Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

“That’s good.” Garnet nodded, tapped a little of his go-powder on his hand, inhaled it. He wanted the buzz, fresh and rising, when he sliced the bitch to pieces. “What’s the tip?”

“I didn’t ask; don’t need to know. The lieutenant said she’d get Dallas there, she’ll get her there. We take care of business, and that’s that.”

“She might call it in.” Garnet tried to figure the angles through the rush in his head. “Tag her partner anyway.”

“So what if she does?”

“Yeah. We do them both.” He was eager for it. “Maybe better that way. Better yet if we have somebody to pin it on. The whole thing—Keener and the two bitches.”

“The boss is working on it,” Bix said simply, and pulled to the curb.

“Dallas is mine.” Garnet patted the sheath on his belt. “You remember that.”

“If that’s how you want it.”

“Did you bring me a piece? Bitch took mine.”

“We’ll take care of it inside.”

Bix didn’t speak as they walked the short distance to the abandoned building. He knew there were probably some eyes on them—on two men in black—but it was unlikely they’d be approached. People rarely approached him looking for trouble. His size backed them off.

If anyone did, well, he’d do what needed to be done. He had orders, he had a mission. He would follow orders and complete his mission.

He unsealed the door, opened the locks.

“Dark as a tomb in here. Smells worse.” Garnet reached in his pocket for his penlight. “It’s a good place for her to die.”

He played the light around the ruined space, calculating the best kill spot. “I want her to see me do it. I want her to see me when I cut her.”

Bix said nothing. He simply yanked Garnet’s head back by the hair and dragged the keen edge of his knife over Garnet’s throat.

And it was done.

He took a moment to be sorry when Garnet fell to the floor, blood and breath gurgling. He hadn’t liked the man, not particularly, but they’d been partners. So he took a moment for a little regret.

Then he pressed the master he’d used to unseal the doors into Garnet’s hand, slipped it into Garnet’s pocket. Removed Garnet’s disposable phone, his wallet, put them both in a bag, along with the knife he’d used. He’d dispose of them elsewhere.

He drew out the baggie of the powder Garnet had grown too fond off, dipped the dead’s thumb and index finger in it to leave more trace, then added it to the disposal bag.

It would look, in a way, very much as it was. Garnet had come to the scene for a meet, and the meet had gone south. His killer had taken whatever was of value from the corpse, and let it lie.

Bix straightened, cleaned the blood off his sealed hands. He turned and walked away, leaving the door open as a man might when running away from murder.

Back in the vehicle he drove north, putting some distance down before he contacted his lieutenant. “We’re clear, Lieutenant.”

Her acknowledgment—a nod as if she’d expected no less—rewarded him. “Thank you, Detective. Be sure to dispose of the weapon before you go to Garnet’s and remove anything that needs removing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Bix circled around to dump the contents of the bag in the river, Roarke stepped into Eve’s office.

She was, he noted, starting to fade. And he imagined if he drew blood from her and ran it through an analyzer, it would register outrageous levels of caffeine.

“Marcia Anbrome.”

Eve looked up, blinked. “Who?”

Yes indeed, fading fast. “Take a moment,” he suggested.