In Death 22 - Memory in Death

trouble?”
    “Well, you could say that. Yes, you could say … um.”
    “Good. And you can tell him for me, he’d better not come back to my place.” Zero stabbed a finger on her, setting his trio of rings glittering angrily. “I don’t want to see him or those asshole suits he runs with
    in my place again. He’ll get another kick for buying and possession, right?”
    “Actually, he didn’t have any illegals on his person at the time of the incident. We’re doing a tox screen,
    so we can get him for use.”
    “He tries to fuck with me, I’ll fuck with him.” Secure in his world, Zero sat back, folded his arms. “Say
    I happened to pass some juice personal use, not for resale. We’re talking the usual fine, community
    service.
    “That’s the norm, yes, sir.”
    “Why don’t you bring Piers in here. I’ve worked with Piers before.”
    “Oh, I think Detective Piers is off duty.”
    “You bring him in on this. He’ll take care of the details.”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Dumbass comes into my place. He solicits illegals from me. Fat slob’s always nickel-and-diming me,
    you get it? Mostly Pushand not worth my time. But I’m going to do him a favor since he and his buddies are regulars. Just a favor for a customer. He wants a party pack, so I go out of my way to do
    him this favorat cost! No profit. That keeps the fine down,” he reminded her.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Even gave him a separate stash, customized just for him.”
    “Customized?”
    “Holidaygift. Didn’t charge him for it. No exchange of funds. I ought to be able to sue him. I ought to be able to sue that rat bastard for my time and emotional distress. I’m going to ask my lawyer about that.”
    “You can ask your lawyer, Mr. Gant, but it’s going to be tough to sue Mr. Lawrence, seeing as he’s dead.”
    “What do you mean, dead?”
    “Apparently the customized juice didn’t agree with him.” The harried and uncertainPeabodywas gone, and in her place was a stone-cold cop. “He’s dead, and he took an innocent bystander with him.”
    “What the hell is this?”
    “This is meoh, and I’m Homicide, by the way, not Illegals arresting you. Martin Gant, you’re under arrest for the murder of Max Lawrence and Leo Jacobs. For trafficking in illegal substances, for owning and operating an entertainment venue that distributes illegal substances.”
    She turned as Eve opened the door. “All done here?” Eve said brightly. “I have these two nice officers ready to escort our guest down to booking. Oh, your lawyer appears to be wandering around the facility. We’ll make sure he finds you.”
    “I’ll have your badges.”
    Eve took one of his arms, andPeabodythe other, as they hauled him to his feet. “Not in this lifetime,” Eve said, and passed him to the uniforms, watched him walk out the door. “Nice job, Detective.”
    “I think I got lucky. Really lucky. And I think he’s greasing palms in Illegals.”
    “Yeah, going to have to have a chat with Piers. Let’s go write it up.”
    “He won’t go down for murder. You said.”
    “No.” As they walked, Eve shook her head. “Maybe Man Two. Maybe. But he’ll do time. He’ll do some time, and they’ll pull his operating license. Fines and legal fees will cost him big. He’ll pay. Best we get.”
    “Best they get,”Peabodycorrected. “Tubbs and Jacobs.”
    They swung into the bull pen as Officer Troy Trueheart stepped out. He was tall, and he was built, and he was as fresh as a peach with the fuzz still on it.
    “Oh, Lieutenant, there’s a woman here to see you.”
    “About what?”
    “She said it was personal.” He glanced around, frowned. “I don’t see her. I don’t think she left. I just
    got her some coffee a few minutes ago.”
    “Name?”
    “Lombard. Mrs. Lombard.”
    “Well, if you round her up, let me know.”
    “Dallas? I’ll write up the report. I’d like to,”Peabodyadded. “Feels like taking it all the way through.”
    “I’ll remind you of that when this goes to court.”
    Eve walked through the bull pen and to her office.
    It was a stingy room with barely any space for the desk, a spare chair, and the skinny pane of glass masquerading as a window. She didn’t have any problem spotting the woman.
    She sat in the spare chair, sipping coffee from a recyclable cup. Her hair was reddish blond, worn in a
    cap that had apparently exploded into curls. Her skin was very white, except for the pink on her cheeks, the pink on her lips. Her