In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

door.
    “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Jannson stood in the doorway.
    “What is it, Detective?”
    “I started making the rounds, for the Survivors’ Fund.”
    “We’ll have to discuss that later.”
    “No, sir. I was down in Booking, and when one of the uniforms was digging out a donation, he said they had an LC in the tank who was mouthing off about knowing something about what went down. He was pissed about it, the uniform, because she’s a regular visitor--street level. Always looking for an angle, mostly full of it. He figured she heard some of the men talking about Knight and Preston and wants some attention, a little glory. It’s a long shot otherwise, but I didn’t want it overlooked. Lieutenant, she was picked up on West Eighty Nine. Just blocks from the scene.”
    “Bring her up, into Interview. We’ll take her for a spin. Check which room’s available.”
    “I already did. Interview A’s clear.”
    “Bring her up. You want in?”
    Jannson hesitated, and Eve could see the struggle on her face. “Three of us in there, gives her too much thumb. I’ll take the Observation Room.”
    “Have Booking shoot up her sheet. Nice catch, Jannson.”
    Ophelia Washburn was more than worn around the edges. She was heading for tattered. She was a wide-hipped black woman with breasts of such enormity and stature no angel of God had bestowed them. Her top was spangled and feathered and strained mightily to hold those mountains in place.
    Her hair was a towering shock of white. Eve always wondered why street-levels felt huge hair was as big a drawing card as huge breasts. And why either were needed, when most customers either wanted a fast bang or a quick blow job.
    Her lips were full, large, and dyed to match the top. A gold eyetooth glinted between them, while the rest of her face was painted and slathered in a manner that shouted out, “Whore here! Inquire regarding rates.”
    But all the paint and polish didn’t disguise the fact that Ophelia was past prime. Limping toward fifty, a decade beyond the age most street levels burned out and took jobs as irritable waitresses or riders at sex clubs. Maybe bit actors in porn vids.
    “Ophelia.” Eve kept her voice light, even friendly. “I see you’re operating on a suspended license and have three other violations within the last eighteen months.”
    “No, see, that’s the thing. That cop, he said I was carrying illegals and I told him the John musta put them on me. You can’t trust a John, take it from me. But they don’t pay any mind, and I get my license suspended. Now how’m I supposed to make a living I can’t trick? Who’m I hurting out there? I get my health checks regular. You can see that in my file. I’m clean.”
    “It also says you’ve tested positive for Exotica and Go.”
    “Well, musta been a mistake, or some John, he slipped me some. Some rub Go on their dicks. Give a bj, and there you are.”
    Eve cocked her head as if she found this information fascinating. “You know with this last bust, they’re going to lift your license permanently.”
    “You can fix that. You can fix that for me, ‘cause I got something for you.”
    “What have you got for me, Ophelia?”
    “First you fix it.”
    “Peabody, do I look as if most of my brain has recently been surgically removed?”
    “No. You certainly don’t look nearly dim enough to fix a sheet of this length without first being given salient information.”
    Ophelia sent Peabody a scowl. “What she mean salient?”
    “Ophelia, two cops are dead.” The light, friendly tone turned cold as Pluto. “You heard about that. If you’re using that, if you’re playing me with that so you can get your license clear, I will personally see that it’s not only lifted, but that you’re hounded by the cops to the extent you won’t be able to give away blow jobs for old times’ sake.”
    “No need to get pissy.” Ophelia’s large lips seemed to gain weight with a pout. “Just trying to help us both outtava jam.”
    “Then you tell me what you know, and if it helps, you walk out.”
    “With a license?”
    “With a license.”
    “Phat. So, here’s what. I’m doing the stroll on Ninety-Two. My usual area of business is downtown, but with my current situation, I changed. And you get better tricks Upper West. That time of day, lots of nine-to-fives heading home after a quick drink. I give them a bj to go with it, maybe a fast bang.”
    “On the street.”
    “Well... See, I got an