Leverage in Death (In Death 47)

“Guess not.” She started to continue up, stopped. “Okay, here it is, then it’s done. I believe absolutely in the law, the need for it, the rules of it, the need and rules of it that lead to justice. I’d be nothing without believing that. But that was a different time and place, and circumstances. You had no one in authority you could trust to serve and protect, to stand for you when a fucking monster threatened to rape, torture, and kill two children. He’d have followed through on that threat because there was no one to stop him. You did. Roarke’s here because you stopped Patrick Roarke, because you protected the child he was at that time, in that place, in those circumstances. That’s enough for me.”

“There were no cops such as you in that time and place.”

“Times change.” She continued up. “Put it away.”

“Perhaps I can,” Summerset agreed.

She stopped one more time. “You don’t get points for teaching him to be a better thief.”

That creepy smile snuck back. “His talent there was innate.”

She shrugged. “Hard to argue.” And walked up to her office.

When Roarke came in two hours later, she’d gone through a pot of coffee, and set up a trio of auxiliary boards. She sat at her desk, boots up, eyes closed.

“I’m not asleep.”

“All right then. You’ve been busy.”

She opened her eyes, studied the new boards as he did. “One for residents—including day staff—one for hotel employees—including subcontractors. One for visitors and outside vendors, delivery people who came in during the relevant time frame.”

“That would be near to three thousand people, I expect. You’re handling all this?”

“Peabody’s got the hotel staff, and since Baxter and Trueheart are finished with the art gallery, they’re taking the vendors and deliveries, the visitors. I want the visual, and I’ll eliminate as they do.

“Screwed up your schedule today,” she said.

“A breech in my security screwed up my schedule, and now that it’s nearly on track again, I want a glass of wine and some food.”

“Gotta feed the cat,” Eve said absently. “He came in a little bit after I did, settled down for one of his marathon naps, so Summerset wouldn’t have dealt with it.”

She rose, wandered to the boards. “I’ve eliminated a good chunk of residents. Kids, elderly, women. Both wits were absolute on the male. And there are more than a few whose out-of-town status checks out. I’ve crossed off a couple more with solid alibis. Still working on that.”

“Here. Diffuse the coffee you’ve been pounding.” He handed her the glass, kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take half after we’ve had some dinner.”

“It wasn’t really a breech in your security.”

“Close enough.”

She followed him into the kitchen, and the cat—sensin

g the dinner bell—came with her. “You can’t have alarms going off every time a light flickers,” she pointed out.

“True enough.” He stopped to study the finger painting she’d stuck on the friggie. “This is . . . interesting.”

“Mavis brought Bella by my office and the kid gave me this, wanted me to put it up. Summerset said this is how it’s done.”

“Ah. A bold use of color and texture. Perhaps she’s a budding student of the Pollock school.”

“It’s the house.” Eve stepped up, tapped the painting. “And this is me, you, the cat, Summerset.”

Roarke looked closer, then stepped back, trying distance. “You see that?”

“You don’t?” Then with a laugh, she got the kibble. “The kid explained. Did you know Mavis is performing at the Oscar deal?”

Roarke angled his head, still studying the finger painting. “I did, yes.”

“I should’ve known. It’s a big deal for her, so I should’ve known.”