Unless, Eve mused, you looked at the eyes.
“We, ah, did a little research after you contacted me,” Sloan explained. “Get a better handle on what you were looking for, and why.”
“Good, saves me time explaining myself. You could reach out on this and let me have a copy of your case files, and walk me through the steps of your investigation.”
“I can do that, and I’d like quid pro quo. My first case as primary,” Sloan added. “I’d sure like to close it.”
“We’d like to close it,” Baker corrected. “Trent cashed it on his twenty-five, plans to spend the rest of his life fishing. He’s not in this.”
“Fair enough,” Eve said.
This time when she was finished, she let Roarke pick her up. To her mind, any cops who weren’t embarrassed to be seen drinking papaya juice couldn’t blink at a fellow officer getting into a sleek little convertible. She stashed her growing bag of notes and discs behind her seat.
“I want to run by the scene, take a look at the setup.”
“We can do that.”
She gave him the address, waited until he’d programmed it into the onboard computer. “So, did you buy the Dodgers?”
“I’m afraid not, but you have only to ask.”
She leaned her head back, let her thoughts circle while he drove.
“Can’t figure out why anybody lives out here,” she said. “Just because they’ve had the big one doesn’t mean there’s not another big one just waiting to flatten them.”
“Nice breeze though,” Roarke commented. “And they’ve certainly battled back the smog and noise pollution.”
“Whole place feels like a vid, you know? Or a VR program. Too much peachy, pinky, white. Too many healthy bodies with perfect smiling faces on top of them. Creeps me.
“And I just don’t think you ought to have palm trees waving around in the middle of a city. It’s just not right.”
“This should please you then. The building you want appears to be suitably shabby and unkempt, and the locals seem to be satisfactorily shady.”
She sat up, stifled a yawn, and looked around.
Only about half the streetlights were working, and the building itself was dead dark. Some of the windows were riot-barred, others boarded. Several people skulked and slithered around in the shadows, and in one she spotted an illegals deal winding up.
“This is more like it.” Cheered, she stepped out of the car. “This thing got full security?”
“It’s loaded.” He put the top up, engaged locks and deflectors.
“Her flop was on the third floor. Might as well poke around since we’re here.”
“It’s always a pleasure to poke around in a condemned building where someone might stab, bludgeon, or blast us at any moment.”
“You’ve got your kind of fun, I’ve got mine.” She scanned the area, selected her target. “Yo, asshole!”
The chemi-head in the long black jacket rocked to the balls of his feet.
“If I have to chase you, it’s going to piss me off,” Eve warned. “Then I’ll probably slip so that my foot ends up planted in your balls. Just got a question. You got the answer, it’s worth ten.”
“Don’t know nothing.”
“Then you won’t make the ten. How long you flopped around here?”
“While. Not bothering nobody.”
“Were you around when Susie Mannery got strangled, up on three?”