He nodded, moved back to the door. With his hand on the knob, he drew a breath. "He was a great man," he said, and left the room.
"He's nervous," Peabody observed. "Grieving-I don't think he's faking that-but nervous, too. We've pushed on a sensitive spot."
"Sent the wife and kiddies away," Eve mused. "Good time to clean out anything incriminating. We're not going to get that search order in time to stop him, not if he moves right away."
"He wipes data, EDD will dig it out."
"Spoken like an e-groupie." But Eve nodded. "We'll push for the warrant."
She was still waiting for it at end of shift, and as a last resort hauled Nadine's bakery box into the cell-like office of an assistant prosecuting attorney.
APAs, Eve noted, didn't fare much better than cops when it came to work environment.
Cher Reo had a rep for being hungry. Eve earmarked her because if the brownies didn't turn the tide, the prospect of having part in a scandal that would generate days of screen time should.
Despite the sunny sweep of silky hair, the baby-doll blue eyes and curvy pink lips, Cher was known to be a piranha. She was wearing a stone-gray skirt-demurely to her knees-and a simple white shirt. The matching jacket was draped neatly over the back of her chair.
Her desk was covered with files, discs, notes. She drank coffee out of a super-sized to-go cup.
Eve waltzed in, dropped the candy-pink box on the desk. And watched Cher's nostrils flare.
"What?" She had a little Southern in her voice, like a dusting of sugar. Eve had yet to decide if it was genuine.
"Brownies."
Cher leaned a little closer to the box, sniffed. Shut her eyes. "I'm on a diet."
"Triple chocolate."
"Whore." Lifting the box a fraction, Cher peeked, groaned. "Filthy whore. What do I have to do for them?"
"I'm still waiting for the warrant on Icove Jr.'s residence."
"You'll be lucky if you get it at all. You're poking pointy sticks in the eye of a saint, Dallas." Cher sat back, swiveled. Eve saw she had airskids on her feet. And dignified gray heels tucked into the corner of the room. "My boss doesn't want to give you the go to jam it in. He's going to want more."
Eve leaned a hip on the edge of the desk. "Convince him otherwise. The surviving son knows something, Reo. While your boss is playing politics instead of throwing his weight with mine-and Mira's-to a
judge, data may very well be lost. Does the PA's office want to hinder the investigation into the murder of a man of Icove's stature?"
"Nope. And it sure doesn't want to toss shit into his grave either." "Push for the warrant, Reo. If I get what I'm after, it's going to be Dig. And I'll remember who helped me get it."
"If you turn up nothing? Nobody's going to forget who helped you screw this up either."
"I'll turn up something." She pushed off the desk. "If you can't trust me, Reo, trust the brownies."
Reo blew out a breath. "It'll take a while. Even saying I can convince my boss-and that's going to take some doing-we've got to convince a judge to sign off."
"Then why don't you get started?"
This time when she got home, Summerset was where she expected him to be. Lurking in the foyer like some prune-faced gargoyle. She decided to let him take the first shot. She preferred retaliation, because it usually gave her the last word.
She stripped off her coat while they eyed each other. And decided it made even more of a statement draped over the newel post than her usual jacket did.
"Lieutenant. I need a moment of your time."
Her brow knit. He wasn't supposed to say that, and in a polite, inoffensive tone. "What for?"
"It regards Wilfred Icove."