Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“My husband’s only just gotten home from work,” Mattie began.

“That’s good timing, isn’t it? Can I come in? You’re letting in a lot of cold air.”

Obviously flustered, Mattie stepped back. Eve used the fluster and the space to step in, shut the door at her back. A movement had her glancing up.

A boy—Craig Junior, age eight, according to his official records—stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded. Like his mother, he wore a coordinated outfit. In his case, a navy-and-red-striped shirt with a navy sweater vest over it, navy pants.

And a glowering expression.

Eve hadn’t known an eight-year-old could pull off that expert a glower. He must have practiced.

“Mummy,” he said in affected, superior tones, “who’s at the door?”

“Someone to see Papa. You should finish your homework, C.J.”

“I have finished it.” His snarly tone clearly implied: You idiot. “Papa doesn’t like strangers in the house.”

“I’m a cop, kid.”

He came down two steps, used his superior elevation to look down his snotty little nose at her. “Do you have a warrant to enter?”

Eve gave him a hard, thin smile. “Want me to get one?”

“C.J., just wait in your room, please.”

The kid barely suffered her a glance, and didn’t budge.

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll get my husband.”

She hurried off.

“My papa can make you leave. This is his house.”

Intimidating kids wasn’t her usual course of action, but for this one, she made an exception. She took out her badge again, in a way that shifted her coat and jacket back enough to give the little shithead a glimpse of her weapon.

“This is my badge. That means, if your father doesn’t want to talk to me here, I’ll leave. And get a warrant that obliges him to talk to me in my house. That would be Cop Central. I wonder which he’d rather.”

An angry flush rose up on the boy’s face. He fisted his hands at his sides, came down two more steps. “He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want. You can’t make him. You’re just a girl.”

“So’s more than half the world’s population. You’re outnumbered.”

She shifted, looked down the hall as Craig Jefferson strode toward her wearing a gray business suit and an annoyed expression.

“Just what’s this about?” he demanded.

“She called me a bad name!” The kid raced to his father. “And she said she was going to stun me with her weapon.”

“Seriously?” Eve might have laughed, but Jefferson took a menacing step forward. “If you lay hands on me, sir, I’ll have to take you in for assaulting an officer.”

“You threatened my son!”

“I did no such thing. Recorder.” She tapped her lapel. “Engaged. Would you like me to order a replay?”

“I don’t like her! Make her go away!”

Ignoring the boy, Eve kept focused on Jefferson. “I expect to take up about ten minutes of your time here and now. If you refuse to speak to me, here and now, I will make arrangements for you to be brought into Cop Central. My questioning there is likely to take longer than ten minutes. So now or later, simple or complicated, Mr. Jefferson. It’s up to you.”

“I demand to know what this is about.”