Judgment in Death

"If I find out you're in bed with Ricker, I will. Right now, the tag's for your protection."

"I want it off. If I'm going to throw in with you, I need to move without somebody breathing down my neck. I have a personal copy of all the data, all my notes, every step leading up to Ricker's bust. After the case fell apart, I looked over them, but my heart wasn't in it. It will be now."

"I'd like a copy."

"It's my work."

"And when we take him down, I'll see to it you get the collar."

"It means something to me. The job means something to me. This case… the captain said I'd lost my objectivity. She was right," Martinez added with a twist of her lips. "I did. I ate that case for breakfast every morning and I slept with it every night. If I'd kept the right distance, I might have seen all this coming. I might have seen how Mills insinuated himself into it until he was calling shots. I just took it as his usual macho bullshit."

"We're supposed to stand for each other. You had no reason to look his way."

"Kohli's memorial's scheduled for day after tomorrow. It comes to me, without doubt, that he was looped with Ricker, I'll spit on his grave. My grandfather went down in the line of duty during the Urban Wars. He saved two kids. They're somewhat older than I am, and they write my grandmother every year at Christmas, and again on the a

Eve nodded, and after a moment's hesitation, leaned in again. "Martinez, I worked on one of Ricker's spine crackers, had him ready to roll. The deal was going through the PA's office for immunity. He had a hearing this morning. Walking down the hall in the courtyard, between two cops, he got hit. He's dead. Just like that. There are leaks, and I don't know where to begin to plug them. I want you to know before you start on this that I may not be able to keep a lid on it. I may not be able to keep your name out of the mix. And that could put you in the crosshairs."

Martinez pushed her empty glass aside. "Like I said. It's about being a cop."

– =O=-***-=O=-

Eve spent the rest of the day backtracking, reading data until her eyes stung. She went back to Patsy Kohli under the pretext of a follow-up. After twenty minutes, she was convinced the grieving widow had known nothing.

That's what her gut told her, Eve thought as she got into her car again. She just wasn't sure she could trust her gut anymore.

She had a new list working in her brain, the one McNab was shooting her every few hours. A line of cops he'd cleared, another line of those who remained suspect.

Because Central was closer, she slipped back to her office there and ran a series of probabilities using the new data and the new list of names.

No matter how she juggled it, she found nothing conclusive. And would find nothing, she thought, until she dug deeper. They would have to pick the lives of these cops apart, like crows on fleshy bones. Every time they cleared one, it would put more weight on the rest.

She knew what it was to undergo an internal investigation, to have the hounds of IAB sniffing at her heels. Being clean didn't make it less nasty. Being clean didn't wash the vile aftertaste out of your throat.

She couldn't go deeper without sending up flags. Unless she made use of Roarke's unregistered and illegal equipment. She couldn't make use of it without his help. She didn't have the skill to peel those layers away on her own.

And she couldn't ask him for help when she'd made such a big damn deal about wanting him uninvolved.

She put her head in her hands, unsurprised, in fact almost pleased that it was throbbing. A good, solid headache would give her something else to be unhappy about.

She decided to head home. And on the way passed Mavis's billboard. Before she could think about it, she'd engaged her 'link and tried Mavis at home, without any real hope of catching her there.

"Hello. Hey! Hey, Dallas!"

"Guess what I'm looking at?"

"A naked, one-armed pygmy."

"Damn. Okay, you're too good at this. Talk to you later."

"Wait, wait." Giggling, Mavis shifted in front of her own 'link as if that would somehow give her the angle of Eve's view. "What is it really?"

"You. About a million times bigger than life over Times fucking Square."

"Oh! Is that iced, or what? Is that beyond Arctic? I keep finding excuses to go down and look at it. I want to give your husband a big, wet, sloppy kiss. Leonardo says it's all right with him, under the circumstances, but I thought I should clear it with you."

"I don't tell Roarke who he can kiss."

Mavis's eyebrows, currently a neon magenta, rose straight up into her blueberry-colored hair. "Oh oh. Are you having a fight?"

"No. Yes. No. I don't know what the hell we're having. He's barely speaking to me. Are you-never mind."

"Am I what?" She put a hand over her screen, made Eve roll her eyes while she had a whispered conversation with someone else in the room. "Sorry. Leonardo's trying out a new stage costume. Hey, why don't you come by?"

"No. You're busy."

"Uh-uh. Come on, Dallas, you never come by the old place. If you're in Times Square, you can be here in a heartbeat. I was just thinking I was going to make a big batch of screamers. So I'll see you in a few."

"No-I-" She hissed a breath at the blank screen, nearly called back and made excuses. Then she shrugged, felt her back go up when she remembered that coolly distant tone Roarke had used on her that morning. "What the hell," she muttered. "Just for a few minutes."

CHAPTER TEN

Mavis Freestone and her lover Leonardo cohabited in Eve's old apartment.

What a difference a year made.

Eve had lived in the single-bedroom unit contentedly enough with a few basic pieces of furniture, no decor to speak of, and an AutoChef that was empty more often than stocked. She'd preferred to think of her lifestyle as simple rather than bland.

Then again, compared to Mavis, a surf on Saturn's outer rings in a comet buster was bland.

The minute Mavis opened the door, Eve was struck with color. Blasts of it. Every hue and tone on the palette was turned up to scream level, in patterns and textures that boggled the eye.

And that was just Mavis.

The living area of the apartment was draped with miles of fabrics. Some, she supposed, were art of some kind; others, Leonardo's designs in progress. The rather lumpy sofa Eve had left behind when she'd moved in with Roarke was covered now with a bright and nervy pink material that shimmered like polished glass. If that wasn't enough, it was heaped with pillows and throws of clashing colors that seemed to drip onto the floor where more cloths were cleverly tossed in lieu of rugs.

Beads and spangles and ribbons, and God knew what, rained down the walls, tinkled gaily from the ceiling, which had been painted a high-sheen silver studded with crimson stars.

Even the tables were fabric, arty lumps of shape that could be called in for seating in a pinch. Eve didn't think there was a hard surface or a right angle left in the place.

And while she was vaguely concerned that staying there for any length of time might bring on a stroke, it was a frame that suited the picture of her oldest friend perfectly.

The effect was something like a storm-edged sunrise. On Venus.

"I'm so glad you came by." Mavis dragged Eve into the psychedelia, then turned a stylish circle. "What do you think?"

"Of what, exactly?"

"Of the new gear?"

Tiny, slim, and bright as a fairy wand, Mavis turned again, showing off a short-skirted… you couldn't call it a dress, Eve decided. A costume, she supposed, of crossed diagonal stripes that ran from deep purple to neon pink and back again. The bodice scooped low, just tucking the nipples under and left Mavis's shoulders-adorned now with twin pansy tattoos-bare.