Treachery in Death (In Death #32)(42)

“Christ’s sake, don’t you cops know each other? Him. Him. Those are the ones broke in to Juicy’s place and violated his civil rights.”

“You’re sure?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“When’s the last time you saw Juicy?”

“Couple days ago. Three, maybe. Who keeps track?”

“Okay. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Before she could change her mind, he jammed his key in the lock and did a fast turn into his flop.

“Got them,” Eve murmured. “One more stop. Pizza.”

“It’s rare for me to say, but I’m really not hungry. Between that flop and this heat, food holds no appeal.”

“We’re not eating. We’re going to visit the scene of Juicy’s last meal.”

“Oh. Listen, when we finish there, is it okay if I go to my place, grab a shower and change? Even before that fun-filled search in garbage hell I was feeling a little grungy.”

“Be at my home office by sixteen hundred—thirty sooner’s better.”

“No problem. And ...” Peabody pulled her sticky shirt away from her br**sts. “I think everyone will thank you.”

True to form, the pizza joint was in Keener’s territory—and, in fact, between his hole and his flop.

“Did I say not the brightest bulb? This one was burned out for a while.”

Counters lined one wall and the box-sized window. A couple people enjoying a slice rolled eyes toward her, then hastily away. She could almost hear the relief slide out of them when she walked past.

“What’ll it be?” The woman behind the glass-fronted counter rolled her shoulders as if to dislodge an ache. She was black, with thin, tough-looking arms, her hair tied back in a blue kerchief and a single hoop piercing her left eyebrow.

“Questions.” Eve showed her badge.

“Look, I don’t want trouble so I stay out of it. I’m clean. I’ve got a kid at home, and I’ve got to work to pay the rent.”

“I’ve got no problems for you. Do you know Rickie Keener? Juicy?”

“Everybody knows Juicy.”

“Who was on the counter last night?”

“I was.” She glanced toward the back with a look of avid dislike. “Gee made me work the late shift, even though he knows I gotta get a sitter costs more than I make when it’s night work.”

“Was Juicy in?”

“Yeah, he came in. Got a whole damn pie—with sardines. That’s his usual—the topping, not the whole pie. Whole pie, couple of brews, so he had to be flush.” She pulled another kerchief out of her apron pocket, dabbed at her sweaty throat. “In a real good mood, too.”

“Is that so?”

“He tipped me. I get a tip about once every ten blue moons, but he laid a five on the counter, and says, ‘That’s for your own sweet self, Loo.’ Says how he’s settling his accounts, closing up shop, and going where there’s cool, sea breezes. Full of bull.”

Then she shrugged, stuffed the kerchief back in her pocket. “I guess you know what he does, but he was always polite to me. Always said thanks—and he never did business in here. I guess he’s in trouble.”

“He’s dead, Loo.”

“Oh.” Loo shook her head, cast her eyes down a moment. “I guess it’s hard to be surprised when somebody lives that life.”

“How about this guy?” She gestured for Peabody to show Bix’s shot.

“Haven’t seen him in here. He’d stick out, that’s for sure. Big, healthy white guy. Seen him somewhere, maybe. Maybe ... yeah, I think I saw him—somebody big and white anyway, hanging around down the block when I walked home.”

“What time did you get off?”

“Not till damn near three. Half the streetlights out, and I don’t stroll, if you get me, when I’ve got to walk home at that time of night. I caught a glimpse because I keep my eyes open. Mostly the ass**les leave me be because they eat here, but you never know. So I caught a glimpse, like I said. Could’ve been this guy.”

“Good enough. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about Juicy. I didn’t like how he made his way, but he never did me any harm.”

Not a bad epitaph for a junkie, Eve thought as she left.

9

EVE CALCULATED SHE HAD TIME FOR A QUICK shower and change herself. She’d feel better and would be able to turn all the data, statements, and observations over in her mind while she scraped off the grunge from a dead man’s flop.

She began to turn them over even as she walked into the house, into the cool, into the beady stares of Summerset and the cat.

“Have I missed a national holiday? There must be celebrations in the streets for you to be home at this hour of the day.”

“I’m calling it Summerset Goes Mute Day. The city’s gone mad with joy.” She angled for the steps, stopped. “I’ve got a team coming in for a briefing.”

“So I’m informed. You’ll be serving pulled pork barbecue, a cold pasta salad, fresh tomatoes with mozzarella, and green beans almondine.”

“Oh.”

“Followed by peach pie à la mode and a selection of petit fours.”