Page 37 of Obsession in Death

“I took Peabody underground—scared the snot out of her.”

“It wouldn’t now.”

“No, it wouldn’t now. I went looking for him because I knew he dealt with one of the vics. Old guy named Snooks, picked up some scratch selling crappy flowers.”

She took herself back, underground, to the dank and the dangerous. To the tunnels, the fetid smells, the lost souls.

“I found him in Gametown, playing pool. One of the other assholes he played with didn’t want the game interrupted, got in my face, got a little physical. I picked up Ledo’s cue, knocked the big asshole back with it. But he was big, and he shook it off, came back at me. I used my knee as a cue on his balls. Ran the table, you could say.”

“If the killer’s punishing people who came at you—one way or the other—it sounds like the big asshole would be the victim.”

“Ledo loved that cue—and I broke it on the big asshole’s rock head. Ledo grabbed for it, and ended up clocking me in the face. Inadvertent, but I saw stars and it left a pretty good mark.”

“Did you arrest him?”

“No. Used the assaulting an officer as leverage, got what I could out of him. He actually gave me some information. He didn’t do anything but piss me off, give me an accidental tap, and be himself. Which meant he was a moron.”

“All that would’ve been in your report.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “All of it would’ve been in my report. Add that Ledo likely tried to up his rep by claiming he’d taken on the bitch cop, left a mark on her. He could’ve told that story while doing his last stint—embellished.”

Roarke drove fast, smooth, slipping and sliding his way around maxibuses, early commuters, Rapid Cabs.

“You’re the juncture, and that helps you.”

“Being a murder juncture doesn’t feel helpful.”

“Stop feeling it. Easier said,” he added, taking his hand from the wheel to touch hers. “But you can, and you will. You’re looking for someone who gained knowledge of these two victims, and their dealings with you. Bastwick was vocal in the media, so that’s simple enough. But this one has to be more internal.”

“Back to a cop or someone involved in law enforcement because the odds of someone focused on me who actually knew Bastwick and Ledo are slim. They couldn’t have run in more opposing directions. Law enforcement, lawyer, court staff. Reporter,” she added, following the theme.

She drummed her fingers on her thigh as he drove downtown.

“Mira’s profile. Organized, intelligent, controlled. We’ve got someone who can implement and execute long-range plans, and one who avoids confrontation. Who seeks approval—or at least mine—and wants appreciation.”

“A person who’s idealized you,” Roarke added. “And one who, we have to consider, can as quickly demonize you.”

“I’d rather,” Eve said. “Come after me? I can handle it.”

A few rusted, dented vehicles hugged the curb in the Square. Most of them stripped of any usable parts, then used as yet another canvas for ugly words, suggestions, and comments or pornographic graffiti.

In back of a wheel-less, door-less, and ancient two-seater with FUCK YOU, ASSWIPE sprayed in black on the faded brown truck, sat a muscular black-and-white.

A couple of early risers—or more likely late players—loitered on the steps leading down to a basement flop, all reddened cheeks and angry eyes.

Two beat droids stood on the sidewalk looking as snarly as droids could, each with a hand on the butt of a riot stick.

“Lieutenant.” The first stepped up as Eve got out of the car. He’d been created to resemble a black man in his early thirties with shoulders wide as the Great Wall of China. “We were called in to deal with crowd control when and if necessary, and keep a watch on any and all official vehicles. We’re programmed specifically to deal with the issues and culture of this area.”

“Good, you do that.” She scanned the building, the darkened windows, the ones currently boarded up. “It’s too early for too much trouble here.” She flicked a glance at the loiterers as one made sucking kisses noises in her direction.

The beat droid turned, but Eve shook her head. “I’ll handle it.”

She strolled over, long leather coat billowing in the wind. “Want a kiss?” she asked.

“Can’t be putting my lips on no cop’s.” Bloodshot eyes with reddened rims dared her, and when his lips peeled back in a grin he demonstrated a disdain for any hint of dental hygiene. “But I got a big dick here, you wanna use your mouth for something.”

The idea had his skinny, long-necked companion giggling like a girl.