In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

"Cheer up, Peabody. We'll close the case, and she won't walk. Sometimes that's as good as it gets."
    "It wasn't like she loved him." At Eve's arched brow, Peabody shrugged. "You could tell. She was just pissed because he'd screwed around on her."
    "Yeah, so she screwed him -- literally. So remember, loyalty counts." The car 'link beeped just as she started the engine. "Dallas."
    "Hey, Dallas, hey. It's Ratso."
    Eve looked at the ferret face and beady blue eyes onscreen. "I'd never have guessed."
    He gave the wheezy inhale that passed for a laugh. "Yeah, right. Yeah. So listen, Dallas, I got something for you. How 'bout you meet me and we'll deal. Okay? Right?"
    "I'm heading into Central. I've got business. And my shift's over ten minutes ago, so -- "
    "I got something for you. Good data. Worth something."
    "Yeah, that's what you always say. Don't waste my time, Ratso."
    "It's good shit." The blue eyes skittered like marbles in his skinny face. "I can be at The Brew in ten."
    "I'll give you five minutes, Ratso. Practice being coherent."
    She broke the connection, swung away from the curb, and headed downtown.
    "I remember him from your files," Peabody commented. "One of your weasels."
    "Yeah, and he just did ninety days on a D and D. I got the indecent exposure tossed. Ratso likes to flaunt his personality when he's piss-faced. He's harmless," Eve added. "Mostly full of wind, but every now and again, he comes up with some solid data. The Brew's on the way, and Cooke can hold for a bit. Run the serial number on the murder weapon. Let's verify if it belonged to the victim. Then find the next of kin. I'll notify them once Cooke's booked."
    The night was clear and cold with a stiff wind snapping down the urban canyons and chasing most of the foot traffic indoors. The glide-cart vendors held out, shivering in the steam and stink of grilling soy dogs, hoping for a few hungry souls hearty enough to brave February's teeth.
    The winter of 2059 had been brutally cold, and profits were down.
    They left the swank Upper East Side neighborhood with its clear, unbroken sidewalks and uniformed doormen and headed south and west where the streets went narrow and noisy and the natives moved fast, their eyes on the ground and their fists over their wallets.
    Smashed against curbs, the remnants of the last snowfall was soot gray and ugly. Nasty patches of ice still slicked sidewalks and lay in wait for the unwary. Overhead, a billboard swam with a warm blue sea hemmed by sugar-white sand. The busty blonde frolicking in the waves wore little more than a tan and invited New York to come to the islands and play.
    Eve entertained herself with thoughts of a couple of days in Roarke's island getaway. Sun, sand, and sex, she mused as she negotiated bad-tempered evening traffic. Her husband would be happy to provide all three, and she was nearly ready to suggest it. Another week or two maybe, she decided. After she cleared up some paperwork, finished some court appearances, tied a couple of dangling loose ends.
    And, she admitted, felt a little more secure about being away from the job.
    She'd lost her badge and had nearly lost her way too recently for the sting to have faded. Now that she had both back, she wasn't quite ready to set duty aside for a quick bout of indulgence.
    By the time she found a parking space on the second-level street ramp near The Brew, Peabody had the requested data. "According to the serial numbers, the murder weapon belonged to the victim."
    "Then we start off with murder in the second," Eve said as they trooped down to the street. "The PA won't waste time trying to prove premeditation."
    "But you think she went there to kill him."
    "Oh yeah." Eve crossed the sidewalk toward the murky lights of an animated beer mug with dingy foam sliding down the sides.
    The Brew specialized in cheap drinks and stale beer nuts. Its clientele ran to grifters down on their luck, low-level office drones and the cut-rate licensed companions who hunted them, and a smaller of hustlers with nothing left to hustle.
    The air was stale and overheated, conversation scattered and secret. Through the smeared light, several gazes slid to Eve, then quickly away.
    Even without Peabody's uniform beside her, she whispered cop. They would have recognized it in the way she stood -- the long, rangy body alert, the clear brown eyes steady, focused, and flat as they took in faces and details.
    Only the uninitiated would have seen just a woman with short,