Secrets in Death (In Death 45)

“Not surprising, really. We keep it in the family, but it’s pretty well-known Mitch is a complete dog. A happy, friendly one, but a dog. I assumed Larinda had him on a leash, but I guess he slipped the collar here and there. I’m not sorry to hear he’s covered. I couldn’t see him killing anybody. It’s just not in his makeup.”

“You like him? He spent most of the interview lying his ass off or puffing up whatever emotion seemed right at the time.”

“Not surprised by that, either. Still, I do like him. While understanding he’s a dog that’s going to hump legs, and knows better than to try humping mine.”

“He gave Mars information on people. He says otherwise, but he’s also a lying dog.”

Nadine sighed. “I was afraid of that, and that’s over the line. I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Silk covers him—ha ha.” Peabody stepped back. “She came right out and said he’d contacted her five minutes ago, frantic, asked her not to mention they’d enacted a few of her more memorable scenes, but she doesn’t see the problem. In any case, she verifies Day was naked, handcuffed, and covered in passion fruit body gel when Mars was bleeding out.”

“I did not need that image in my head,” Nadine said. “Really, really didn’t.”

“And he likes to be spanked.”

“Stop it,” Nadine begged.

“Arrange for the electronics and the board to be transported,” Eve said. “Give the office a good look. I’ll start with her staff. I have to get back for the damn media conference, but we’re going to squeeze in a talk with Ongar on the way.”

She got a lot of tears from Mars’s staff. Though clearly Mars had been demanding, often edging close to abusive, she’d gained some loyalty there.

“She was sort of their queen,” Peabody said as they left Seventy-Five. “Maybe not always benevolent, but they all looked up to her. She gave them swag—little gifts. Worked them like slaves, but, oh, here’s some perfume or this scarf or whatever Mars got in a swag bag at some event and didn’t want or like. I don’t think any of them were in on her sideline.”

“Nope.” Eve negotiated traffic. “Mars worked that line alone. She didn’t share. Shit she didn’t want, sure. Stuff she got tired of, maybe. Rewards to ensure loyalty. But she worked her hobby all by herself.”

She brooded a moment. Mitch L. Day clicked some boxes—regardless of his cover of Silk—ha—but she judged him to be a dog, a lying dog. And unfortunately, a lying coward of a dog.

Tough to see him killing in cold blood.

She wanted to do another walk-through of the crime scene, push on Mars’s electronics, start digging into her work board. Actual work. But after Ongar—home on a sick day, according to his office—she had to deal with the media.

It felt as if she’d dealt with them all damn day.

She really wanted to hit the lab, bug the shit out of DeWinter for some results.

A new face for Mars. Why?

“Why would you change your face?”

“Me?” Peabody tipped down the vanity mirror, studied herself, smiled at Trina’s work. “If I had nothing but money, didn’t get the wigs at the idea of it, I’d change some features. Not my whole face. I want to look like me, but better.”

“You change your face because you want to be somebody else,” Eve insisted. “Or need to be somebody else. Who she was before may play into this.” Eve glanced over. “What features?”

“Oh, I’d have them round my jawline, soften it up.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s really square.”

“It’s strong. What kind of cop wants a soft jaw?”

“Just a softer line. And I wouldn’t mind more defined cheekbones. Maybe slim down the nose some.”

“I’m sorry I asked. All of that’s just stupid. If you want to look like you, you don’t have them change your face.”

“Mostly I’d like to be taller.” Peabody continued with the dream. “If I could be a couple inches taller, just have them stretch me out, my ass would be smaller.”

When Eve rolled her eyes, Peabody shrugged. “Didn’t you ever want to be different?”