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“Crappy report,” Peabody added. “Sorry. I’m jumbled.”
“You got names, a partial description, details of cops running a sideshow—sounds like illegals—and ordering hits. McNab, peel yourself off Peabody and run those names. Try the Illegals Division out of Central first. You’re going to find Oberman, Lieutenant Renee, there—I know who she is, but pin it. And pin this Garnet.”
“You know her?” Peabody demanded.
“I know who she is, and I know her father’s Oberman, Commander Marcus. Retired.”
“Jesus, Jesus, Saint Oberman? He ran Central before Whitney.” Every last remaining ounce of color drained out of Peabody’s cheeks. “Oh God, what did I step in?”
“Whatever it is, it’s a big, messy pile, so we take this slow and easy, and by the numbers.”
“Garnet, Detective William.” McNab glanced up from his PPC. “Second-grade, assigned the last four years to Illegals, out of Central, under Oberman, Lieutenant Renee.”
“Okay, let’s take this upstairs. McNab, you’re going to get me ID shots and any data on these two you can get without sending up a flag. Peabody, you’re going to give me a full, cohesive, and detailed report, on record. This Keener likely started out as a weasel for either Garnet or Oberman. We find him.”
“What do we do with this?” Peabody asked her.
Eve looked her dead in the eye, her own flat and cool. “We put it together in a very tidy package, and we take it to Whitney and to IAB. Other than that, nobody outside of this room hears a whisper of this until we’re otherwise directed.”
“Commander Oberman. He’s like a legend. Like a god.”
“I don’t care if he’s the second coming of Jesus. The daughter’s dirty. She’s a wrong cop, Peabody, and the blue line breaks for wrong cops. Let’s get started.”
“You haven’t eaten,” Roarke interrupted, smoothing a hand over Peabody’s hair.
“No, guess not.”
“She’ll do better with some food in her,” he said to Eve.
“You’re right.” She buried impatience as she’d buried the raging fury during Peabody’s report. “We’ll get some fuel, then we’ll lay it all out.”
“I got the shakes,” Peabody confessed. “After. They keep wanting to come back, but it’s better. I have to tag my mom, thank her.”
“For what?”
“I dropped my sweaty crap on the locker room floor, and I would’ve left it there if I hadn’t heard her voice in my head telling me to respect what belongs to me. If I’d left that ugly sports bra on the floor, they’d have seen it. They’d have found me. And I wouldn’t be here telling you Saint Oberman’s daughter’s a wrong cop.”
“Thank her in the morning,” Eve ordered. “Let’s get to work.”
Now Roarke draped his arm over Peabody’s shoulders when she rose. “How about a steak?”
“Really?”
He kissed the top of her head, made her flush. “Leave the menu to me. You’re a brave soul, Peabody.”
“My soul was scared shitless.”
He kissed her again. “You don’t want to argue with a man who’s about to fix you a steak.”
In her home office Eve set up a case board while Peabody and McNab ate. Roarke had been right about the food, the wine, the shoulder rub—all of it. He was usually on target about those things.
And it was better to give Peabody a little breathing room before opening the door to what would be an ugly and difficult process.
“She’s attractive,” Roarke commented, studying the ID shot of Oberman on the board.
“Yeah, and she has a rep for using it—and using her father’s rep. Just whispers—nothing said too loud. I ...”
Eve shook her head, then stepped out of the room.
