Vengeance in Death

J. D. Robb

Vengeance in Death

Eve Dallas and husband Roarke – #6

CHAPTER ONE

The business of murder took time, patience, skill, and a tolerance for the monotonous. Lieutenant Eve Dallas had them all.

She knew the act of murder required none of these. All too often a life was taken on impulse, in rage, for amusement, or simply out of stupidity. It was the last of these, in Eve's mind, that had led one John Henry Bo

She had Bo

"Come on, Boner." It was her veteran cop talking to veteran bad guy. Level ground, her turf. "Do yourself a favor. A confession, and you can go for self-defense and diminished capacity. We can tie this up by di

"Never touched him." Bo

With a sigh, Eve sat down at the little metal table in Interview A. She didn't want Bo

Second-rate chemi-dealers like Bo

"He jumped – a quick gainer out the window. Now why'd he do that, Boner?"

Bo

"That's a good guess, Boner, but it's not going to qualify you for round two of our stump-the-cops sweepstakes."

It took him about thirty pondering seconds, then his lips stretched out into a grin. "Fu

"Yeah, I'm thinking of moonlighting as a stand-up. But, going back to my day job, the two of you were cooking up some Erotica in your porta-lab on Avenue D, and Renekee – being a crazy bastard – just got some hair up his ass and jumped out a window – right through the glass – and dived twelve stories, bounced off the roof of a Rapid Cab, scared the living shit out of a couple of tourists from Topeka in the backseat, then rolled off to leak his brains onto the street."

"Sure did bounce," Bo

She didn't intend to go for murder one, and figured if she went for murder two the court-appointed rep would bargain Bo

She folded her arms on the table, leaned forward. "Boner, do I look stupid?"

Taking the question at face value, Bo

"Good answer. Don't try to hose me here, Boner. You and your business partner had a falling out, you got pissed off, and you terminated your professional and personal relationship by heaving his dumb ass out the window." She held up a hand before Bo

"Man's got a right," Bo

"Where'd you get the bloody lip, the black eye? How come your knuckles are ripped up?''

Bo

"When? Where?"

"Who remembers?"

"You'd better. And you know you'd better, Boner, after we run the tests on the blood we scraped from your knuckles, and we find his blood mixed with yours. We get his DNA off your fat fingers, I'm going for premeditated – maximum lockup, life, no parole."

His eyes blinked rapidly, as if his brain was processing new and baffling data. "Come on, Dallas, that's just bullshit. You ain't go

Her eyes steady on his, Eve pulled out her communicator. "Last chance to help yourself. I call my aide, have her get the test results, I'm booking you on murder one."

"Wasn't no murder." He wanted to believe she was bluffing. You couldn't read those eyes, he thought, wetting his lips. Couldn't read those cop's eyes. "It was an accident," he claimed, inspired. Eve only shook her head. "Yeah, we were busting a little and he… tripped and went headlong out the window."

"Now you're insulting me. A grown man doesn't trip out a window that's three feet off the floor." Eve flicked on her communicator. "Officer Peabody."

Within seconds Peabody 's round and sober faced filled the communicator screen. "Yes, sir."

"I need the blood test results on Bo

"Now hold on, back up, don't be going there." Bo

"You had your chance, Boner. Peabody – "

"He came at me, like you said. He came at me. He went crazy. I'll tell you how it went down, straight shit. I want to make a statement."

" Peabody, delay those orders. Inform the PA that Mr. Bo

Peabody 's lips never twitched. "Yes, sir."

Eve slipped the communicator back in her pocket, then folded her hands on the edge of the table and smiled pleasantly. "Okay, Boner, tell me how it went down."

Fifty minutes later, Eve strolled into her tiny office in New York 's Cop Central. She did look like a cop – not just the weapon harness slung over her shoulder, the worn boots and faded jeans. Cop was in her eyes – eyes that missed little. They were a dark whiskey color, and rarely flinched. Her face was angular, sharp at the cheekbones, and set off by a surprisingly generous mouth and a shallow dent in the chin.

She walked in a long-limbed, loose-gaited style – she was in no hurry. Pleased with herself, she raked her fingers through her short, casually cropped brown hair as she sat behind her desk.

She would file her report, zing off copies to all necessary parties, then log out for the day. Outside the streaked and narrow window behind her, the commuter air traffic was already in a snarl. The blat of airbus horns and the endless snicking of traffic copter blades didn't bother her. It was, after all, one of the theme songs of New York.

"Engage," she ordered, then hissed when her computer remained stubbornly blank. "Damn it, don't start this. Engage. Turn on, you bastard."

"You've got to feed it your personal pass number," Peabody said as she stepped inside.

"I thought these were back on voice ID."

"Were. Snaffued. Supposed to be back up to speed by the end of the week."