In Death 04 - Rapture in Death

how close she'd come to not only missing her wedding day, but the rest of her life. "It stings when it's another cop," she said. "I was rushed, sir, and only had time to give you my recommendation for Peabody's transferral, permanently, to my unit. Her assistance, in this matter and others, has been invaluable."
    "She's a good cop," Whitney agreed.
    "I agree. I have a request, Commander."
    Five minutes later, when Peabody stepped into her crammed office, Eve was tipped back in her chair, scanning the data on her monitor. "I've got court in an hour," Eve said without preliminary. "On the Salvatori case. What do you know about that, Peabody?"
    "Vito Salvatori is being tried for multiple murder, with the added circumstance of torture. He is an alleged distributor of illegal substances and stands accused of the murder of three other known dealers of Zeus and TRL. The victims were burned alive in a small rooming house on the Lower East Side last winter -- after their eyes and tongues were cut out. You were primary."
    Peabody recited the data matter-of-factly while she stood at attention in her shipshape uniform.
    "Very good, Officer. Did you read my arrest report on the case?"
    "Yes, Lieutenant, I did."
    Eve nodded. An airbus boomed by the window, spewing noise and displacing air. "Then you know that before I restrained Salvatori, I broke his left arm at the elbow, his jaw, and relieved him of several teeth. His lawyers are going to try to fry me for excessive force."
    "They'll have a rough time of that, sir, as he was trying to burn down the building around you when you cornered him. If you hadn't restrained him in whatever manner was possible, he'd have been fried. So to speak."
    "Okay, Peabody. I've got this and several others to go over before the week's up. I need all the cases on my court schedule downloaded and condensed. You can meet me with the requested data in thirty minutes, east exit."
    "Sir. I'm on assignment. Detective Crouch has me chasing down vehicle registrations." Only the faintest sneer in her voice indicated Peabody's feeling about Crouch and the garbage assignment.
    "I'll handle Crouch. The commander's cleared my request. You're assigned to me. So pass off whatever grunt work that's been dumped on you and get your ass in gear."
    Peabody blinked. "Assigned to you, sir?"
    "Your hearing go bad while I was away?"
    "No, sir, but -- "
    "Have you got a thing for Crouch?" It delighted Eve to see Peabody's serious mouth drop open.
    "Are you kidding? He's -- " She caught herself, stiffened up. "He's hardly my type, Lieutenant. I believe I've learned my lesson about romantic attachments on the job."
    "Don't beat yourself up over that one, Peabody. I liked Casto, too. You did a hell of a job on that one."
    It helped to hear it, but the wound was still raw. "Thank you, Lieutenant."
    "Which is why you are now assigned to me as my permanent aide. You want a detective shield, Officer?"
    Peabody knew what she was being given: the opportunity, the gift out of nowhere. She closed her eyes a moment until she had her voice under control. "Yes, sir, I do."
    "Good. You'll work your ass off for it. Get the data I requested, and let's move."
    "Right away." At the door, Peabody paused, turned back. "I'm very grateful for the chance you're giving me."
    "Don't be. You earned it. And if you screw up, I'll bust you down to traffic." Eve smiled thinly. "Air traffic."
    Court testimony was part of the job, and so, Eve reminded herself, were high-class weasels like S. T. Fitzhugh, attorney for the defense. He was slick and he was savvy, a man who defended the lowest of lowlifes -- as long as their credits held out. His success in assisting drug lords, murderers, and molesters into slithering out of the grip of the law was such that he could easily afford the cream-colored suits and hand-tooled shoes he affected.
    He made a dashing figure in the courtroom, his melted-chocolate skin a fine contrast to the soft colors and fabrics he habitually wore. His long, aesthetic face was smooth as the silk of his jacket, thanks to the three-times-weekly treatments at Adonis, the city's top enhancement salon for men. His figure was trim -- narrow at the hips, broad at the shoulders -- and his voice was the deep, rich baritone of an opera singer.
    He courted the press, socialized with the criminal elite, owned his own Jet Star.
    It was one of Eve's small pleasures to despise him.
    "Let me try to get a clear picture, Lieutenant." Fitzhugh lifted