In Death 12 - Betrayal in Death

wig model captain stud; two twelve-ounce bottles of wig grooming product, brand name sampson; one six-ounce bottle of collagen elixir for face, brand name youth; one each of temporary eye tint, brand name wink, in viking blue, sea mist, and carmel cream; one dietary product, brand name fat-zap for men; and two three-by-six-inch scented candles, sandlewood. Purchases total eight thousand, four hundred and twnety-six dollars and fifty-eight cents, including all applicable taxes.
    "A lot of cash," Eve mused, "but why leave a paper trail, even a false one, if you don't have to? Computer, add image of Captain Stud brand wig to file. Copy addresses of luggage store, salon, and jewelry supplier, my PPC."
    While her computer completed the tasks, Eve turned to her 'link. Thirty-two calls, she noted, since she'd logged out the day before. Odds were the bulk of them were from reporters hoping for a statement or sound bite.
    It was tempting just to dump them, but until Peabody reported her vehicle was a go, she could spare a little time.
    She started through them, automatically transferring the usual media pleas to NYPSD Media Relations. Until she was told differently, directly from her commander, she wasn't talking to the press.
    She paused on the transmission from Nadine Furst, the star of Channel 75, and a personal friend. "Not yet, pal," she murmured, but answered the message with a time delay. That way, she'd be in the field before Nadine received it.
    "No point in nagging me," Eve said. "I don't have anything you can use at this point. The investigation is ongoing, all leads are being pursued with diligence, and blah, blah. You know the routine. When and if I have something for you, I'll be in touch. You tie up my 'link, I'm not going to feel very friendly."
    Satisfied with that, Eve programmed the message to transmit in sixty minutes. She took twenty of them to write an updated report, then transmitted it to her commander.
    She'd no more than pushed away from her desk and reached for her jacket when the summons from Commander Whitney came through.
    As a matter of course, she snagged Peabody on the way up. "Maintenance?"
    "Well, you know they have the whole how-backed-up-and-put-upon-they-are routine down pretty pat."
    Eve stepped onto the people glide, scowled. "Did you mention riot weapons?"
    "I thought it best to hold that possibility in reserve, sir." Just as she thought it best not to mention the snide comments made about a certain lieutenant's track record with city vehicles and equipment. "But I made the priority of your current investigation clear, and indicated that Commander Whitney frowned on having his ranked officers going out into the field in a piece of junk."
    "That was good thinking."
    "As long as nobody down there calls him for verification. You know, Dallas, you could request that the commander put the arm on them."
    "I'm not whining to my superior, or pulling rank."
    "You don't mind having me do it," Peabody muttered.
    "That's right." Slightly more cheerful, Eve switched from glide to elevator. "You'll get your update on where we are in the case when I give the oral to Whitney. I think our man has a homey little hole right here in New York."
    "Here?"
    "Yeah." Geared up, Eve stepped off the elevator on Whitney's level.
    Since she was waved directly through, Eve knocked briefly on Whitney's door, then stepped in.
    He was seated behind his desk, and didn't rise. He was a big man with dark, wide face and beefy shoulders, hair rapidly going gray and eyes that remained street-sharp.
    There were two other people in the room, male and female. Neither of them rose either, but both studied her closely. As she did them.
    The dull and boxy black suits with ties ruthlessly knotted at the neck, the good shoes with their military shine, and the cold survey tipped her off.
    Feds. Shit.
    "Lieutenant, Officer." Whitney inclined his head and kept his big hands folded on his desk. "Special Agents James Jacoby and Karen Stowe. FBI. Lieutenant Dallas is primary on the Darlene French homicide investigation. Officer Peabody is her aide. The FBI has some interest in your case, Lieutenant."
    Eve said nothing, and stayed on her feet.
    "The Bureau, in cooperation with other law enforcement agencies, has been pursuing the individual Sylvester Yost for several years in connection with various crimes, including murder."
    Eve met Jacoby's eyes. "I'm aware of that from my research."
    "The Bureau expects the cooperation of the NYPSD in