In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

have to give me grief on it. I need you to run two cops for me. Lieutenant Alan Mills and Detective Julianna Martinez, both in Illegals out of the One twenty-eight."
    "I don't like it."
    "I need a quiet run, Feeney. I don't want any flags going up."
    His already mournful face dropped into sags. "I especially don't like it."
    "I'm sorry to ask. I'd do it myself, but you can do it faster and quieter." She glanced up to where Roarke and Peabody walked along the top level. "I don't like it either, but I've got to open the door before I can close it."
    Though he was alone in his office, Feeney lowered his voice. "You just looking, Dallas, or are you looking for dirt?"
    "I can't fill you in now, but I've got too many connections to ignore. Do this for me, Feeney, and when it's done, let me know. We'll hook up somewhere, and I'll bring you up to date."
    "I know Mills. He's an asshole."
    "Yeah, I've had the pleasure."
    "But I can't see him dirty, Dallas."
    "That's the problem, isn't it? We never want to see it."
    She pocketed the communicator, righted a bar stool, and sat. In her notebook she began listing names, putting Kohli's in the center with arrows out to Ricker, connecting his with Mills and theirs with Martinez. She added Roth, curving a line to all, then in the bottom corner she added Webster. IAB.
    She arrowed his to Kohli and wondered if she would be connecting him to anyone else before it was done.
    Then, because it had to be done, she added Roarke, hooked him to Kohli and to Ricker. And hoped to God that would be the end of it.
    Death, she thought, left a picture, told a story, from both the victim's and the killer's point of view. The scene itself, the body, the method, time and place, what was left behind, what was taken away. They were all part of the story.
    Illegals, she thought, continuing to scribble in her book. Blood on the shield. Overkill. Strippers. Missing security discs. Vice. Sex? Money. Thirty credit chips.
    She continued to make notes, frown over them as Roarke and Peabody worked their way back to her. "Why the credit chips?" she asked out loud. "Because he died for money? Not to make it look like a robbery. Another symbol? Blood money. Why thirty chips?"
    "Thirty pieces of silver," Roarke said, watching Eve's blank stare. "Your state education, Lieutenant, wouldn't have included Bible study. Judas was paid thirty pieces of silver for betraying Christ."
    "Thirty pieces of silver." It clicked with her, and she nodded as she pushed to her feet. "We can figure Kohli stands for Judas. But who's standing as Jesus?" She scanned the scene one last time. "Time's up," she told Roarke. "You'll want to call your ride."
    "He'll be outside by now." Roarke opened the door himself, holding it. As Eve moved by him, he caught her, yanked her against him and closed his mouth warmly over hers. "Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant."
    "Oh man, he can really kiss." Peabody all but sang it as Roarke strolled to the limo waiting at the curb. "You can tell, just by watching him do it, he's a seriously excellent kisser."
    "Just stop imagining he was kissing you."
    "I can't." Peabody rubbed her lips together as Eve re-sealed the door. "And I can tell you, that one's going to get me through the day and into the night."
    "You've got your own men now."
    "Not the same." Peabody sighed as she trudged to Eve's car. "Just nowhere near the same. Where are we going?"
    "To see a stripper."
    "Tell me it's a male stripper and my day is made."
    "You're doomed to disappointment."
    Nancie lived in an attractive prewar building on Lexington. There were window boxes spilling with flowers on several of the upper levels, and a cheerful-faced uniformed doorman gave Eve a dazzling grin when she held up her badge.
    "I hope there's no trouble, Lieutenant Dallas, ma'am. If there's anything I can do, you just let me know."
    "Thanks, I think we can handle it."
    "I bet he makes tons in tips," Peabody commented as they entered the small, dignified lobby. "Great smile, nice butt. What else could you ask for in a doorman?"
    She studied the lobby with its discreet name plaques, polished brass elevator, and attractive arrangement of spring flowers. "I never figured a place like this for a nude dancer. It's more like what you'd think of for upper-level office drones and junior execs. I wonder what she makes a year."
    "Thinking of switching professions?"
    "Yeah, right." Peabody snorted as they stepped onto the elevator. "Guys are lining up to see