In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

privilege—the respect—that comes with it. Even be willing, perhaps eager, to expend the time and effort to achieve it. In their own way.”
    “Okay.” Eve set her hands on her knees. “Let’s get down to it. She’s dirty. Daddy’s the excuse. You can think of a reason if you want,” she said before Mira interrupted. “That’s not how I see it. Maybe she started off sliding on his name, using her brand of manipulation, putting in the time while she figured the angles, searched out the openings. Sucking up to or sucking off whoever was more useful.”
    Mira choked a little on her tea. “To put it bluntly,” she managed.
    “Sexuality as a tool, prefers the company of men. She wears a girly suit that shows off her tits, mile-high heels to show off her legs. To work.”
    Mira brushed lightly at the skirt of her girly suit. “Hmmm.”
    “You’re not a cop,” Eve returned. “It’s highly unlikely you’ll be drawn into a footrace today. And okay, neither will she because she sticks to her desk. She’s above the streets in her big, perfect office closed off from her scarily ordered squad.”
    “Scarily ordered?” Mira repeated.
    “Everybody’s in suits. Nobody’s got their jacket off. Every one of the men is wearing a tie—and none of them loosened. She’s shined, hair combed. Like any minute somebody’s due to come in to take a squad photo.
    “Everybody’s desk or cube or workstation is in perfect order. Nobody has any junk sitting around, or personal clutter. No photos, no toys, no empty coffee cups. No full ones either. And there’s no chatter. Nobody’s yelling across the room, nobody’s ragging anybody. I’ve never seen a squad room that clean, or cops so pressed, so quiet.”
    She pushed to her feet. “You could put it down to the boss’s style, sure. She likes order and expects her cops to be turned out in suits. Illegals cops, for God’s sake, who’re going to be going out at some point and pushing at chemi-heads and dealers. But their shoes are nice and shined. More.”
    Eve glanced at Mira.
    “Yes, go on.”
    “She keeps the blinds down on her office. Big window, big door, with the blinds down and closed. She dresses like a CEO, one who secretly wouldn’t mind getting laid during her lunch break. Her desk’s clear, and there’s a fresh vase of flowers on it. Flowers, for ...”
    She spied the flowers on Mira’s desk.
    “You’re not a cop,” she said again. “And your desk is tidy, but not clear. You have family photos and little bits of stuff sitting around. Your space has a feel to it. It’s welcoming, comfortable. Which it has to be, sure, given you have to put people at ease. But it’s also who you are.
    “And I should probably think about what my office says about me, but that’s not important.”
    “I could tell you,” Mira murmured, but Eve was already moving on.
    “She’s got a painting on the wall, a good one. I have to admit I liked it. All moody, beach and ocean. She’s got a mirror. A cop with a mirror on the wall of her office? Says vanity to me. And a big picture of her father—full dress blues, commander’s rank. Formal shot.”
    “Where’s the picture situated?”
    Eve smiled, nodded. “Good question. On the wall opposite her desk.”
    “I see.” Mira nodded. “Using his status so anyone coming into her office would feel the connection. And she can look up, see him. So he can, symbolically, see her. What’s she’s doing, how she does it.”
    “Look at me. I’m a boss, too—and before much longer I’ll have captain’s bars. How do you like that, Dad? Oh, excuse me a minute, I have to order one of my men to go kill a pathetic junkie who tried a double cross. Stick that one up your perfect ass, Commander.”
    “I don’t disagree with anything you’ve just said.” Mira balled a fist in her lap, stared down at it a moment. “I’m so angry. I’m so damn angry I didn’t see what I should have in her. That I let myself be manipulated and influenced so I brushed aside the little niggles of doubts. So I told myself it was because I was holding her to a higher standard because of her father, and that was unfair and unprofessional.”
    “Well, I guess your ass isn’t perfect.”
    Mira set her cup aside. “That’s a very comforting thing to hear right now.” On a breath, Mira drew her shoulders back. “Factoring in Peabody’s statement, your impressions, my own belated analysis, I would conclude Renee Oberman is a very