In Death 38 - Thankless in Death

told Baxter.
    “Hot dog.”
    “Got it, sending to your PPCs,” Peabody announced.
    “Full reports,” Eve repeated before turning back to Peabody. “Split up ours. I want to talk to Morris before I work the list. You can take a uniform if you want any help.”
    “I’ve got it. Sending your share.”
    “Saddle up then. I’m checking in with EDD, then heading out. Anything pops, tag me.”
    Eve detoured into her office, grabbed her coat, a file bag, and avoiding even the thought of the elevator took the glides to EDD.
    Apparently half of Central had the same idea.
    Even braced for the blast of color and movement that was EDD, it rocked her senses before she made it to Feeney’s sane office.
    “I’m heading into the field, wanted to touch base first.”
    “Juggled you in.”
    Since it looked as if he had at least six programs going on his screens, she assumed he was doing considerable juggling.
    “You said this asshole flunked Comp Science?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, he learned enough to keep her making the transfers without an easy trail. We’re bouncing, vanishing, popping, then sinking. I’m saying offshore and off-planet, at least for the bulk, but we’re not there yet. I’m saying, too, he’ll go numbered and/or sheltered. We’re going to find the money, sooner or later, but we may not get an ID out of it any time this decade.”
    He sent her a look out of basset hound eyes. “Not shooting straight anyway.”
    She jammed her hands in her pockets. “I don’t want to give him so much as a rat hole for his lawyers to shove him through once we’ve got his sorry ass.”
    “Some are good enough shooting angles not to make a rat hole. Not that I’m saying that’s the way.” He lifted his shoulders. “Roarke’s heading in.”
    And he knew every angle. Had probably invented some. “He likes to play with his nerds.”
    Feeney only smiled. “We can use him. I’m going to move into the lab once McNab gets back with the comps. I can run some of this on auto, for now. We may have quicker luck with the equipment.”
    “Let me know when … That was quick,” she said when Roarke strolled in.
    “Some luck with traffic.” His elegant dark suit and topcoat stood in contrast to the frenzy of color through the doorway behind him. He glanced at the screens, a quick scan with those wild blue eyes. “Ah, multishifts, cross-funnels, lateral dips.”
    “Yeah,” Feeney confirmed. “And then some.”
    “Won’t this be fun?”
    “Have at it. I’m hitting the morgue, then I have some interviews with potential targets.”
    And where, Roarke wondered, would any sort of food be in the mix? She looked, to his eye, tight and tired. “I’ll go with you.”
    She frowned at him. “What about the fun?”
    “I’ll work by remote, and have the best of both. You can send what you’d like me to do to my PPC,” Roarke said to Feeney.
    “Can do. If you hang until McNab gets back—”
    “He’s back,” Roarke interrupted. “I ran into him briefly. He was logging in evidence then bringing it up to the lab.”
    “We’ll log out one of the comps. See what you can do with it.”
    “Delighted. Should I meet you in the garage?” he asked Eve.
    “I can wait.” She stepped to the side, pulled out her ’link, and took the time to notify those on her list to expect a visit.
    She finished up with the last one walking with Roarke as he carried a sealed comp to the garage.
    “You’re supposed to have a minion haul stuff when you dress like that.”
    “Am I now? Are you volunteering?”
    She ignored that, keyed in her code to unlock the car doors. “How are you supposed to work on that while we’re driving all over lower Manhattan?”
    “Easily enough as you’ll be behind the wheel.”
    He unsealed the comp then took some sort of minidrive out of his pocket, attached it to one port, attached his PPC to another. Glanced at her as she pulled out of the garage and into perfectly miserable traffic.
    “You’re tired,” he said.
    “No, I’m not.”
    “You are, and you show it very likely because you haven’t had any real food since breakfast.”
    “I had a cookie. And I have a little box of them—which, damn it, I left in my office. Say good-bye to those.”
    “Real food,” he repeated.
    Had she? She couldn’t remember. “I’ll eat when we get home. Mommy.”
    He drilled a finger into her side in retaliation, then tapped and swiped on the in-dash ’link. “AC mode,” he commanded,