J. Robb - Treachery in Death

“Said ass appreciates it,” Peabody muttered.

Webster drank some coffee, hissed, and swore. “Christ, this is bad. I need copies of every byte of data you’ve got, will get, hope to get.”

“You’ll have it.”

“Every briefing’s on record for IAB files.”

“No. I can’t agree to that, Webster,” she said before he could argue. “All results, all operational and investigative plans will be written up and recorded, but I’m not having my people have to censor every word or risk a poke from IAB. My contacts and conversations with Renee Oberman, William Garnet, and anybody else I believe is potentially connected will be recorded and copied to you for IAB. I’ll be wired, as will Peabody.”

“You’re going to get in her face with Keener.”

“I’m going to crawl up her ass with Keener.”

“How?”

Okay, Eve thought, she had him now. Invested, he’d not only assist, but he’d keep her team covered from any internal backlash.

“I’ve deduced he was her weasel by reading his file—which happens to be true. Plus, my mythical weasel knew him. I know how to handle that end.”

“And I know how to handle mine. I have to tell my captain something. So . . . I’ve got a possible line on something major, but need some time to suss it out further before involving the Bureau. He’ll press me some, but he won’t box me in if I tell him I need the room.”

She argued a little for form’s sake. “How much room is he going to give you after you dangle a hint of something major under his nose?”

“Enough. I won’t lie to my captain, Dallas—and more—by informing him to that extent, it puts my part of the investigation on record. That’s going to matter when we nail her and her merry men.”

“Okay.”

“Now, since this coffee didn’t kill me, I’m going to get started.”

“Sixteen hundred, HQ,” Eve told him.

“I’ll be there.” He stood. “You did the right thing, Peabody. Right down the line, you did right. That’s going to matter, too.”

Peabody sat another moment after Webster walked out. “God, I’m glad that part’s over. Dallas, would you really have broken his arm? Or tagged Whitney and tried to get Webster transferred to Queens?”

“Yeah—maybe I’d’ve gone for his nose and Yonkers.” She shrugged. “But I’d’ve been a little sorry about it.”

Back at Central she told Peabody to start the board and book on Keener. “I’m going up to EDD, get wired, then pay Renee a visit.”

“Shouldn’t I go with you?”

“We’re going to initiate this as a kind of courtesy call—LT to LT, weasel handler to weasel handler. I want her to know we’re giving the case our best effort, and my detective is laying the foundation before we check in with the morgue.”

“Do you think she already knows we found him?”

“It’s going to be interesting to find out. Get it started, Peabody, then take one of your little ‘breaks’ with McNab and get wired up.”

All innocence, Peabody widened her eyes. “What little breaks?”

“Do you really think I don’t know what goes on in my own department?”

Eve split off, took the glide up to EDD.

She ignored the noise, the eye-searing colors, the incessant movement as best she could and ducked into Feeney’s blissfully normal office.

He sat at his desk, comfortably rumpled, stoop-shouldered, alternately tapping his fingers on a screen, and raking them through his bush of wiry ginger red hair.

His basset hound eyes tracked to hers.

“I’ve got to close out that noise. How the hell do you stand it?” She shut the door, and for a moment neither spoke.

His face, as comfortably rumpled as his shirt, went grim. “This is a hell of a thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve crossed with Oberman’s daughter plenty. Everybody needs EDD. I wouldn’t have figured it.”

“You’re not alone.”

“I took a look at her when she came out of the Academy. Had a shiny record there, so I thought about asking if she wanted Homicide, wanted me to train her.”

Connections, Eve thought. You never knew where they’d come from. “Why didn’t you?”

“Just didn’t seem the right fit. I can’t put my finger on it, even now, except you know when you know. Like I looked at somebody else who came out of the Academy with a shiny record a few years later and knew.” His saggy face moved into a smile. “That was a pretty good fit.”

And if he’d taken Renee, would he have still taken her? Fate, she decided, you never knew where that came from either.

“You’d be running Homicide still if you hadn’t gone over to the dark side.”

“I trained you to run it.” He tapped a finger in the air at her. “Besides, you never did understand or appreciate the power of the geek.”

“Enough to know when to use them.” She sat on the edge of his desk, dipped a hand into his dish of candied almonds. “Fuck, Feeney, I just put us in bed with IAB.”

“No choice, kid.” He opened a drawer. “And no regrets. I’ve got your eyes and ears here. High grade. They won’t show on a scan or a sweep. Running a network like this, she’s probably hooked in for scans. You want to be careful with these. They’re worth double what we make in a month, combined.”

He rose, blew out a breath. And his ears pinked a little. “You gotta strip off the jacket and shirt.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They avoided looking at each other as she did.

“That one, too.”

“Jesus, Feeney, I’m naked under here. It’s a support tank.”

His color spread from his ears to his cheeks; his gaze stayed pinned over her shoulder. “I don’t want to see your tits any more than you want to flash them, but this has to go against skin. So you should’ve thought of that and worn one of those other things.”

“Man.” Mortified, she stripped to the skin, shoved the diamond she wore behind her back.

“You got some tan.”

“Jesus, Feeney.”

“I’m just saying ’cause I’ll need to adjust the tone, blend it in. I can make it damn near invisible even when you’re naked. Stop fidgeting. Talk about the murder.”

She put herself back in the filthy bathroom, which was somehow better than thinking about standing half naked in EDD.

“I think the killer put the new lock on the front door. Why would Keener do that? New locks just dare some asshole to break it and see what’s worth locking up inside.”

“Wanted him to be found.”

“Yeah. Not this fast, but yeah. If some asshole found him, it’s probable they’d have messed up the crime scene, riffled through Keener’s junk. He had some clothes, a little cash, a toss-away ’link in the room he’d flopped in. And shoes. They always take the shoes. If it had gone that way, we’d have less to work with. I have a source, which I made up, telling me Keener wouldn’t OD. I play that against his record, his experience with his recreation of choice.”

“How are you going to work her?”

“I’ve got some ideas, but I need a face-to-face to refine them. And I need to talk to Mira. I have to make first contact now, but I want a run-through with Mira.”

“Done.” He immediately turned his back. “Put something on, for Christ’s sake.” He picked up an earbud the size of a baby pea. “When and if you need it, one of us will be able to communicate with you through this.”

“How do I turn the recorder on and off?”

“I’ll set you up key phrases, whatever you want.”

“Ah. Cinnamon donuts. I missed breakfast,” she told him. “I could go for a cinnamon donut.”

He sat, keyed the phrase into a control panel. “That’s on. I could go for a cinnamon donut myself.”

“Who couldn’t?”