“Subjects entering the theater.”
“Copy that. Keep eyes on them.”
“On them now. They’re heading straight to the bar. Ordering a bottle of champagne for their box. Making a big show of it, a lot of loud, hearty laughter, drawing attention. They’re heading in now. Staff’s scrambling to get it up to their box before curtain.”
Establishing the alibi, Eve thought. “Take positions. One of them goes to take a leak, you’re with them.”
“I think I’ll leave that to the new guy. Out.”
“Cutting it close,” Eve said. “Getting there five minutes to curtain, ordering champagne. The bartender will remember them, and so will the servers and some of the people milling around.”
Idiots, she thought, but not completely stupid.
“They’ll need to wait until the performance starts to make any move. Wait until people are watching the stage, the house is dark. But soon. It has to be soon. Cut it out.” She gave Peabody a shove. “You’re making my eye twitch.”
“We’re just sitting here.”
“I know sex giggles when I hear them.”
“I wasn’t giggling.”
“Not you. Him.”
McNab just grinned at her. “Those were manly chuckles.”
“You’re cops. Be cops.”
She shifted, scowled. “What are you smiling at?” she demanded of Roarke.
“Why don’t you sit here and I’ll tell you.” With a sparkling look in his eyes, he patted his knee. “And I might produce a manly chuckle of my own.”
“Stop it. You’re embarrassing Feeney.”
“I’m past it,” Feeney muttered and kept his head down. “Surrounded by a bunch of giggling, twitching, chuckling fools when we’re on an op looking to take down a couple of crazy thrill killers.”
“Didn’t I tell them to cut it out?”
“You give them any attention you just encourage them.” He said it mournfully, raising his gaze to hers. “Now I’ll start twitching because
you chipped the wall.”
“What wall?”
“The wall I build in my head so I don’t hear the sex giggles. Now you chipped it, and I’ll hear them, and I’ll be twitching.”
“So it’s my fault? Your wall’s weak, that’s what it is, if I can chip it just by mentioning—Shut up,” she ordered, snapping to when her ’link signaled. “Everybody zip it.” She looked at the display, and then she smiled. “Showtime.”
She scrubbed her fingers in her hair to disorder it, slapped her cheeks to pink them up, then brought the ’link close to her face. From Dudley. “The fuck you want, asshole?” she demanded, slurring her words.
“Lieutenant Dallas, thank God. You have to listen to me. I only have a few moments.”
“Screw you.”
“No, no, don’t cut me off. I need your help. It’s Sly. I think . . . dear God, I think he’s mad.”
“Speak up. It’s noisy in this place. I can barely hear you.”
“I can’t risk speaking any louder.” He continued to use dramatic hisses and whispers. “Listen to me, listen! I think he killed Delaflote, and poor Adrianne. The things he said after you left Lionel’s . . . I can’t believe it. He was so angry, and frightened, too. He said . . . I can’t tell you all this over the ’link. He’s drinking, too much. I think I can get away, soon. Make an excuse, or hope he passes out and get away to meet you. I need to tell you . . . please, you have to meet me.”