Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(39)

Then Olympus’s chief of police glided in.

Eve distinctly heard Baxter’s—the words were reverent again—“Oh, Mama,” as she passed his desk.

“Don’t drool on those fives,” Eve muttered, and walked over to Darcia. “Our bullpen. The way the unit’s set now, the detectives work with a regular partner or a permanent aide—whom they’re responsible for training—or they can snag one of the uniforms assigned to the unit. Case board, closed in red, open in green. There’s an excuse for a break room in the back. I don’t go there unless I have to. Occasionally somebody may take a wit back there if they want serious privacy, but it’s more usual to interview right at the desk if the wit comes in, or in the lounge—a communal break room for the level. Lockers and showers through that way.”

“An efficient space,” Darcia commented. “And a busy one.”

Eve noted Baxter easing up from his chair. She sent him a warning look that had him sighing and sitting again. “Meaning crowded and overworked, and yeah, we are. It’s a good unit. My office is down here.”

She made the turn, let Darcia in.

“It’s separate?”

“That’s the setup, and I prefer it. When the LT’s space is attached, window, door through to the bullpen, it’s like the boss is watching their every move. A guy can’t even scratch his balls in comfort. Door’s open unless I need it shut. They know where to find me.”

“You prefer a small space, too, or you’d have bigger. And it suits you,” Darcia decided, doing a tight circle. “Spare, lean, unsentimental.” She lifted a chin to the murder board. “And you’re working on something now.”

“Caught it this morning. Vic’s a longtime chemi-head—and the weasel of an Illegals lieutenant. Found in a broken bathtub in an abandoned building—not his personal flop. Looks like he OD’d on a massive dose of what the street calls Fuck You Up.”

“I’ve heard of it.” She might have been dressed like a fashion plate, but Olympus’s chief gave the death photos a thorough, cool-eyed study. “And since you say ‘looks like,’ you don’t think he OD’d of his own volition.”

“There are extenuatings.”

She watched Darcia sip from what looked like a lemon fizzie and scan the board. “Ugly. Hard and ugly. There was so much of that when I was on the job in Colombia.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m enjoying the shiny and new of Olympus.” Darcia moved to Eve’s window. “But this, this city. It’s so layered and varied, so exciting, so full of energies, passions. I’m going to treat myself and wander, and buy myself several frivolous things.”

“How far can you wander in those shoes before you cry like a baby?”

Darcia laughed, turned back. “I’m tougher than that, and I liked putting on a pretty dress to have lunch with your very handsome, very charming husband. Maybe before I go back home, you and I could have a drink, talk shop.”

“I’d like that,” Eve said, realizing she actually would.

“Then we’ll make it happen. I’m going to let you get back to work, and I’m going to go find something frivolous to waste my money on.”

“There’s this place.” Eve wound the location through her head, relayed the simple directions. “Stupidly expensive handbags and shoes. Like that.”

“Sounds perfect—and not at all your style.”

“I broke up a catfight there when two women tumbled out onto the street at my feet. They were ready to kill each other over some purse.”

“That sounds like your style—and it’s going to be my first stop. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Have a good time—and watch out for the hair-pullers.”

With a laugh, Darcia strolled out.

Eve checked the time, then began to gather the files, the photos, the reports she’d copied to take home. By the time she’d finished, her incoming signaled. She nodded in satisfaction at the name of the file and the brisk accompanying message.

To Lieutenant Dallas, Homicide

From Lieutenant Oberman, Illegals

Confidential data re Keener, Rickie

As requested.

I bet that hurt,” Eve murmured, then copied and saved the file.

Peabody was already getting up from her desk when Eve came out. “I was just coming in to check if—”

“Got it. Let’s move.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Baxter leaped up. “You’ve got to tell me about the amazing skirt.”

“She’s out of orbit, Baxter. Literally.”

“I’ll say—in the best of all ways. Who—”

She kept walking. “And she outranks you.”

“Do you think women like that are born like that?” Peabody began. “Chief Angelo. I mean, so they pump out hot and sexy with every breath, but in a really classy way?”

“There are probably training courses.”

“Sign me up.”

“If you wouldn’t mind putting your hot and sexy aspirations on hold, we could actually focus on our current investigation. Just for the hell of it.”

“I think everybody has hot and sexy aspirations,” Peabody considered, “except those that already are. But I am totally focused on our current investigation. I assume Lieutenant Oberman sent you the required data.”