In Death 28 - Promises in Death

brandy, into Eve’s face. For a moment his eyes swam with memories, tears, and gratitude. “Jin. His name was Jin.” He sat forward, gripped Eve’s hand. “I’m glad you came. I’m glad you’re here. You . . . you’ve hurt your head,” he said abruptly.
    “It’s nothing. Just banged it.”
    “You’re not clumsy.”
    Truth, she remembered, and told him.
    “You’re not considering this may be someone who simply wants to kill or hurt cops?”
    “It doesn’t play that way. Neither incident was random.”
    “No.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “You’re right. You didn’t come here to tell me about this. Why did you?”
    “EDD’s been combing her electronics. Nothing pops, Morris. The investigations she was working on just don’t fit in with murder. There’s nothing in her files, her notes, her personals to give any indication she was in trouble, felt uneasy, had been threatened. There’s only one notation about Ricker—and that’s a memo in her date book that she was meeting AR, at the time and the date he confirms. There’s nothing to indicate she knew she was or had been under the watch of IAB. And she had been.”
    “IAB had investigated her.”
    “They got a tip about her relationship with Ricker, when they were in Atlanta. They had eyes on her, eyes and ears when they could manage it. They lived together, essentially, for well over a year.”
    He kept his eyes steady. “I knew she’d had a serious relationship. She never lied to me about it, or tried to play it down.”
    “Okay. She occasionally traveled with Ricker. Vacation type stuff. He bought her some jewelry. That’s all they had. They never assembled any evidence that it was anything but a personal, a romantic relationship.”
    “And, of course, never just asked her.”
    “Not according to my source.”
    “Which would be Webster, Dallas, I’m not a fool. Have they had her under watch here?”
    “Initially. The relationship with Ricker ended, appeared to end, a couple of months before she requested the transfer. Their contact was minimal after the breakup, and dribbled down to none. But the New York bureau was notified, and took a look at her. Webster said they bumped her down—just nothing there—and they weren’t on her when Ricker contacted her, when he got to New York.”
    “He’s your prime suspect.”
    “He’s a suspect. Prime’s pushing it with what I have. I know he’s crooked. She would have known that, too. Webster’s going to do some digging, and keep a lid on it. He’ll be careful with her, Morris.”
    “IAB, now—it’s—” He broke off, shook his head.
    “I’m sorry. She may have been a source for Alex back in Atlanta. Morris, you know I have to consider that. If she was involved with him, in love with him, she might’ve stepped over the line for him. I have to look there as long as I’m looking at him. And I have to think, either way it was, maybe she took a good hard look at things. After she’d come here, after she had that distance, and you. Maybe she’d started to put things down, thought about putting down details and flipping on him.”
    Both the anger and the fatigue had cleared from his face as he heard her out. “If that’s true, and he found out—”
    “If and if. But there’s nothing on her units. Nothing. She spent a lot of time here. A lot of time with you. Maybe time here when you weren’t.”
    “Yes, depending on our shifts, or if either of us got called in. You think she might have used my comps, tucked something in, because it felt safer. More secure.”
    “I’d like to have my expert consultant here take a look. And, I know it’s weird, but if I could do a search. In case she hid discs or any kind of documentation.”
    “Yes. Please.” He got to his feet. “I’ll make coffee.”
    Morris helped with the search, and Eve thought he seemed more himself—precise, focused—for the doing. She took the kitchen, the living area, leaving him to the bedroom while Roarke concentrated on the office.
    She dug through containers and clear jars, in drawers and behind them. Under tables, cushions, behind art, and through Morris’s extensive music disc collection. She examined every stair tread before going up.
    In the bedroom Morris stood in front of the closet, a filmy white robe in his hands.
    “It smells of her,” he said quietly. “It smells of her.” And hung it up again. “I can’t find anything.”
    “Maybe Roarke’ll have better luck. Can you