Eve brushed a hand over the back of his because it touched her. And still, she puzzled over it. “But he didn’t have a problem with you stealing otherwise.”
“It’s a process, isn’t it?” With a shrug, Roarke ate. “Over time he pressed that point on me. Have a care for those who have less. In a way you’d find perverse, I became a better thief because I began to take that to heart and aimed higher.”
“It is perverse,” she agreed.
“And yet. It might have been easier to lift the shaky locks on this little flat and pull out the bit of cash the family had stashed in the potato bin, but I’d think: They have less than I, so leave that be. But that fine house there, with all that security to wrangle through? They have a great deal more.”
He shrugged again, unrepentant. “He had, for a time, two young mouths to feed and clothe and house and care for. And our world was a hard place.”
He smiled over at her. “You were born to be a cop, and I was born to be something else entirely. I’d likely still be that, if only in small ways that entertained me, if not for you. You finished the process, we’ll say.”
She thought of him, and thought of herself. Sitting there in the big, beautiful house, having a good meal with good wine before she went back to the job.
“I guess you finished me, too.”
“And here we are.”
“If we ever find ourselves in a situation, I could probably make bad, semi-disgusting fake scrambled eggs.”
“I wager I could steal enough to keep our bellies full.”
“Then I could arrest us both and we’d get three hots in a cage.”
“I do adore you, Eve. Every bit of you.”
“Mutual.” She nudged her empty bowl aside. “Don’t ever tell me what was in that.”
“There’s a promise. You want to get to your updates.”
“Yeah, and the case file the St. Louis asshole finally sent.”
“What can I do for my cop?”
“If your own
decks are clear, there’s that angle about Mars going for pattern under another name. Maybe using another name to buy or rent another place. It’s all speculation, but it’s a good angle.”
“I can play with that. Once I get that set up, it’s going to run primarily on auto. I can clear what’s left on my decks while it does. I’ll start that in my office.”
Following their tacit agreement, since he’d put the meal on, she cleared it off before updating her board and book.
She let the updates simmer while she read the St. Louis file.
Not really sloppy work, she thought, not altogether careless work, but borderline on both. One witness had mentioned a teenage girl running out of the alley, but the investigating officers didn’t follow up or through on it. And obviously didn’t put much faith in the statement of another junkie whore.
Partially the times, she thought, partially the area. And far too much who-gives-a-shit because the dead were the dregs.
A cop had to give that shit, no matter the dregs, or didn’t deserve the badge.
In any case, the ME had done his job, she decided. The throat wound on the male vic had been severe, as had two chest wounds and a gash on the arm—but the gut wound had been determined as COD. A few defensive wounds as well—both vics. Female vic, two facial gashes, three chest wounds. Including the heart stab (a lucky shot, in Eve’s opinion) that had killed her. The vics’ TODs were within two minutes of each other, with the male bleeding out last as he attempted to crawl out of the alley.
Eve read it all a second time, considered, then engaged her ’link.
A woman with a pleasant face, a pleasant voice answered. “Good evening, Knight residence.”
“Lieutenant Dallas to speak with Ms. Knight.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Knight has retired for the evening and asked not to be disturbed.”