Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“No security cams in the hallways, stairways,” Peabody added. “If it’s an inside job, why not just go out the door when you were finished?”

“Yeah, why not? Maybe you don’t know there aren’t any cams.” Her boots clanged on metal as she went down, and her stomach began to level out. “Maybe you’re really careful and don’t want to chance being seen by Mr. and Mrs. Tourist, who may be strolling in from a night on the town.”

At the last platform, she hit the second release, and the short ladder rattled out. Steady now, she swung out, used the rungs, then dropped to the sidewalk.

Peabody clambered down after her.

“Couple of things,” Eve began as they skirted around to the front of the building. “Lombard went to Roarke’s office on Frid

ay to try to shake him down.”

“What? What?”

“It needs to go in the report. It needs to be out there, up front. He met her, booted her out. End of story, but it needs to be up front. Sometime after that and several hours before she got bashed, she ran into trouble. It’s easy for both Roarke and myself to account for our time and our whereabouts at the time of her death, and should be just as easy to account for the period between her leaving his office and TOD.”

“Nobody’s going to be looking at either of you.”

Eve stopped. “I’d be looking at me if I didn’t know I was alibied. I wouldn’t be above smacking her in the face.”

“Killing her?”

Eve shook her head. “Maybe whoever tuned her up wasn’t the same person who killed her. Maybe she was working with someone, hoping to fall into easy money through Roarke. When she didn’t pull it off, he or she tuned her. It’s something to look at.”

“All right.”

“Here’s the deal.” She turned to Peabody and gave what she considered a statement. “We had a houseful of caterers and decorators and God knows crawling all over the house all day Saturday. All day. When Roarke has outside contractors on the premises, he keeps cams on, full. You’re going to contact Feeney, request that he pick up those discs, examine the equipment, and verify we were both there, all day.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’m going to repeat: Nobody’s going to look at you.” She held up a hand before Eve could interrupt. “Neither would you, Dallas, after five minutes. A face punch, sure. You’re not above it. And so what? But that was more than a punch that left her face messed up. More than a fist, and you are above that. She tries to shake Roarke down? Shit, she had to be bird stupid. He’d scrape her off like, well, like you’d scrape flying rat shit off your shoe. It’s a nonissue. Trust me, I’m a detective.”

“Been a while since you’ve managed to work that into a conversation.”

“I’ve grown mature, and selective.” As they rounded the corner, Peabody dipped her hands into her pockets. “He’s going to have to be interviewed, you know.”

“Yeah.” She could see him leaning up against the side of her vehicle— where had that come from—and working on his PPC. “I know.”

He looked over, spotted her. His eyebrows lifted, and he tucked his PPC away. “Out for a stroll?”

“You never know where cop work’s going to take you.”

“Obviously. Hello, Peabody. Recovered this morning?”

“Barely. It was a hell of a party.”

“Give us a minute, will you?” Eve asked her.

“Sure. I’ll go talk to people, and get those discs.”

When they were alone, Eve gave her vehicle’s tire a little boot. “How did this get here?”

“A bit of sleight of hand. I assumed you’d want your own.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I contacted Mira, let her know what was going on and that you’d be tied up for a while.”

“Mira? Oh, right, right.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “Forgot. Thanks. What do I owe you?”

“We’ll negotiate.”