J. Robb - Survivor in Death

“No point.”

“Was your husband home last night? Between one and three a.m.?”

“Where else would he be at one o'clock in the morning?” she asked hotly. “What is this?”

“A homicide investigation. Your husband's military records indicate he was an MR”

“Eight years. So what?”

“I wonder, when he complained to his buddies about Mrs. Swisher's treatment of you, they must have gotten heated up-on your account.”

“You'd think, wouldn't you? You'd think. But people don't have much sympathy for a woman with my condition.”

“That's a shame. You don't have any friends, or relatives, who could front you the money for the body work?”

“Shit.” She blew out smoke, reached for another candy. “Who are we going to know with that kind of money? I was an Army brat, and my father died serving his country when I was sixteen. Stu's family's mostly factory workers out inOhio. You know what sculpting costs?” she demanded. Then she swept her gaze over Eve, curled her lip. “How much did it cost you?”

Eve paused outside the building. “Do you think I should've been insulted?” she wondered. “The 'how much did it cost you' crack?”

“She probably meant it as a kind of compliment. But still, I've got a great-aunt who's half French and I was sort of insulted with Mrs. Grentz's French cracks.” She slid into the vehicle. “This one gets checked off.”

“Yeah. No way she's smart enough, no way they have the resources. Husband's military record's clean, and even the MP stint wouldn't give him the kind of training we're after. And he's too old, too weighty himself according to his ID data.”

“Could just be pulling the strings, but-”

“Right. Hard to believe anyone married to her, living in a place full of smoke and candy, is disciplined and clever enough to outline an operation like this one.”

“Or working as a security drone at the mall, chasing off kids, mostly. Bad-mouthing and complaining, that's what these people do.”

“And they don't kill off an entire family because they're pissed off at somebody. No,” Eve agreed. “She was irritating, and he's likely the same, but they're not masterminds or cold-blooded kid killers.”

“You know what else? I don't think whoever did this, or is behind it, made any noise. I mean, none of this, I'll-sue-your-quack-ass business. I know we have to check those out, but that's not going to be the hit.” Eve kept her attention on the road as she drove. “Why?” “Because he has to think ahead, right? Has to be controlled and organized. Whenever this happened-I mean whatever it was that made him target these people-he had to pull it out. Because he'd have been thinking payback. Someday, somehow. But you don't leave a trail.” Now Eve turned her head. “My pride in you bubbles in my heart. Unless it's that soy dog you talked me into earlier.”

“Gosh, Dallas, a blush rises to my cheeks. Unless that, too, is the soy dog.” She thumped a fist on her chest, gave a small, somehow ladylike belch. “Guess it was the dog.”

“Now that we've established that, let's have the next on the list.” Peabody called up the list, the next name, the location, and the directions from the dash menu. Then leaned forward, stroking the dash and crooning. “Nice vehicle, pretty vehicle. Smart vehicle.” She slid her gaze toward Eve. “And who got the nice, pretty, smart vehicle for us?” “You've already milked that one, Peabody.” “Yeah but- Aww, and see, look at its little 'link beeping.” Shaking her head, Eve answered the beep. “ Dallas.” “A little tit for tat coming your way,” Nadine said, “so don't forget it. Scanner picked up a snatch-and-grab report. Female on Avenue B, tossed in the back of a van quick as a wink.” “Unless she's dead, she's not my table. Sorry.” “Cold, cruel, true. Thing is, one of the witnesses recognized her, and actually bothered to say so to the uniforms responding. Said she was a social worker named Meredith Newman. I get wind of that and I think, hey, isn't that the name of-”

“The GPS drone on the Swisher case.”

“I'm heading down there, to do some interviews. Thought you'd want to know.”

“We're on our way. Don't talk to anybody on scene, Nadine. I need a shot first. You're going to give me tit,” she added when Nadine's mouth opened. “Don't be stingy with it.”

She broke off, whipped around a corner, and headed south.

EVE SPOTTED THE CHANNEL 75 VAN PARKED IN a loading zone on Avenue B. She whipped by it, then double-parked beside the black-and-white already at the curb.

She spotted Nadine as well-it was hard not to when the perfectly streaked hair and the vivid royal blue of the reporter's on-air suit sprang out like an exotic bloom against the faded forest of dingy shirts and smudgy concrete.

She was cozied up with a trio of the daily doorway lurkers but peeled off toward Eve.

“I never said I wouldn't ask questions,” Nadine said immediately. “But I've kept it off record. For now. Your uniform's inside with the woman who claims to have seen the grab and recognized the grabee. Hi, Peabody. How are you feeling?”

“Better and better, thanks.”

Eve sent a hard stare at the van. “Keep the cameras off.”

“Public street,” Nadine began. “Public-”

“Nadine, do you know why I often give you an inside track? Because it's not just the story with you. You actually give more than a passing thought to the people in the story. And you wouldn't, not even for ratings, sacrifice those people to get your pretty face on air.”

Nadine blew out a long breath. “Shit.”

“Keep the cameras off,” Eve repeated and strode toward the lingering lurkers. “What did you see?” she began. “What do you know?”

The skinniest of the lot, a mixed-race stick with a pitted complexion, grinned-illustrating that his dental care was slightly below the standard of his skin care-and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

“DetectivePeabody.” Eve spoke in mild tones, her eyes cold as a shark's. “In your professional opinion, did this individual, who has possibly witnessed a crime, just solicit a member of the NYPSD for a bribe in exchange for information regarding that crime?”

“That does appear to be the case, Lieutenant.”

“Me and my 'sociates need some jack. You give, you gets.”

“And, Detective, what would be my most usual response to such a solicitation?”

“Your response, Lieutenant, would be to haul said individual, and possibly his associates, into Central, possibly charged with obstruction of justice and impeding a police investigation. You would also determine if subject and/or his associates had sheets. If so, you would then spend considerable time ruining their day and potentially making their lives, for the short-term at least, a stinking hell.”

“That's exactly correct, Detective. Thank you. You catch any of that, asshole?”

He actually looked hurt. “No jack?”

“That is also exactly correct. Now I'll repeat: What did you see, what do you know?”

“You gonna take me in I don't say?”

“Two correct answers in a row. Want to try for three?”

“Well, shit. I seen the big nose shuffling along, coming along looking like she smell something she don't like. Ain't worth two looks, but we just hanging, so I start to give her a blow. Then the van thing, it flies up. Fast! And the two dudes, they pop out the back. Got one on each sida her. Lifts her up, toss her in, slam, bam, gone. We and my 'sociates, we'da taken them on but they was rat fast, man. You gets?”

“Yeah, I get. What did they look like? The men who popped out the back?”

“Like ninjas, man.” He looked at each of his pals for nods of agreement. “Like a coupla kick-face ninja dudes in black threads with the mask thing.”