Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

“You mean she slipped him something?” DeCarlo’s scowl came back. “Good for her then. Goddamn it.”

“The individual who slipped him something followed up by murdering him,” Eve pointed out. “And it’s our job, my partner’s and mine, to find her and see that she faces justice.”

DeCarlo let out another snort. “There’s why I don’t like cops.”

When they walked back outside, Eve glanced up at the door cam. “Can we use the feed?”

“We’ve got her at the door, but she’s not stupid,” Peabody replied. “We don’t get a look, not a good one, of her face. A lot of hair, the killer body. We’re going to be able to peg height and weight, and—I assume—Yancy will have something to work with between the feed and working with the door guy.”

“Set it up, and get me the best image of her, copy to my units. We’re going to hit a couple more clubs, see if we can shake something, and the restaurant where he dosed Alden.”

She checked the time. “Then you’re off. If EDD has any more, shoot it to me.”

Once she cut Peabody loose, Eve hunted up parking near the pub Roarke had chosen. She settled on a second level, jogged down to the street to join the throng of pedestrians on the half-block walk.

She found the pub had a trio of skinny tables outside—and that Roarke had reserved one. A little cool yet for it, she thought, but the table heater took care of that. As she was early, she ordered black coffee and settled down to review her notes, write fresh ones.

“Still hard at work.” Roarke slipped in across from her.

“A lot of leads means a lot to tie together. Why don’t you own This Place?”

“Happens I do.”

“No, not this place, the club called This Place.”

He smiled at her. “Would you like to?”

“Not especially. It just struck me it’s got some of your style and class. I hit two others you do own—also classy.”

He smiled at her, but she saw the way he studied her face. “It’s just been a long one,” she said.

“And more to come. We’ll have a pint and some food.”

“I’m good with coffee.”

“Which is what you’ve downed, no doubt, most of the day. A half pint for you, which won’t hurt you a bit. I’ll suggest you follow it with the fish and chips, which is exceptional here.”

A beer might smooth out some of the edges, she thought. And fish and chips never hurt. “Okay, that’ll work.”

While he ordered, she put away her notes. And when he simply took her hand, the wall she’d held in place all day crumbled.

“It was like his hobby, that’s how I see it. I know it was a sickness. Nobody takes so many risks—personally, professionally—needs so much control over women, gains such satisfaction out of using them the way he used them without a sickness. But he treated it like … like a hobby, a serious one. The way some people treat, I don’t know, golf, or crafting, or whatever. I’d bet my ass if he was alive, if I’d caught him, had him in the box, that’s just how it would come out he saw it.”

“It’s your job, Lieutenant, to know that, understand that, as much as it’s your job to find his killer.” Those eyes, those incredibly blue eyes, looked straight into her. Saw everything. “Empathizing with the women he used doesn’t change any of that.”

“Empathizing isn’t objectivity.”

“And bollocks to that. If feeling, relating, understanding isn’t part of the job, well then, why aren’t droids investigating?”

She frowned over that while the server brought out the beer. “It’s a line though, and some cases make it harder not to tip over on one side or the other.”

“You have excellent balance.”

“It pisses me off. He got away with it for years, using his power, his money to use, abuse, and humiliate to get his rocks off. And it pisses me off that someone decided to be judge, jury, and executioner. It pisses me off that some have the mind-set that taking a life is some sort of act of heroism. She—because it’s going to be a woman or women—tortured and killed him and called it justice.”

However weary she might have been, her eyes went hard, went cop flat. “And it’s not, goddamn it. He’s out of it now, isn’t he? He suffered for a few hours, and now he’s out of it, when real justice would have put him in a cage, taken away that power, that money, his freedom for years.”

He listened, nodded, sipped his beer. “There was a time, not so long ago, before I met a cop such as you, I’d have tipped on her side of the line.”