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“Talk photography,” Eve told him. “Bone up some on this Henri Javert and work the conversation around to him when you’re being hit on.”
“It wasn’t like that, Lieutenant. They were just talking to me.”
“I love this guy.” Baxter wiped an imaginary tear away. “Just fucking love him.”
“If Baxter hits on you, Trueheart, you have permission to kick his ass. Moving on. Memorial service this evening for Rachel Howard. Baxter and Trueheart will be dancing among the nubiles, but I want the rest of us there. Our boy may show. Let’s move out. Peabody, I have a personal matter to deal with downstairs. Be ready in ten.”
Eve went downstairs, and found Summerset in the middle of a fight with the PA.
“If you want the cast off, you will cooperate and let me transport you to the health center. You require a doctor’s authorization and supervision for its removal.”
“I can have this irritant off in two minutes. Move aside.” He started to haul himself up. She shoved him back down.
Fascinated, Eve watched the show. “Madam, I have yet to strike a woman, despite considerable provocation. You are about to be my first.”
“You piss him off even more than I do,” Eve commented and had two furious faces turning toward her. “I think we may have to keep you.”
“I expect some cooperation,” Spence began, lifting her chin so high her curls bounced.
“I will not have this person drag me to a health center for a simple procedure.”
“It requires a doctor.”
“Then bring the doctor here,” Eve suggested. “And get it done.”
“I’m hardly going to request a doctor make a home call for something as minor as a skin cast removal.”
“If it’s so minor, why do we need a doctor?”
“Ah!” Summerset raised one long, bony finger. “Exactly.”
“I bet I can zap it off with my weapon.” Thoughtfully, Eve drew it. “Why don’t you stand back, Spence, and I’ll just—”
“Put that thing away,” Summerset snapped. “You lunatic.”
“Might’ve been fun.” With a shrug, Eve holstered it. “Tag the doctor,” she ordered Spence. “Tell him Roarke wants him to come here and remove the cast, and do whatever the hell else is necessary to get this pain in my ass on his feet, and out of the house.”
“I fail to see why—”
“You’re not required to see, you’re required to do it. If the doctor has a problem with this,” Eve added, “he can speak to me.”
Spence huffed off, and Eve stuck her hands in her pockets. “Sooner you’re on your feet, sooner you’re on vacation somewhere that’s not here. And I can start turning cartwheels.”
“Nothing would please me more.”
With a nod, she nudged at Galahad who left Summerset’s lap long enough to wind around her feet. “Roarke called last night. From Brian Kelly’s place in Dublin. He was drunk. Seriously drunk.”
“Playfully so, or dangerously so?”
“The first mostly. I guess.” Frustrated, she dragged a hand through her hair. “But not in control of himself, and that’s dangerous enough. He said something about getting some information out of one of his father’s old friends. You know who that might be?”
“I didn’t know Patrick Roarke well. I tended to avoid him, and his like. I had a child to look after.” He paused a moment. “For a time, I had two to look after.”
She said nothing to that. There was nothing to be said. “He said he’s going to Clare today. That’s in the west. That’s where she was from, his mother. He’s not looking for a warm welcome.”
“If they blame him, it’s their loss. The father couldn’t break the child, nor could he turn the child into a monster. Though he tried.” He studied Eve, and wondered if she understood he wasn’t referring only to Roarke now.
But her eyes showed him nothing as she stepped forward, leaned down, spoke quietly. “Did you kill Patrick Roarke?”
