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“I won’t just try,” she said evenly. “You know me, and you know I’ll stand for her now, no matter what it takes. Even if it means locking you away until I do what’s right for her. She’s mine now, too. Mine as much as yours.”
He tried to hold back the tears. “Any other cop said that to me, I wouldn’t believe it. Any other cop said that to me, I’d say whatever I needed to say to shake him loose so I could do what I wanted to do. But you’re not any other cop, white girl. You take care of my baby sister. You’re the only one I’d give her to.”
“What can I do?” Roarke asked her when they stood at her car outside the morgue.
“You got any pull at the East Side Health Center?”
“Money, Lieutenant, always has pull.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking. Maybe he tagged her from the files at Portography. That’s a link. Maybe he tagged her from the data club. It pops every time. But, if he’s sick, and I think he’s sick, she might have recognized him from the health center. If he uses it, or has used it, the staff might not notice him hanging around. If he took her out there, it was because people are used to seeing him, or recognized his face and didn’t think anything of it. I’ve got Louise asking around, but she’s going at it from the doctor angle—no names, patient privacy, and blah blah.”
“And you’d like someone who isn’t so particular about privacy.”
“Three dead kids. Yeah. I don’t give a flying fuck about privacy. Grease whatever palms you need to grease and see if you can find me somebody—male, twenty-five to sixty—no, forty. He’s younger. That age span, with a serious, perhaps fatal neurological condition. Get me a name.”
“Done. What else?”
“Isn’t that enough for you?”
“No, I’d like to keep busy right now.”
“Summerset—”
“I’ve spoken to him via ’link. What else?”
“You could use that twisty brain and those clever fingers to dig me up all you can on Javert. Any combination with Henri or Luis. Anything that pops around the dump sites, the data club, the colleges, Portography and the suspect names I’m going to give you that I shouldn’t be giving you.”
“Smells like drone work.”
She smiled. “So?”
“Happy to be of assistance, Lieutenant.”
“Question. You own parking ports, garages, lots, undergrounds.”
“I believe I have a few in my vast empire, why?”
“Get me the ones that do sidelines?”
His brow lifted. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re insinuating.”
He was back, she thought. Slick as ever. “Save it, pal. I especially want ones within a ten-block radius of Eighteenth and Seventh. He saw us roust Billy. He knew we were there, watching the van, so he found alternate transpo. He plans, so he had a backup already earmarked, and I’m betting he had it close. I’m looking for a backdoor rental, nondescript vehicle in good condition, probably another van. You pop me something good, and you’ll get a reward.”
“You, naked, and a large quantity of chocolate sauce?”
“Pervert. Round up your own transpo, pal. I’ve got to scoop up Peabody and get into the field.”
He grabbed her for one hot kiss first. Oh yeah, she thought as the top of her head flew off, he was definitely back.
“Nice being in tandem with you again, Lieutenant.”
“Is that what we are?” She paused, studying him as he stood on the sidewalk. “You get Summerset on his feet and out of the country, and I’ll bring the chocolate sauce.”
“There’s a date,” he murmured as she slid into her vehicle and drove away.
“I’m sorry about Crack, Dallas.”
“So am I.”
