In Death 28 - Promises in Death

would detect them.
    Always cover both ends of the game, he thought.
    Part of him regretted he couldn’t tell Alex that he wasn’t Eve’s prime suspect. Or even a suspect in her mind at this point. But that, too, was up to the lieutenant. But he could regret. He’d had a mother, too. A mother who’d loved him, and who his father had killed. Outlived her usefulness, hadn’t she? Become an annoyance. Yes, he could feel for Alex there.
    He could feel even as he wondered at the man’s lack of awareness. A man who’d let love walk away rather than give ground, or try at least to find the middle of it. And now, Roarke mused, couldn’t see what was staring him square in the face.
    His ’link signaled. His lips curved when he read Darling Eve on the display. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
    “Hey. I’ve got a favor. Can—where are you?”
    “I’m in transit at the moment. I had a meeting.”
    “Is that . . . you had a meeting on Coney Island?”
    “I did. A pity it was so early in the day and I couldn’t treat myself to the roller coaster. We’ll have to come back, you and I, and make up for it.”
    “Sure, when I’ve lost my mind and want to rush screaming through the air in a little car. Never mind. Favor. I need to—”
    “Answer a question first, and I promise to grant whatever the favor might be.”
    Suspicion narrowed her eyes. He loved that look.
    “What kind of question?”
    “A yes or no for now. Question, Lieutenant. Is Max Ricker behind Detective Coltraine’s murder?”
    “What, do you have me wired? Have Whitney’s office bugged?”
    Roarke glanced at his cuff link. “Not at the moment. I take that as a yes.”
    “It’s not yes or no. I suspect, strongly, that Max Ricker is behind it.”
    “That’s good enough for me. What’s the favor?”
    “I need your fastest off-planet transpo. New York to Omega Colony.”
    “We’re going to Omega?”
    “No, Callendar and another e-detective will be. I think Ricker’s pulling some strings up there, believe his communication and visitation records have been wiped or doctored. I want to know who he’s been talking to. It can take twenty-six hours or more to get to Omega by regular means.”
    “I can cut that by more than a third. I’ll arrange it, and get back to you with the details.”
    “Okay. I owe you.”
    “A roller-coaster ride, at least.”
    “No, I don’t owe you that much.”
    He laughed when she clicked off. After arranging the flight, passing the information back, Roarke settled down and thought of Max Ricker.
     
    T ime had to stop, Eve thought, as she changed into dress blues. The dead deserved their moment, she supposed that was true enough. But in her mind, memorials were for the living left behind. So time had to stop, for Morris. She might do Coltraine a hell of a lot more good in the field, or working her way to getting Alex Ricker in the box. But there were other duties.
    She pulled on the hard black shoes, stood and squared her uniform cap on her head.
    She walked out of the locker room to take the glides down to the bereavement center.
    She thought of Callendar and some bulky e-geek named Sisto, preparing to be flung like a couple of stones from a slingshot toward the cold rock of Omega. Callendar, Eve recalled, had appeared seriously juiced at the prospect of her first off-planet assignment.
    It took all kinds.
    This time tomorrow they’d be there, be digging in. They’d mine those logs and find what she needed. They’d damn well better find what she needed. Because every inch of her gut said Max Ricker had ordered the hit. She’d get to the why; she’d get to the how. But the e-team had to get her Ricker and his contact.
    Max Ricker wouldn’t pay for killing a cop. What more could be done to a man who would live the rest of his miserable life in a cage? But others could and would pay, and that would have to be enough.
    She hoped it would be enough.
    The doors of the room Morris had chosen stood open so the music flowed through them. The bluesy sort he and the woman he’d loved had enjoyed. She caught the scent of flowers—the roses—before she stepped into the room crowded with cops.
    Red roses, Eve noted, and photographs of the dead. Casual, candid shots of Coltraine smiling mixed with formal ones. Coltraine in uniform looking polished and serious, in a summer dress on some beach laughing. Small white candles burned a soft, soothing light.
    With some relief she saw no casket—either closed or open—no