Page 72 of Devoted in Death

“Carmichael’s got culture shock, but she’s recovering. Met up with the locals, talked to the woman and kid who stumbled on the body. We’ll be meeting with the coroner in a bit. Nothing much to add, as yet, but that stretch of road, LT, where they found the body, there sure isn’t much traffic along there. We were there a good half hour and didn’t see one vehicle pass by. It’s a damn good spot for a killing.”

“Somebody got lucky, knew the spot or knew how back roads in backwaters work.”

“One of those. The other is, Carmichael and I both agree there had to be a second vehicle. It’s the middle of nowhere. Coroner report says tire iron, a good-sized one. Who hitches and hikes along carrying a big-ass tire iron?”

“Possible breakdown, vic is changing a tire, gets jumped. But then they’d have to get the tire iron from him. Second vehicle makes more sense.”

“We’re backtracking the vic’s movements, and we’ll head on, doubling the check the locals did last summer on sitings of the rental. Nobody took tire impressions back then at the scene, or checked for blood on the road.”

“Fucking A.”

“Yeah, we said. We’ll go over it tomorrow, in daylight, but it’s been months.”

•••

While Eve talked to Santiago, Roarke came in the front door. He was mildly irked himself as his last meeting had run over, and weather in Halifax was delaying a project.

He removed his coat, wondered idly where Summerset might be. He tossed his coat over Eve’s, started upstairs. He went to his office first, laid down his briefcase. He had work, but for later. At the moment he wanted his wife, a quiet glass of wine. He’d kept current with the media reports, and as there’d been nothing new on her investigation, imagined they’d be hip-deep in it that evening.

After he’d changed, he thought, he’d have that wine with Eve. That would clear his head enough of business.

He heard movement in Eve’s office, stepped in.

He saw a tall, leanly built man with a messy mop of corn-silk hair rocking back on the worn-down heels of scarred boots, thumbs comfortably in the pockets of faded jeans. And a stunner on his belt.

Roarke slid his own hand into his pocket, and onto the mini stunner he carried in it.

“Can I help you?” he said very coolly.

The man turned, his hand going to the butt of his own weapon. Quiet blue eyes met wild blue—and Roarke recognized cop. But kept his hand where it was.

“Deputy Banner. Will Banner. I’m waiting for the lieutenant.”

As am I, Roarke thought. “And why is that?”

“This.” He gestured to the board with his left hand. “You’re Roarke?”

“I am.”

“Sorry to just be... Summerset showed me in. I got in from Arkansas this morning. I sure do appreciate your hospitality.”

Banner’s hand dropped from his weapon, then outstretched as he crossed to Roarke.

Roarke accepted the hand, but stayed on alert. “You’re involved in the lieutenant’s investigation?”

“It’s looking like it. I know you sometimes consult on cases, but I don’t know how much you’re into this one. I’d be more comfortable, if you don’t mind, if Lieutenant Dallas filled you in.”

“So would I.”

Roarke noted the cat slide off the sleep chair, wander over, wind through Banner’s legs, then come over to do the same through his own. And back again.

“That’s a good cat. I got a dog back home—he’s with my folks while I’m gone. But this one here makes me think I ought to get me a cat, too. He’s good company. Ah... I’m in the Park Room? It sure is nice, and I can see clear over to Central Park.”

“Would this be your first time in New York?”

“That’s right. It makes my head spin a little. Um, we’ve got Detectives Peabody and McNab coming.”

“Do we?” Roarke said, brutally pleasant. “If you’d wait here, I’ll go find the lieutenant.”