In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

eyes.
    She’d taken off her jacket, tossed it over a chair, and still wore her weapon harness. Which meant she’d come in the door and straight up. Armed and dangerous, he thought. It was a look, a fact of her, that continually aroused him. And her tireless and unwavering dedication to the dead—to the truth, to what was right—had, and always would, amaze him.
    She’d set up her murder board, he noted, filling it with grisly photos, with reports, notes, names. And somewhere along the line in her day, she’d earned herself a black eye.
    He’d long since resigned himself to finding the woman he loved bruised and bloody at any given time. Since she didn’t look exhausted or ill, a shiner was a relatively minor event.
    She sensed him. He saw the moment she did, that slight change of body language. And when her eyes shifted from her comp screen to his, the cold focus became an easy, even casual warmth.
    That, he thought, just that was worth coming home for.
    “Lieutenant.” He crossed over, lifted her chin with his hand to study the bruising under her eye. “And so, who’d you piss off today then?”
    “More like who pissed me off. He’s got more than one bruise.”
    “Naturally. Who might that be?”
    “Some mope named Clipper. I busted a snatch, switch, and drop.”
    “Ah.” He cocked his head. “Why?”
    “Good question. This kid named Tiko dragged me into it.”
    “This sounds like a story. Do you want some wine to go with it?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Before you tell me the story, did you catch Peabody’s appearance?”
    “Yeah. Did you?”
    Across the room he contemplated the wine selection, made his choice for both of them. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I thought she did brilliantly.”
    “She didn’t screw up.”
    He laughed, opened the bottle. “High praise, Lieutenant. It’s you who trained her. The last thing she said. It’s you who trained her to stand for the dead, no matter who they were in life.”
    “I trained her to work a case. She was already a cop.”
    “As you were, when Feeney trained you. So it trickles down.” He walked back to hand her a glass of wine. “It’s a kind of inheritance, isn’t it?” With his own wine, he sat on the corner of her desk. “Now, about that eye.”
    He listened, by turns amused and fascinated. “How old is this Tiko?”
    “I don’t know. Seven, maybe eight. Short.”
    “He must be very persuasive as well as short and seven.”
    “He digs in, that’s for sure. It wasn’t much of a detour anyway.” She shrugged. “And you had to admire his logic, pretty much down the line. They’re stealing from potential customers, which cuts into his business. I’m a cop.”
    “Top bitch cop.”
    “Bet your ass. So as such I’m supposed to fix it.”
    “As you did.” He brushed a finger over her cheek. “With minimal damage, I suppose.”
    “Guy had skinny arms, but they were as long as a gorilla’s. Anyway, I figure the kid’s got a flop—he’s too clean and warmly dressed for street—probably with his gray market supplier. Couldn’t’ve been further off there. Little apartment off Times Square with a granny cooking his supper. Great-grandmother,” she added. “I ran them on the way home.”
    “Of course you did.”
    “Neither’s been in any trouble. The same can’t be said of Tiko’s mother. Illegals busts, solicitation without a license, shoplifting that upped to petty theft that upped to grand larceny. Last couple busts were down in Florida. The granny’s been guardian since he was about a year old.”
    “The father?”
    “Unknown. She was afraid I was going to call Child Services. Afraid I was going to call them in, and she could lose the kid.”
    “Another cop might have.”
    “Then another cop would’ve been wrong. Kid’s got a decent roof over his head, warm clothes on his back, food in his belly, and somebody who loves him. It’s…”
    “More than we had,” Roarke finished.
    “Yeah. I thought about that. There’s no fear in this kid, and that’s about all that was in me at his age. No meanness either, and you had plenty of that running your Dublin alleys. Had to have plenty of it. He’s got the chance of a good life ahead of him because someone cares enough.”
    “From what you’ve said, he sounds like the kind who’ll make the most of that chance.”
    “That’s my take. And I thought about Anders. He wasn’t afraid, and from everything I find, he wasn’t big on the mean. But his chance at life