Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

“He’s got a knack.” Strong dropped down on the couch but didn’t relax. “What are you after, Lieutenant?”

“You know I’m investigating a homicide that crosses with your squad.”

“That’s no secret.”

“Did you ever meet my vic? Keener?”

“Never had the pleasure.”

“Did the squad give him space because he was the boss’s weasel?”

“Maybe.” Strong took a hit of brew. “Myself, I never had any reason to roust him.”

“You’re mostly riding a desk now.”

Her face remained absolutely neutral. “A lot of work gets done at a desk.”

“It can. You’re a street cop, Detective, and your previous record on the street’s solid. It makes me wonder why your lieutenant has you doing follow-ups and writing up reports.”

“You’d have to ask her.”

“I’m asking you.”

Strong shook her head. “If you think I’m going to whine and bitch ab

out my LT, you’re going to be disappointed. It’s no secret either, sir, you and Oberman are butting heads. You want dish? I’m not serving it.”

“You don’t like how she runs the squad. You don’t have to say anything.” Eve gestured casually with the brew bottle. “I’m just stating my personal observations. You don’t like being behind a desk when you know damn well you’d do more good on the street. You think it’s bullshit—the suits and ties, the shiny shoes—and the tone of the squad, that always reflects the boss, precludes any personality, any sense of partnership. You don’t like the closed-door meetings behind the shutters, or her daily fashion parade, or the fact that she acts like a CEO instead of a cop. It’s not a squad, it’s her personal kingdom—and her next stepping stone to captain’s bars.”

When Strong said nothing, Eve nodded, sat back. “I know something else. If another cop slammed me like that to one of my men, there’s not one in my division who’d sit there and say nothing.”

Strong shrugged. “I bet there are a whole bunch of people in the city who don’t especially like their boss.”

“Like doesn’t mean dick. Respect does, and you don’t respect her. Giving her respect,” Eve expanded, “isn’t the same as feeling it. She knows you don’t. It’s only one of the reasons your evals have gone down since you joined the squad.”

The first sign of anger rippled over Lilah’s face. “How do you know about my evals?”

“I know a lot of things. I know Oberman isn’t just a lousy cop. I know she’s dirty.”

Strong shook her head, stared fiercely across the room.

“Your gut’s told you the same,” Eve continued. “You’re too good not to have caught a whiff. Too good not to wonder why so many weigh-ins come in light.”

“If there was a problem with the weigh-ins, there’d be questions up the line.”

“Not when she’s got somebody covering the numbers in Property, in Accounting. You’ve got experience, contacts—valuable ones. But who gets the heavy cases? Bix? Garnet? Marcell? Manford? Manford and Freeman tried to tail me here tonight.”

Strong’s gaze snapped back to Eve’s.

“I’m better than they are,” Eve told her. “No worries. They tried because earlier today Oberman finally figured out I’m not going to play ball. Shutting me out hasn’t worked. She has to think about shutting me down, has to figure out where I’m going, and why I’m going there.”

Eve took out her PPC, called up a file—then handed it to Strong. “That’s my vic.”

Lilah studied the crime scene shot. “That’s a bad end.”

“Bix ended him, on Oberman’s orders.”

With some force, Lilah shoved the PPC back at Eve, pushed to her feet to pace away. “Goddamn it. Goddamn it.”