Visions in Death (In Death 19)
Page 66
“What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”
“Too many things, and I’ve got to start lining them up. I’m going to be calling Celina into Central, get a detailed report of her . . . vision. I’m going to have a couple of soft-clothes cops escort her in. Eight hundred.”
She stuck her hands in her pockets, pulled them out again when she remembered she’d wiped off the blood but hadn’t cleaned off the sealant. “Here’s the thing.”
When she said nothing else, only continued to stare into the park, Roarke cocked his head. “And that thing would be?”
“She said she was home in bed when she contacted me. I’d just like to verify that, that’s all. Just like to nail that down.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I don’t not believe her. I just want to verify, so it’s off my mind. So I don’t find myself wondering. That’s all.”
“And if someone could . . . gain access to her bedroom when she was elsewhere, check her ’link, you wouldn’t find yourself wondering.”
“Yes.” She looked at him then. “And I can’t believe I’m standing here asking you to commit a crime. I know if she was home in bed when she contacted me, she couldn’t have been here when the murder took place—not when she called minutes after Napier’s death. I could request a check of her ’link, send an e-man to her place with her permission, but—”
“It seems rude.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about seeming rude, but I do about making an ass of myself. I do about potentially alienating a valuable source.”
“Eight o’clock then.”
She was torn between relief and worry.
“Listen, I’ll contact you when she comes in. Just to make sure it’s clear. If you get caught—”
“Darling Eve.” There was a deliberate wealth of patience in his tone. “I love you more than life itself and have, I believe, demonstrated that regularly throughout our relationship. So I can’t understand why you persist in insulting me.”
“Me neither. Just in and out. Just the ’link. Don’t go poking around. If it checks out, don’t contact me. If it doesn’t, tag me on my personal.”
“Shouldn’t we have code words?”
She sent him a withering look as he grinned at her. “Yeah. Bite me.”
Laughing, he jerked her forward and did just that, giving her a quick nip on the chin before brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll find my own way home. Get a little sleep.”
Eve turned back toward the arch, back toward death, and didn’t see how she could.
Notifying next of kin was always hideous, but it was worse, somehow worse, when it had to be done in the middle of the night. She depressed the buzzer on an apartment on the Lower West Side and prepared to take a slice out of someone’s world.
There was a wait, long enough she was preparing to ring again when the intercom blinked on.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Police.” Eve held up her badge, stood with it in view of the peep. “We need to speak with Carleen Steeple.”
“It’s four in the fricking morning. What’s this about?”
“Sir, we need to come inside.”
The intercom clicked off, followed by an irritated rattle of chains and locks. The man who opened the door wore nothing but a pair of loose cotton pants and an annoyed expression. “What’s this about? Some of us are trying to sleep, and I don’t want you waking up the kids.”
“We’re sorry to disturb you, Mr. Steeple.” The brother-in-law, Eve thought, according to the data. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas. This is Detective Peabody. We need to speak to your wife.”
“Andy?” A woman with short, curly, sleep-ruffled hair poked her face out of a doorway. “What’s going on?”
“Cops. Look, we reported the illegals’ deals we saw, and the junkies roaming around in the broad fricking daylight. We did our civic duty, and don’t appreciate getting hassled in the middle of the night.”