he’d had enough. How did you find him?”

“I’ve got weasels of my own. One of them knew him, and the information I was given indicates Keener didn’t do that last pop on his own. I could use any information you can give me on him.”

“Of course. But you understand I’d like to hold off on giving you his CI file until the ME determines COD. I don’t want to compromise confidentiality or any ongoing investigations if it turns out it was an OD.”

“It wasn’t,” Eve said flatly. “If you’d prepare the data, I’ll expect it once I get COD.”

The blue eyes frosted at Eve’s no-bullshit tone. “You’re very confident of your informant.”

“I’m confident of my gut, and my gut says Keener crossed somebody who didn’t like being crossed.” Eve pushed to her feet. “I’ll find them. Thanks for your time, Lieutenant. I’ll be in touch.”

She strode out. The hard smile didn’t spread until she was out of Illegals and on the way back to her own turf.

Start scrambling, bitch, she thought, because I’ve got your number now.

7

EVE WENT STRAIGHT DOWN TO MIRA’S OFFICE. Time, she thought, to get to the meat of the pathology. Understanding the enemy could be, in Eve’s opinion, as deadly a weapon as a fully charged blaster.

She paused in the outer office to steel herself for the expected confrontation with Mira’s dragon of an admin.

“I need to see her.”

“Yes. One moment.” The woman tapped the headset tucked over her ear. “Lieutenant Dallas is here. Yes . . . Absolutely.” She tapped it again. “She’s ready for you.”

“You’re telling me I can go right in?”

The admin tipped her head, making Eve wonder how she managed to move it at all under the impressive helmet of hair. “That’s correct.”

“Seriously?”

“Lieutenant, Doctor Mira is waiting for you. Her time is valuable, and you’re wasting it questioning me.”

“Okay, that’s more in line.” Satisfied, Eve gave the door a brief rap, and walked in.

Mira wore one of her pretty summer suits, this one cool as a pitcher of lemonade. She’d swept her hair back in a clip of deep blue—matching the strappy heels that showed off toes painted dusky gold. She stood at the AutoChef, her back to Eve—programming, Eve had no doubt, cups of the herbal tea she favored.

When she turned, Eve saw she’d let some trails of her deep brown hair curl around her face. And there was tension in the curve of her jaw, the set of her lips.

“Have a seat,” she invited. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Saying nothing—letting her take the lead—Eve lowered into one of Mira’s blue scoop chairs. She took the tea she didn’t actually like and waited.

“The commander briefed me on the situation, and I’ve reviewed the files on Lieutenant Oberman and Detective Garnet.” Balancing her delicate cup and saucer, Mira sat, crossed her legs.

“Okay.”

“It’s not possible to have this discussion with you without saying that I know and respect Marcus Oberman.”

“Join the crowd.”

Mira sighed, sipped. “It’s difficult. This is difficult. I feel that respect, and a preconception that stemmed from it, might have influenced me in regard to Renee Oberman’s screening. I’m asking myself, Eve, if she’d been someone else would I have pressed harder, would I have looked deeper, would my evaluation have taken a different tone.”

“What’s your answer?”

“I’m afraid, in hindsight, it’s yes.” Mira’s soft blue eyes met Eve’s. “And that’s very difficult. If I hadn’t been influenced by who she was, whose daughter she was, she might not have been cleared for command. She might not now be in the position of power and authority she holds.”