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She headed to the security panel to open the gates that closed off the house, the expansive lawns, the personal world Roarke had built, from the city. Of Galahad there was no sign, nor Eve thought sourly, would there likely be for a while.
Damn cat had probably done it on purpose to spoil her good time because she hadn’t given him enough pancakes.
So they would hear the sirens, she opened the front door, and nearly staggered against the wall of heat. Barely eight, and hot enough to fry brains. The sky was the color of sour milk, the air the consistency of the syrup she’d so cheerfully consumed when there’d been joy in her heart and a spring in her step.
Have a nice trip, she thought. Son of a bitch.
Her ’link beeped just as she heard the sirens. “Here they come,” she called to Roarke, then stepped aside to take the transmission. “Dallas. Shit, Nadine,” she said the minute she saw the image of Channel 75’s top reporter on screen. “This isn’t a good time.”
“I got a tip. Seems like a serious tip. Meet me at Delancey and Avenue D. I’m leaving now.”
“Hold on, hold on, I’m not going down to the Lower East Side because you—”
“I think somebody’s dead.” She shifted so Eve could see the images on the printouts she’d spread over her desk. “I think she’s dead.”
It was a young brunette in various poses, some candid from the looks of them, others staged.
“Why do you think she’s dead?”
“I’ll fill you in when I see you. We’re wasting time.”
Eve motioned in the MTs as she scow
led at the ’link. “I’ll send a black-and-white—”
“I didn’t give you a heads-up so you could fob this, and me, off on uniforms. I’ve got something here, Dallas, and it’s hot. Meet me, or I check it out alone. Then I go on the air with what I’ve got, and what I find.”
“Fucking A, what a day this is turning into. All right. Stand on the corner, get a bagel or something. Don’t do anything until I get there. I’ve got a mess to clean up here first.” Blowing out a breath she looked over to where the MTs examined Summerset. “Then I’m on my way.”
She clicked off, jammed the ’link back in her pocket. She walked back to Roarke, and couldn’t think of anything to do but pat his arm while he watched the medicals. “I’ve got a thing I’ve got to check out.”
“I can’t remember how old he is. I can’t quite remember.”
“Hey.” This time she gave his arm a squeeze. “He’s too mean to be down for long. Look, I’ll ditch this thing if you want me to stay around.”
“No, you go on.” He shook himself. “Tripped over the goddamn cat. Could’ve killed himself.” He turned, pressed his lips to her forehead. “Life’s full of nasty surprises. Take care, Lieutenant, I’d as soon not have another one today.”
Traffic was mean, but that suited the ruination of her mood. A maxibus breakdown on Lex had everything snarled from 75th, as far south as she could see. Horns blasted. Above, traffic copters clipped and hummed among the air traffic to keep the rubberneckers from jamming the sky as well.
Tired of sitting in the sea of commuters, she flipped her siren, then punched into a quick vertical. She cut east, then headed south again when she found some clear road.
She’d called Dispatch and informed them she was taking an hour personal. No point in reporting in that she was following the crooked finger of an on-air reporter, without authorization or any clear reason.
But she trusted Nadine’s instincts—the woman’s nose for a story was like a beagle’s for a rabbit—and had tagged Peabody, her aide, with orders to detour to Delancey.
There was plenty of business being done on the street. The area was a hive of delis, coffee shops, and specialty stores that crowded along on sidewalk level and served the inhabitants of the apartments above them. The bakery sold to the guy who ran the fix-it shop next door, and he’d diddle with the AutoChef for the woman who ran the clothes store on the other side, while she ran across the street to buy fruit from the stand.
It was a tidy system, Eve imagined. Old and established, and though it still bore some scars from the Urban Wars, it had rebuilt itself.
It wasn’t a sector where you’d want to take a stroll late at night, and a couple of blocks south or west you’d find the not-so-tidy communities of sidewalk sleepers and chemiheads, but on a sweltering summer morning, this slice of Delancey was all business.
She pulled up behind a double-parked delivery truck, flipped up her On Duty light.
With some reluctance, she left the cool cocoon of her vehicle and stepped into the hot, wet wall of summer. The smells hit her first—brine and coffee and sweat. The more appealing hint of melon from the fruit vendor was overpowered by the rush of steam gushing out of a glide-cart. It carried the distinct odor of egg substitute and onions.
She did her best not to breathe it in—who ate that shit—as she stood on the corner scanning.
She didn’t spot Nadine, or Peabody, but she did see a trio of what she took to be shopkeepers and a City Maintenance drone having an argument in front of a green recycle bin.
