Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“What about other family?”

“He’s got the full complement of grandparents, and they’ve been notified. He’s got an uncle on his father’s side, an aunt on his mother’s, and five cousins. They’ve all been notified. I can’t guarantee they’d call it in if he contacts any of them, but it’s tough to believe they’d help the man who killed their child, their sister, their brother.”

“Blood ties run deep,” Roarke commented.

“Yeah, maybe. I can’t cover them all on what we’ve got. Some of them live in and around New York, some don’t. All we can do there is keep in contact, keep pushing.”

His hand brushed hers on the table. “You’re worried he’ll hurt someone else.”

“I think if somebody gets in his way, or doesn’t give him what he wants, yeah. If he goes looking for safe haven or more money, and doesn’t get it, has the opportunity, he’d kill again. But …”

“But?”

“I just don’t think he’ll hit on family, or not until the money runs dry or the heat’s too hot. He doesn’t think of family, that’s my gut feeling anyway. He thinks of obstacles to his happiness or success. People holding him back or giving him orders. If and when, I think the grandparents first. I think he’d consider them weaker, more apt to help him. The out-of-town set’s coming into New York, and he doesn’t have any way to know that. So he won’t find them at home, not for the next few days.”

“My observation’s been much of police work is grunt work, drudgery, covering the same ground again and again, countless hours in interviews, writing or generating reports—and terrifying times of extreme risk, furious action, split-second decisions, and finite planning. You’ve been dealing primarily with the first today.”

“They should give me a medal for that,” she muttered. When he just smiled, poured more champagne, she shifted. “I’m getting one. A medal.”

“That’s lovely. Congratulations.”

“It’s a big one. I don’t mean …” She held her hands out to indicate big size. “It’s a big deal one. Medal of Honor. That’s for—”

“I know what it’s for, what it means.” He reached for her hand, held it and her eyes. “There is no higher honor in your world. It’s more than deserved, more than earned.”

“They could keep the medal and give me a bigger budget.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m so proud of you, and so amused at your discomfort in being recognized for your dedication and skill.”

“Amused? Here’s another funny for you. You’re getting a medal, too.”

He dropped her hand. “What? I’m a civilian, as you continually remind me.”

“The Civilian Medal of Merit, and they don’t give them out like candy, pal, especially to shady characters.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

She loved it, just loved when he turned all dignified.

“Oh, it is, and now I get to be amused. You’re the one who started sticking his nose in, then his whole body. Now you’re going to have to stand up there on Wednesday afternoon—fourteen hundred, so put that in your book—and take what you get. And I’m pretty damn proud of you, too, so suck it up.”

“Aren’t we a pair? Christ, the abuse I’ll take over this by old mates. A bloody medal.”

“The department values you, and it should. So we’re having champagne and this really tasty lobster before I get back in gear.” She took another drink. “And there’s this other thing.”

“More? More than double murders, assholes, and medals?”

“Yeah, more than that. Whitney called me in to tell me about the medals, and to ask me if I wanted captain.”

“Eve!” This time his hand vised on hers. “That’s called burying the lead, and burying it deep. Eve,” he said again, and started to rise.

“I said I didn’t.”

“Sorry?” He sat again. “What?”

“I said I

didn’t want the bars.”