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Like hers, his face stayed blank. “There is no statute of limitations on murder.”
“It’s not the cop who’s asking you.”
“I had children to protect.”
She let out a short breath. “Roarke doesn’t know, does he? You never told him.”
“There’s nothing to tell. That’s old business, Lieutenant. Shouldn’t you be off, taking care of new?”
Their eyes held another moment. “Yeah.” She straightened, turned. “Just remember, you won’t be sitting around on your flat ass much longer, and this house will be Summerset-free for three glorious weeks.”
He smirked, then lifted a hand to stroke down Galahad’s back when the cat leaped back into his lap. “I believe she’ll miss me.”
Chapter 16
When you had connections, you used them. Doctors, as a breed, were one of Eve’s least favorite species, yet somehow she’d managed to develop personal relationships with two of them.
For this line of the investigation, she’d tug on Louise Dimatto.
Knowing Louise’s scattershot schedule, she tagged her by ’link first, pinned down her location, then wheedled an appointment.
The Canal Street Clinic was Louise’s baby. She might have gone against her family’s uptown grain to establish and run a free clinic on the verges of Sidewalk City where sidewalk sleepers made their beds in packing crates and unlicensed beggars trolled for marks, but she’d dug in with her manicured fingers.
She’d put her own time and money on the line, and then had launched a campaign to drag more time, more money from every source at her disposal. Louise, Eve knew, had a lot of sources.
She’d ended up being one herself. Or more accurately, Roarke had, she thought as she double-parked beside an ancient, rusted two-seater that had been stripped of its tires, seats, and one of its doors. It was his money, even if the sneaky bastard had dumped it into her account.
Whatever the sources, it was money well spent. The clinic was a steady beam of light in a very dark world.
The building was unimposing, unless you considered the fact it was the only one on the block with windows that were clean, and walls that were graffiti-free.
Across the street a funky-junkie wearing thick black sunshades sat with her muscles jerking to whatever tune she crooned. A couple of badasses stood hip-shot in a doorway looking for trouble that was never far away in this sector.
Behind their riot bars most of the upper-story windows were thrown open in the doomed hope that a lost breeze might stumble in on its way uptown. Out of them vomited the wail of babies, the burn of trash rock, and voices already raised in petty furies.
Gauging her ground, Eve flipped on her On Duty sign, then strolled over to the badasses. They straightened and fixed appropriate sneers on their tough guy faces.
“You know Dr. Dimatto?”
“Everybody knows the doc. Whatiz to you?”
“Anybody comes around here to hassle the doc,” his companion warned, “they gonna get hassled.”
“Good to know, because the doc’s a friend of mine. I’m going in to talk with her. See that police vehicle?”
One of them snorted. ?
?Piece of shit cop car.”
“My piece of shit cop car,” Eve acknowledged. “I want it in the same shitty condition it is now when I come out. If it’s not, well, the hassling will begin, starting with each of you fine gentlemen. Clear?”
“Ooh, Rico, I’m shaking.” The first elbowed the second as he cracked up. “This skinny girl cop here, she’s gonna slap my face if somebody pisses on her tires.”
“I prefer the term ‘bitch cop from hell.’ Isn’t that right, Peabody?”
“Yes, sir,” Peabody called back from her stance by the vehicle. “It is absolutely correct.”
With her eyes shifting from one badass face to the other, Eve asked, “And why is that, Peabody?”
