Purity in Death (In Death 15) - Page 92
Eve choked back a laugh and looked at him coolly. “And you think I won’t knock you on your ass for that?”
“Not this time.” Exhausted, he dropped into a chair. Caught his breath. “Hey, kid, pass those eggs over here before Baxter licks the damn platter.”
After breakfast, after the briefing, Eve dismissed her team but for Peabody.
“He looks good,” Eve began. “A little worn out, but good.”
“Didn’t get any sleep. He was pulling the ‘woe is me, you’ve got to go’ routine when—”
“The what?”
“He was feeling low and he’d gotten into his head he wanted me to walk so he wouldn’t feel like a burden, or I wouldn’t feel like it, whatever. We were arguing, and it started. His arm starting itching, then his legs, and then . . . Sorry, I get messed up when I talk about it.”
“Okay, then let’s not talk about it. Except to say I’m glad he’s—” She broke off, pressed her fingers to her eyes and breathed deep.
“Messes you up, too.” Peabody sniffled, dug out her handkerchief. “That’s so nice.”
“We’re all glad he’s back. Let’s leave it alone for now.”
She sighed once, then switched gears. “Data has come into my hands through an alternate source. I’m not going to name this source. I intend to act on this data, which includes names and info in sealeds that I do not, as yet, have authority to open.”
Peabody sat quietly. She knew what Roarke and her lieutenant had been working on now. She didn’t know how the hell they’d gotten into sealeds. Probably didn’t want to know.
“Yes, sir. It seems to me that acting on this data, which came into your hands by an alternate source, would be correct procedure. To ignore the data during an investigation labeled PRIORITY would be dereliction of duty.”
“Want to be my rep if they bust me for this?”
“I figure Roarke can hire us the best going.”
“You won’t be in the line of fire. You can elect to take another assignment.”
“Dallas—”
“Or,” Eve continued, “you can accompany me, as my aide. And as my aide, your ass will not go in the sling on this. You’re just following orders.”
“Respectfully, sir, my ass is with yours. If you expect it any other way, you’ve got the wrong aide.”
“I haven’t got the wrong aide. We might catch a little heat for this, Peabody, but I don’t think it’ll burn very hot or very long. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Donald and Sylvia Dukes lived in a tidy, two-story town-house. Eve noted frilly curtains at the windows and identical white pots of regimented red flowers standing on either side of the front door. Like soldiers, she thought, guarding the fort.
She rang the buzzer, took out her badge.
The woman who answered was small, slim, and as ordered as her flowers. She wore a blue-and-white checked dress and there was a white apron tied at her waist. She wore pale rose lip dye, earrings fashioned of three small pearls in a triangle, and spotless white canvas shoes.
Without the apron, she would have looked like a woman about to head out for a day of running errands.
“Mrs. Dukes?”
“Yes. What’s wrong? What do you want?” Her cautious gaze darted from Eve’s face to the badge and back again. Eve could hear the breathy sound of nerves in her voice.
“Nothing’s wrong, ma’am. I’d like to ask you some questions. Is it all right if we come in?”
“I’m in the middle of . . . I’m very busy. This isn’t a good time.”
“I could make an appointment, at your convenience. But I’m here now, and I’ll try not to keep you very long.”
“Who is it, Sylvia?” Donald Dukes came to the door. He towered over his wife, an athletically lean man of six feet two inches. His sandy hair was fashioned into a short military cut.
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