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He merely smiled, slid his hands lower to stroke her rosebud.
“Didn’t we just do that?”
“It bears repeating,” he mused, “but it could wait a bit. Why don’t we spend the day lazing around the pool?”
Lazing around the pool? It had a certain appeal. “Well, maybe…”
“In Martinique. Don’t bother to pack,” he told her, planting a quick kiss on her mouth. “You won’t need anything but what you’re wearing.”
She spent the day in Martinique, wearing nothing but a smile and a rosebud. That might have been why she was dragging a bit more than usual on Monday morning.
“You look tired, Lieutenant.” Peabody dug a bag out from her field kit, set two fresh cream donuts on the desk. She was still beaming over the fact that she’d gotten them through the bullpen without the hounds sniffing them out. “And sort of tanned.” She peered closer. “You get a flash?”
“No. Just got some sun yesterday, that’s all.”
“It rained all day.”
“Not where I was,” Eve muttered and filled her mouth with pastry. “I’ve got a probability ratio to run by the commander. Feeney worked some numbers, we’re still pretty light, but I’m going to shoot for round-the-clocks on the top suspects.”
“I don’t suppose you want my probability ratio on your chances of getting it. New interoffice came down this morning about excess overtime.”
“Fuck it. It’s not excess if it’s necessary. Whitney could play it to the chief—and the chief could play it to the mayor. We’ve got two high-profile homicides, generating a lot of media. We need the manpower to close them and turn off the heat.”
Peabody risked a smile. “You rehearsing your pitch.”
“Maybe.” She blew out a breath. “If the numbers were a few points higher, I wouldn’t have to pitch so hard. There are too many people involved; that’s the problem.” Lifting her hands, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “We’ve got to run the name of every member of both cults. Over two hundred people. Say we eliminate half on data and profile, then we’ve still got a hundred to tag, check alibis.”
“Days of work,” Peabody agreed. “The commander would probably spring for a couple of uniforms to knock on doors, sweep out the obvious noninvolved.”
“I’m not sure there are any obvious noninvolved.” Eve pushed away from her desk. “It took more than one person to transport Lobar’s body, strap him onto that form. And it took a vehicle.”
“None of the primes owns a vehicle large enough to have carried and concealed the body and the pentagram.”
“Maybe one of the membership does. We run names through vehicle licensing. Failing that, we start checking on rentals, vehicles reported stolen on the night of the murder.” She pushed at her hair. “And it’s just as likely whoever dumped him jumped a vehicle from one of the long-term lots, and nobody ever noticed.”
“Do we check, anyway?”
“Yeah, we check, anyway. Maybe Feeney can spare somebody in EDD to do some of the grunt work. Meanwhile, you get started, and I’ll go begging to the commander.” She punched her ’link when it beeped. “Dallas, Homicide.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Louis?”
Eve cocked a brow. “You want to talk about the charges against your client regarding resisting, you talk to the PA.”
“I need to talk to you,” he repeated, and she watched as he lifted his hand to his mouth and began to gnaw away his perfect manicure. “Alone. Privately. As soon as possible.”
She lowered a hand, signaling Peabody to keep back and out of view. “What about?”
“I can’t talk about it on the ’link. I’m on my pocket unit, but even that’s risky. I need you to meet me.”
“Come here.”
“No, no, they may be following me. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I’m being careful.”
Had he made the shadow Feeney’d put on him, Eve wondered, or was he just being paranoid? “Who might be following you?”
