Glory in Death (In Death 2)

“Superior.” Mavis gave Eve’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’m going to go talk to the band now, sort of worm my way into their hearts.”

“Lieutenant.”

Eve shifted her gaze from Mavis’s retreating form over and up into Chief Tibble’s face. “Sir.”

“You’re looking . . . unprofessional tonight.” When she squirmed, he laughed. “That was a compliment. Roarke puts on quite a show.”

“Yes, sir, he does. It’s for a worthy cause.” But she couldn’t quite remember what that worthy cause was.

“I happen to think so. My wife is very involved.” He took a flute from a passing tray and sipped. “My only regret is that these monkey suits never go out of style.” With his free hand, he tugged at his collar.

It made her smile. “You should try wearing these shoes.”

“There’s a heavy price for fashion.”

“I’d rather be dowdy and comfortable.” But she resisted tugging at her butt-molding skirt.

“Well.” He took her arm, eased her toward a shielding arborvitae. “Now that we’ve exchanged the obligatory small talk, I’d like to tell you you’ve done an excellent job on the investigation.”

“I bumped with Angelini.”

“No, you pursued a logical line, then you backtracked and found pieces others had missed.”

“The albino junkie was a fluke, sir. Just luck.”

“Luck counts. So does tenacity—and attention to detail. You cornered him, Dallas.”

“He’s still at large.”

“He won’t get far. His own ambition will help us find him. His face is known.”

Eve was counting on it. “Sir, Officer Peabody did fine work. She has a sharp eye and good instincts.”

“So you noted in your report. I won’t forget it.” When he glanced at his watch, she realized he was as edgy as she. “I promised Feeney a bottle of Irish whiskey if he broke it by midnight.”

“If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.” She put on a smile. There was no use reminding the chief that they hadn’t found the murder weapon in Morse’s apartment. He already knew.

When she spotted Marco Angelini step into the room, her shoulders stiffened. “Excuse me, Chief Tibble. There’s someone I have to speak to.”

He laid a hand on her arm. “It isn’t necessary, Dallas.”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

She knew the moment he became aware of her by the quick upward jut of his chin. He stopped, linked his hands behind his back, and waited.

“Mr. Angelini.”

“Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I regret the difficulties I caused you and your family during the investigation.”

“Do you?” His eyes were cool, unblinking. “Accusing my son of murder, subjecting him to terror and humiliation, bringing more grief upon already impossible grief, putting him behind bars when his only crime was witnessing violence?”

She could have justified her actions. She could have reminded him that his son had not only witnessed violence, but had turned away from it without a thought but to his own survival, and had compounded his crime by attempting to bribe his way out of involvement.

“I regret adding to your family’s emotional trauma.”

“I doubt if you understand the phrase.” He skimmed his eyes down. “And I wonder if, had you not been so busy enjoying your companion’s position, you might have caught the real murderer. It’s easy enough to see what you are. You’re an opportunist, a climber, a media whore.”