In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

barely did anything but work those last weeks.”
    “Did you see her during that period, during those last weeks?”
    “Of course I did.”
    “Did she tell you why she was stressed, or what she was working on that was particularly difficult?”
    “No. We didn’t talk about her work. She knew I didn’t like it. Being proud of your child doesn’t mean you want to be reminded how dangerous the work is they’ve chosen. I know she was tense. On edge. She’d lost weight.”
    “You were worried about her.”
    “I asked her to take some time off. Said we’d take a little trip, a few days at the shore. She said she’d like that, could use that. But she had to finish something first. Finish something important, then she’d really want to get away for a while. It was work. If it had been a man, or anything else, she’d have told me.”
    “Is there anyone else she would have told?”
    “One of you. Cops talk to other cops.”
    Peabody nodded, felt it slipping away. “Did she keep a notebook, a diary, any sort of journal?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure.” Anger fired through grief again. “And if she had kept one, I wouldn’t let you see it. It would be personal. But she didn’t keep a diary. I have all of her things, and there’s nothing like that.”
    “You have her things?” A little bubble of excitement, of hope opened in Peabody’s throat. “Can I see them?”
    “Why should I—”
    “Please, Mrs. Devin. I can’t explain everything, but I promise you I want to do right by Gail. I swear to you, that’s my only purpose in being here, in asking you.”
    “You’re like a dog with a bone.” The woman turned her back, strode through the living area to a dining nook, through that to a room off a kitchen that gleamed and smelled of lemon.
    It was like a small bedroom without the bed. Clothes hung neatly in the closet—Peabody imagined more were neatly folded in the small dresser. Pieces of Gail Devin sat here and there. Whatnot boxes, scarves, a bright pink vase. Photos, framed posters, a Little League trophy, a fishing rod.
    A slim case held discs. Music discs, music vids, Peabody noted. All arranged by category, alphabetized.
    She got a little buzz.
    “That’s a nice collection.”
    “It was how she relaxed, let loose.”
    I know her now, Peabody thought. She was smart and determined. A good cop. Where would a smart, determined, and good cop hide a record she wanted to keep handy, keep safe?
    “Mrs. Devin, I have to ask you to let me borrow Gail’s music collection.”
    Hot pink color stained cheeks already wet with tears. “Do you think I’d hand over what was Gail’s, one of her most important things, to a stranger?”
    “She’s not a stranger to me.” Peabody looked in Mrs. Devin’s eyes and repeated, “I want to do right by Gail. If she were standing in front of my mother, I know she’d do the same for me.”
    On her way back to Manhattan, Peabody had to pull over, rest her head on the wheel.
    “Please, God,” she murmured. “Let me find something. Don’t let me have done this to that poor woman for nothing.”

18
    EVE HAD A SHORT WINDOW TO CHECK IN WITH her own men, so she hit the bullpen between meetings. After a quick scan, she gestured to Trueheart.
    “My office.”
    She went in, grabbed coffee, downed half of it.
    “Where’s Baxter?” she asked when Trueheart stepped in.
    “He’s working a wit in the lounge, Lieutenant. I’m verifying some information via ’link. We’re—”
    “Is there a reason I need to know what you’re working on?” she interrupted. “Any humps, bumps, problems, questions?”
    “No, sir. Not at this time.”
    “Good. Is there anything anybody’s got going that requires me? You pay attention, Trueheart,” she said when he hesitated. “You know what’s moving out there. I don’t have time for a rundown unless I need a rundown.”
    “Um, no, sir. I don’t think your attention’s required on anything current.”
    “Get the word out. If I’m needed leave a memo. If it’s urgent, contact via ’link.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    She eased down on the corner of her desk, a deliberate move to take some of the formal out of the exchange. “What’s the buzz out there, Trueheart?”
    He looked at her, spiffy in his uniform. “Sir?”
    “Jesus, Trueheart. I know damn well Baxter’s clipped some of the green off of you, and as I said previous, you pay attention. You know what the talk is. Let’s hear