In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

out another breath.
    “Garnet—she called the male Garnet. He called her Renee. Oberman. Renee Oberman. She was in charge.”
    “Renee Oberman and Garnet. Description?”
    “I didn’t get any sort of look at him, but she’s blond, between five-four and five-five, I think. She was wearing heels, but that’s about right. Caucasian. Strong voice—at least when she’s pissed.”
    “Did they ever use their ranks?”
    “No, but she said when she made captain, they were going to expand the business. She referred to it as a business several times. And they used to be lovers.”
    “Did you run the names?” she asked McNab.
    “Not yet. Peabody was pretty shaken.”
    “She had somebody named Keener killed—said she had their boy take care of it, and that it would look like an OD. Keener’s a chemi-head, and one of their tools, contacts. He tried to rabbit on them, with this ten K. Garnet was supposed to have him on a leash, but he slipped. That’s what they were fighting about. They got the ten K, too—she let Garnet know that after she’d raked him down. And she was taking ten percent of his cut as a bonus for the boy, the killer. It was a business meeting.”
    “Did you get the impression they used that space often for meetings?”
    “No. No, the opposite. She was really peeved he’d yanked her in there, let him know there’d be no more meets there. Six years,” Peabody remembered. “She said she’d been running the business for six years. And the way she talked about ‘the boy,’ it was clear this Keener wasn’t the first kill she’d put him on.”
    “Did anyone see you enter or leave that facility?”
    “No.” Peabody paused, thought it through. “No, I really don’t think so. It’s like a tomb down there.”
    “Okay.”
    “Crappy report,” Peabody added. “Sorry. I’m jumbled.”
    “You got names, a partial description, details of cops running a sideshow—sounds like illegals—and ordering hits. McNab, peel yourself off Peabody and run those names. Try the Illegals Division out of Central first. You’re going to find Oberman, Lieutenant Renee, there—I know who she is, but pin it. And pin this Garnet.”
    “You know her?” Peabody demanded.
    “I know who she is, and I know her father’s Oberman, Commander Marcus. Retired.”
    “Jesus, Jesus, Saint Oberman? He ran Central before Whitney.” Every last remaining ounce of color drained out of Peabody’s cheeks. “Oh God, what did I step in?”
    “Whatever it is, it’s a big, messy pile, so we take this slow and easy, and by the numbers.”
    “Garnet, Detective William.” McNab glanced up from his PPC. “Second-grade, assigned the last four years to Illegals, out of Central, under Oberman, Lieutenant Renee.”
    “Okay, let’s take this upstairs. McNab, you’re going to get me ID shots and any data on these two you can get without sending up a flag. Peabody, you’re going to give me a full, cohesive, and detailed report, on record. This Keener likely started out as a weasel for either Garnet or Oberman. We find him.”
    “What do we do with this?” Peabody asked her.
    Eve looked her dead in the eye, her own flat and cool. “We put it together in a very tidy package, and we take it to Whitney and to IAB. Other than that, nobody outside of this room hears a whisper of this until we’re otherwise directed.”
    “Commander Oberman. He’s like a legend. Like a god.”
    “I don’t care if he’s the second coming of Jesus. The daughter’s dirty. She’s a wrong cop, Peabody, and the blue line breaks for wrong cops. Let’s get started.”
    “You haven’t eaten,” Roarke interrupted, smoothing a hand over Peabody’s hair.
    “No, guess not.”
    “She’ll do better with some food in her,” he said to Eve.
    “You’re right.” She buried impatience as she’d buried the raging fury during Peabody’s report. “We’ll get some fuel, then we’ll lay it all out.”
    “I got the shakes,” Peabody confessed. “After. They keep wanting to come back, but it’s better. I have to tag my mom, thank her.”
    “For what?”
    “I dropped my sweaty crap on the locker room floor, and I would’ve left it there if I hadn’t heard her voice in my head telling me to respect what belongs to me. If I’d left that ugly sports bra on the floor, they’d have seen it. They’d have found me. And I wouldn’t be here telling you Saint Oberman’s daughter’s a wrong cop.”
    “Thank her in the morning,” Eve ordered.