“I’ll need to work my magic to refine that, but again, about the same time he had the tattoo removed.”
“A priest with tats who gets into knife fights.” Eve set the goggles under a forest of red roses. “Who comes here going on six years ago with a new face. Yeah, it’s pretty interesting.”
“Who has jobs like us, Dallas?” Morris grinned at her. “Aren’t we the lucky ones?”
“Well, we’re a hell of a lot luckier than Father Dead here.”
You gotta wonder who,” Peabody said the minute they walked ba
ck down the white tunnel.
“Of course I wonder who. I get paid to wonder who.”
“No, well, yeah. But I meant about the roses. Who’d send Morris all those roses, and why?”
“Jesus, Peabody, the why’s obvious. I can’t believe I made you detective. The why is: Thanks for banging me into another plane of existence.”
“It doesn’t have to be that,” Peabody countered, just a little miffed. “It could be a thank-you for helping her move into a new apartment.”
“If you get a token for lifting furniture, it’s going to be a six-pack of brew. A big-ass bunch of red roses is for sex. Really good sex and lots of it.”
“I give McNab really good sex, and lots of it, and I don’t get big-ass bunches of red roses.”
“You cohab. Puts sex on the to-do list.”
“I bet Roarke buys you flowers,” Peabody muttered.
Did he? There were always flowers all over the place in the house. Were they for her? Was she supposed to acknowledge them? Reciprocate? Jesus, why was she thinking about this?
“And the who is probably the Southern belle cop with the big rack he’s been hitting on for the last while. Now, since that mystery’s solved, maybe we could spend a couple minutes contemplating the dead guy we just left.”
“Detective Coltraine? She hasn’t even been in New York a year. How come she gets Morris?”
“Peabody.”
“I’m just saying, it seems to me if somebody’s going to get Morris, it should be one of us. Not us us, because, taken.” Peabody’s brown eyes sizzled with the insult. “But one of us that’s been around more than five damn minutes.”
“If you can’t bang him, why do you care who does?”
“You do, too,” Peabody muttered as she dropped into the passenger seat. “You know you do.”
Maybe a little, but she didn’t have to admit it. “Could I interest you in a dead priest?”
“Okay, okay.” Peabody heaved a huge and sorrowful sigh. “Okay. The tattoo thing isn’t necessarily a big deal. People get tats then change their mind all the time. Which is why temps are smarter. He could’ve gotten it when he was younger, then decided it wasn’t, I don’t know, dignified enough for his job.”
“Knife wounds.”
“Sometimes priests and religious types go into dicey areas, and sticky situations. He could’ve been stabbed trying to help someone. And the older one could’ve happened when he was a teenager, before the holiness.”
“I’ll give you both of those,” Eve said as she drove to Cop Central. “Face work.”
“That’s tougher. But maybe he was injured. A vehicular accident, say, and his face got messed up. Maybe the church or a member thereof paid for the reconstruction.”
“We’ll check the medicals and see.”
“But you don’t buy it.”
“Peabody, I wouldn’t take it for free.”