In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

starts popping off heat...maybe some idiot civilian gets in the, way. Potential hostage. Better-do it inside. Contained and controlled inside. No place to run, no civilian targets. It should be cleaner inside."
     
     
She looked over, shrugged when she realized she'd walked in and out of the holographic bedroom closet. "Sorry."
     
     
"It's not a problem. You're worried because Peabody will be in the bed, in the open."
     
     
"She can take care of herself.
     
     
"So she can. But the fact that you're worried should help you understand I've some concerns of my own. So- I'm asking you to let me in on this operation."
     
     
Deliberately she cocked her brow. "Asking?' Me? Why don't you just go to your good' pal Jack, or your buddy Ryan?"
     
     
"One tries to learn by one's mistakes."
     
     
"Does one?"
     
     
"I want to be there for several reasons, and one is because it's become personal for you. It's trickier when it's personal."
     
     
She turned back. "End hologram program. Screens off." There was cold coffee on her desk. She picked up the cup, put it down. Then found herself reaching for the little statue of the goddess Peabody's mother had given her.
     
     
"It's not the notes. They're just irritating on a personal level, and helpful otherwise. It's not the fact that he's marked me as a future target. That goes with the territory. It's not even that he's a vicious, arrogant, sick son of a bitch. You get that all the time. It was watching Marlene Cox fighting to come back, and more than that, seeing her mother will her back. Sitting beside that hospital bed, reading to her, holding her hand, talking to her, believing-refusing not to believe because she loved her more than... Well, more than anything."
     
     
She set the statue down again. "The way the mother looked at me, with this utter faith that I'd make it right. In my line you're almost always trying to make it right for the dead. But Marlene's-alive. So it's personal. It got turned on me, and yeah, it's trickier when it's personal."
     
     
"Can you use. me?"
     
     
"Slick operator like you? Don't see why not. I'll give you a ride into Central. You can report to Feeney in EDD. "
     
     
Her first task at Central was to arrange for Pamela Renquist to be brought to an interview room.
     
     
Renquist's high-priced lawyers were already working on her release. Eve would consider herself lucky to hold the woman another twelve hours.
     
     
Pamela came in without her attorney, but wearing her own clothes rather than prison garb. Used her pull for her priority, Eve assumed and gestured to the table.
     
     
"I've agreed to speak with you, and alone, because I don't want to give you the importance of my attorneys." Pamela sat, brushed at her soft, silk pants. "I'll be released shortly, and have already instructed my attorneys to initiate suit against you for harassment, false arrest and imprisonment, and slander."
     
     
"Gosh, I'm in big trouble now. Tell me where he is, Pam, and we'll end this without anyone else getting hurt."
     
     
"First, I don't appreciate your familiar form of address."
     
     
"Gee, now you hurt my feelings."
     
     
"Secondly," Pamela continued in a voice iced as February, "my husband is in London on business, and when he returns he will use all his influence to destroy you."
     
     
"Hey, here's a flash for you: Your husband is in New York City, finalizing his preparation to kill a female accountant using the method of Enrico Marsonini, who was infamous for the rape and torture of his victims before he cut them to pieces. He always took a finger or toe with him, as a kind of door prize."
     
     
"You're disgusting."
     
     
"I'm disgusting." Eve let out a baffled laugh. "You are some piece of work. To continue. Following the pattern of his latest mentor, Niles visited his intended victim in her home yesterday afternoon."
     
     
Pamela curled her fingers, examined her manicure. "That's preposterous."
     
     
"You know it's not. You know that your husband, the father of your child, the man you live with, is a psychopath. You've smelled the blood on him, haven't you, Pam? You've seen what he is when you look at his face. You have a daughter. Isn't it time for you to -protect her?"
     
     
Pamela's gaze flashed up, and a hint of rage eked through. "My daughter is none of your concern."
     
     
"And apparently none of yours, either. I sent a child liaison officer to your home last evening. Rose, along with Sophia DiCarlo, has