In Death 32 - Treachery in Death

York.”
    “Okay, I can see how that would work. It’s a little unnerving just how easily you came up with it, but I can see it.”
    And calmer, Eve saw it clearly.
    “Keep tapping the account,” she considered, “tapping the credit awhile, making it look like he’s traveling or gone to Vegas II, whatever. Then transfer the money out.”
    “Basically. A few finer details to tie it up, but basically. He’s not dead. He’s just gone.”
    “But she didn’t think of that—and she should have. Hell, I should have. But she wanted him dead and gone. She went with impulse—she may not see it that way, but that’s what it was. And what I didn’t expect. She went with impulse rather than planning. So there’ll be mistakes in there. One of them was not arranging for one of her crew to get the tag on this. No way Janburry contacts me this early if he’s with her.”
    “Now you’re thinking. I’ll drive.”
    “No. I’d appreciate the other set of eyes, and the scary brain, but if I’m hung up I need you here to start briefing the team.”
    Those fabulous eyes stared right through her. “You want me to brief a room of cops? That’s appalling, Eve, on so many levels.”
    “Nobody knows how to run a meeting as well as you. I’ll try to be back, but I have to follow this out.”
    “I’m definitely going to want the costumes. I may have them designed for you.”
    “One of us is worth a dozen of them,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re one of us.”
    “I realize you see that as a compliment, but ...” He trailed off, sighed. “Thank you.”
    “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Roarke watched her rush out, sighed again. “Bloody hell.”
    Since he was up, he’d get some work done—of his own, thank you—before the cops came to his door.

    She went in hot. She didn’t want to give Janburry time to change his mind, and did a quick run on him on the way.
    He looked solid. Fourteen years on the job, into his tenth as a detective—and recently promoted to second-grade. He was thirty-seven, on his second marriage—four years in—with a two-year-old kid.
    Good service record, from what she could see. No big highs, no big lows. She knew his lieutenant a little. She could tug some lines if she needed to.
    First, she’d see how Janburry wanted to play it.
    She nosed in behind a black-and-white, hooked her badge in the breast pocket of her jacket.
    A lot of cops, she noted, tapping her badge before ducking under the barricade. That’s the way it was when word went out one of their own had gone down.
    How many here, she wondered, would consider Garnet one of their own if they knew?
    Janburry stepped out as she approached.
    He had a strong, dark face, with deep brown skin stretched over hard bones, deep brown eyes. Cop’s eyes, she thought, and held out her hand. “Detective Janburry, again I appreciate you contacting me.”
    “Lieutenant. It was your scene first. Dead junkie. My vic worked Illegals. One and one add up to two in my book.”
    “Yeah, mine, too. Is it okay with you if I take a look before you fill me in?”
    “Sure.”
    “My field kit’s still in my vehicle. Can I borrow some Seal-It?”
    He nodded, and she saw he understood she didn’t intend to step on his toes. “Hey, Delfino. Toss me some Seal.”
    He caught the can, tossed it to her.
    “What time did you get the dispatch?” she asked as she sealed hands and boots.
    “It came in at three-fifty. My partner and I arrived on scene at oh four hundred. Uniforms doing a drive-by saw the broken seal—the door open—and investigated. They’d secured the scene by the time we got here.”
    “That’s good.”
    She stepped inside, into the glare of cop lights.
    He hadn’t gotten very far, Eve noted. Maybe six paces inside the door. He’d fallen on his back, so he lay faceup, arms and legs sprawled out. The long slice across his throat had pumped out blood that soaked his jacket, shirt, spread a lake on the dirty floor.
    She noted the knife and sheath on his belt, and the lack of a sidearm. His penlight lay a few feet away, its beam still shining like a little white eye.
    “What have you got so far?” she asked Janburry.
    “No money, no ID. We ran his prints and identified him. My partner—Delfino!”
    His partner, a small, spare woman with curly dark hair fought back in a tail, moved to join them. She nodded at Eve.
    “Detective Delfino ran the vic while I worked the body.”
    In a rhythm that told Eve they