Forgotten in Death(86)

“You plan to talk to the Singers today,” he said as she rose to go to her closet.

“It sounds like the grandmother had her hands on the wheel during that period. The father was supposed to, but my take is he was more interested in flitting around the world than getting his hands dirty.”

She poked her head out. “Know anything about that?”

“Well before my time, but I can ask around.”

“Couldn’t hurt. It bugs me, the wall bugs me. Superior material there, crap on the rest. Where’d they get it? From another site? Had to be a quick, fast, in-a-fucking-hurry job, so you can’t, you know, order a bunch of bricks.”

“A great deal of construction in that area at that time,” he pointed out from the doorway of her closet.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve got that. Like I’ve got Singer was a player back then, too—and Bardov either partnered or invested in Singer projects. Which tells me there wasn’t much problem with the big shots on hooking up with a mobster. Yeah, yeah, yeah again, post-Urbans, desperate times and all that, but that connection’s still there. So.”

She wanted to grab black, just whatever in black, but he stood there in the damn closet.

“Okay, fine. I’m going to take down another cop—fucking wifebeating, smug, bullying bastard. And I’m going to interview Elinor and J. Bolton Singer—as long as I can get to them today. And since I’ll be in the area, I may give Bardov another push, see if I can talk to his wife.”

She threw up her hands. “What in this vast labyrinth of clothes do I put on, and why?”

“First, power and authority are what you project. The clothes only confirm what you already are. The Singers are wealthy, and so are you.”

He held up a hand before she could object. “Which means you speak to them on the same level, and you show you’re on the same level. Money and status matter to Elinor Singer. That much I know.”

He chose slim pants in smoke-gray leather, passed them to her. Then a T-shirt—on the silky side and several shades lighter. Like the topper, she remembered.

“Go with a vest again—three-button style.” He handed her one the color of the pants but with a thin stripe in the lighter gray.

“The tee shows off your very-well-toned arms, and projects power and strength, but the material’s rich.”

He turned to the wall of boots. She figured he’d go with the lighter gray and what she thought of as a girlier style.

Instead he lifted a smoke-gray pair, thick soled, that laced over the ankle.

“Add the edge. Military style. Authority.”

“Okay, I like it.”

“Then suck this up. Diamond studs—very small, barely noticeable. They’ll be noticed, believe me, by the women.”

“Shit.” The idea actually brought on a twinge of pain. “A bullpen full of cops’ll notice, too.”

“I’m sure you’ll all deal with it.” He toyed with the fat diamond she wore around her neck. “You might wear this over your shirt instead of under for the Singers.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He cupped her face. “It matters to me you wear it.”

“You got that stupid button in your pocket?”

He reached in, drew out the gray button that had fallen off her ugly suit the first time he’d met her.

“Same thing.” She lifted her shoulders. “It’s the same damn thing, which makes us a couple of saps for each other.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather be a sap for.” He kissed her, stepped back. “I’ll get the earrings.”

“Really small, right?”

“Practically invisible.”

She rolled her eyes, but dressed. And dressed, decided she looked like a cop—vital to her—and a woman who could handle herself.

She took the earrings. Not practically invisible, she thought, but they were pretty small.

But it all felt better—more her—when she strapped on her weapon.

“And there you have it,” he said with a nod of approval. “Let me know if and when on the copter. I’d pilot you myself, but I’m a bit crowded today.”

“I’m hoping for ten, maybe eleven. It all depends on how quick I can wrap up Wicker.”

“Just tag me. And don’t forget your topper when you leave for Hudson Valley. And these.”

He handed her sunshades with smoke-gray lenses.

“I’m going to lose them.”

“Probably, but before you do, they add another edge.”

She glanced toward the mirror to see. “Man, they’re excellent. I’m going to hate losing them. Gotta go.” She kissed him hard. “Got APAs to push and scientists to nag.”

“Good luck on all of that, and take care of my cop.”

“Look at her.” Eve waggled the sunshades. “She can take care of herself and anybody else she needs to.”

He counted on just that.



* * *



Eve tagged Reo, coordinated with her on Wicker. It involved some legal maneuvers—which she happily left in Reo’s lap.

She texted Peabody, gave her the outline.

And with renewed energy and purpose, fought her way through traffic.