Obsession in Death (In Death 40)

“Tell me what you can while you can—and what I can green-light.”

“I can’t—” She broke off to pull out her own ’link. “Media liaison,” she told Nadine. “Dallas, privacy mode. Yeah.” She paced as she listened, paced as she gave short, terse responses. “Nadine Furst is here, with me. I know it. We want to keep this straight, this is how. I know that, too. Okay. Yes. Jesus, Kyung, remember how I said you’re not an asshole? Well, I’m not a moron. I’ll tell her.”

She shoved the ’link back in her pocket. “He’ll tag you in two minutes, give you what can be given—from an unnamed source at the NYPSD.”

“I can work with that.”

“You can use the room till you’re done. I have to go.”

“All right. Hey, hey. Dallas.”

Eve turned, snapped, “What?”

“Watch your six.”

Eve blinked. “You’re standing there in shiny boots that come up to your crotch and carrying a zebra, and telling me to watch my six.”

“Bruno’s into military thrillers. It’s the lingo.”

“I know what it is. Watch your six,” Eve repeated, and for some reason left the room lighter.

With little choice, Eve agreed to a media conference in the afternoon.

It gave her time to do actual police work beforehand, starting with a visit to Peabody’s favorite pick from Mira’s refreshed list.

“Mason Tobias,” Peabody reported as they got into the car in the garage. “Age twenty-six. Single—never married or cohabbed. Lives with his mother, currently employed as dishwasher/delivery person for Shakey’s Diner. Previous employment—stock clerk, janitorial assistant, delivery person for Midtown Pizza, and most recently mall guard. Criminal charges include multiple instances of trespassing, disorderly conduct, cyber bullying, resisting arrest, and one count of assault—dropped. He’s got a couple of restraining orders active against him.”

“Did he do any time?”

“Time served, community service, mandatory behavior rehab.”

Eve managed to find a street-level slot less than a block from Tobias’s pitted prefab building.

“Nothing violent on record but the dropped assault.”

“Yeah, but he’s got a pattern,” Peabody countered. “And he’s written to you fifteen times in the last year. Four times the year before. His main theme is working with you for justice, righting wrongs, punishing those who disrespect the law. He sees you as partners, Dallas, with him working in the background, in the shadows—that’s his term—as your backup.”

Considering, Eve approached the building, hit the buzzer for Tobias.

“Yeah!” The voice was raspy and female. “Make it quick. I’m late.”

“NYPSD.”

“Ah, hell.”

The main door buzzed. Eve shoved it open, eyed the toothpick width of the elevator, and opted for the stairs.

“Four flights,” Peabody complained, toes curling in her pink cowboy boots. “Punishment for the double-chunk brownie.”

“Suck it up.”

“What I sucked up was a dietary power drink for breakfast since I ate about five million of my aunt’s painted sugar cookies over Christmas. Then there was the cream cake, and the trifle, and somewhere in there peppermint schnapps, which made me think I could eat all the cookies, the cake, the trifle. Then what do I do?” Peabody demanded as she hoofed up the steps. “I fall to the seduction of the brownie.”

“What the hell is trifle anyway?”

“A hundred zillion calories in one delicious dish. But I made up for it with the diet power drink until . . .” Peabody set her teeth. “The siren’s call of the double-chunk. I should climb twenty flights.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll make you go up and down a dozen times.”