Witness in Death (In Death #10)(61)

"I want to be bad cop this time."

"Feeney, you're -- " She stopped, sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

Feeney hunched his shoulder. "I don't smell anything. I'm taking bad cop." He said it so decisively, Eve rolled her eyes, then shrugged.

"Okay, fine. I'll start off being pleasant and reasonable, then we'll jam him. If he's lawyered..." She sniffed again, scenting the air like a bloodhound as other cops and Central personnel streamed by. "It smells, I don't know, green," she decided. "Like a salad."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Let's keep focused, okay? A guy whips hell out of somebody like this one did, he's got a temper. Let's see if we can heat it up."

"Fine." As they stepped off the glide, she leaned in, sniffed at Feeney. "Hey, it's you."

"Shut up, Dallas."

She grinned now, as the back of the neck she'd just sniffed turned cherry red. "How come you smell like a fancy green salad, Feeney?"

"Quiet down, will you? Christ." He darted looks right and left until he was sure no one was close enough to hear. Then he lowered his voice to a mutter, just in case. "Look, my wife gave me this stuff for our anniversary."

"You're supposed to put salad dressing on lettuce and stuff, Feeney."

"It's not salad dressing, it's cologne."

"You smell good enough to eat."

His mouth found a spot between a snarl and a sneer. "Yeah, that's what she says. Keep it down, will you? I couldn't get out of the house this morning without putting it on, or I'd've hurt her feelings. You have to get pretty close to catch it, but the damn stuff lasts hours. I've been taking stairs and glides all day. I can't risk an elevator."

"Gee, that's really sweet, Feeney. Maybe you could tell her you want to save it for special occasions."

"You think she'd tumble for that? Dallas, you don't understand women."

"Got me there." They turned the corner and saw Peabody outside Interview Three talking to another uniform. Eve recognized the tall young cop, sent him a nod when he turned, saw her, flushed.

"Well, it's Officer Trueheart. How's it going?"

"It's going good, Lieutenant. The suspect's inside."

"Subject," Eve corrected. "We're not calling him suspect at this point." She watched him process the difference in procedure. She could smell rookie on him as clearly as she could smell Feeney's cologne. "Did the subject request a lawyer or representative?"

"No, sir. I think -- " He cut himself off, stiffened his already soldierly back. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant."

"You're allowed to think, Trueheart. In fact, we encourage thinking around here." She remembered, with some bitterness, his first trainer who'd not only discouraged thinking, but humanity. "Give me your take."

"Yes, sir. Well, sir, I think he's too mad to ask for representation at this time. Mad, Lieutenant, plus he wants to go a few rounds with you. In my opinion. The subject referred to you in... inflammatory terms during transport."

"And here I was planning to be nice to him. Stand by, Trueheart. You can go to Observation if you want. We'll need you to transport the subject, one way or the other, after interview."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. And I'd like to express my appreciation for your assistance in having me transferred from stiff-scooping detail to Central."

"The transfer was easy, Trueheart. Staying here will be up to you. Are we set?" she asked Peabody and Feeney.

She opened the door, strolled inside.

Stiles sat at the small table, his arms crossed, his face mutinous. He sent Eve one steely glare. "And what is the meaning of this outrage, Lieutenant Dallas? I want an explanation as to why I was removed from my home by two uniformed officers and shoved into the backseat of a police car."

"Peabody, make a note to speak with said uniformed officers. No shoving."

"So noted, sir."

"Record on," she said meandering to the table. "Interview with subject Kenneth Stiles, regarding case number HS46178-C. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, as primary. Also in attendance Feeney, Captain Ryan, and Peabody, Officer Delia. Mr. Stiles, have you been informed of your rights and obligations in this matter?"

"The cop with peach fuzz on his chin recited the standard. I want to know -- "

"And do you understand these rights and obligations, Mr. Stiles?"

He showed his teeth. "I'm not a nitwit; of course I understand them. I insist -- "

"I apologize for the inconvenience." She settled back, tried out a smile. There was no need to repeat the revised Miranda and remind him he could holler lawyer. "I realize this is unpleasant for you, again apologize for the inconvenience, and will try to expedite this interview."

Feeney gave a sharp snort so that Eve sent him a quick, worried look that had Stiles shifting in his seat.

"What is this about?" Stiles demanded. "I have a right to know why I've been dragged down here like a common criminal."

"You've been read your rights, Stiles." Feeney's voice was clipped and harsh. "Now we're the ones who ask the questions."