Page 72 of Obsession in Death

“You didn’t. I had my eye on you.” He gave her shoulder a rub. “We’ll let the machines do their work—which they won’t do faster for being scowled at. We’ll get some food, and you can tell me what progress you made today. We may hit on another angle. This one?” He nodded toward the computers. “Is a good one.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay. I had to bring my division in on it,” she said as they started out. “It was going to leak—and it did—so I wanted them up to date.”

“They’d have heard bits and pieces, along with speculation and inaccuracies. It’s good they heard it all, and from you.”

“Now they’re juggling—Jenkinson’s word—taking different angles on this along with their own caseloads.”

“As it should be,” Roarke said. “As you would have done for any of them if they needed it. It’s not just detectives and officers in the same division, Lieutenant. It’s a unit, and it’s yours.”

“They’re a little pissed off about the whole thing.”

“As it should be,” he repeated.

•••

They ate thick, chunky soup, hunks of crusty bread, while she filled him in.

And while she filled him in, the brown-clad, nondescript delivery person strode toward the chosen address. It was hard to keep a spring out of the step.

People bustled right on by—who paid attention? Oh, it had been genius, this method. Pride swelled.

No one saw the real person, and that had always hurt and infuriated. Now it became a plus, an asset, even a weapon.

Of course, it was a long, cold walk, but “careful” was the watchword. When it was done, just leave, walking in the same direction, turn at the corner, turn at the next, and the next.

Zig, then zag, then zig again. Stay away from storefront security cams.

Go in easy, leave easy.

And all the rest in between? Exciting, fulfilling. Just inspired.

Didn’t they say third time’s the charm? Maybe this one, this third one, would show Eve the value of friendship, the importance. The next time she stood before the cameras there would be acknowledgment, and that signal. That look in her eye that spoke, secretly, of unity and appreciation.

It wasn’t too much to expect.

Maybe this third one should be awake when it happened. Tape his mouth, his hands, keep him lightly stunned, but not out cold.

It would be a different experience, and so much of life was just routine, just do what had to be done—without any genuine reward.

This one, this third one, could hear the litany of his crimes and offenses before the ice pick stabbed through his eye, into his brain.

The eye for this one rather than the tongue—though he had a nasty, nasty tongue. Symbolic again. Surely Eve would recognize that, appreciate that. And show that appreciation.

Still, if he moved around too much, it could affect the aim, and that was a factor. But it could be worth it. Take a little more time with this, the third. The charm. More time with a man who’d insulted, demeaned, assaulted—verbally and physically—a woman who was his superior in every way.

As was the person who’d bring him to true justice. His superior, just like Eve.

Just like her.

And Eve would appreciate the time taken—it was, in a way, like reading him his rights. It made it more official, didn’t it—maybe that was what was missing, what Eve wanted. Yes, recite the Revised Miranda, just as Eve would do, list the offenses, as Eve would do.

Then do what only Eve’s true friend and partner could do.

Punish the guilty.

He’d be working late in his studio tonight—alone. He was a man who disliked company, who held people in contempt, though he made his living immortalizing them.

Approach the building without rush—just doing a job, getting in the last delivery of the day.