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“Good for them. I need to get back to work. Interview end.”
“Please, if there’s anything I can do, any question I might answer, contact me.”
“Count on it.”
Peabody came back in, whispered in Eve’s ear.
“You can tell your brother his friend is in Tribeca Health Center in serious but stable condition.”
“She’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“Thank God. This is going to mean so much to Devon and Quirk. Thank you. I’m going to let them know right away.” Even as he walked off, he pulled out his ’link.
“Let’s take a look at this Kimberly Fruicki. Maybe she’s doing the nasty with Chris.”
“Threatens to tell the wife.”
“Isn’t it always the way. Those sidepieces never keep their mouths shut. Today’s target didn’t go as well as yesterday, what with the cops on scene and stunning people before they could kill each other. Maybe he wants to know if he managed to kill his focus point.”
“He looked shaken up to me.”
“Not so smooth as the first time.” Eve lifted her shoulders. “We check it out. He’s the only one, so far, who’s pushing to horn in on the investigation. I’ll go see what Weaver, Callaway, and Vann have to say.”
She saw Roarke striding down the hall with a pair of file bags. “Roarke. With me.”
“Man,” Peabody breathed. “I wish I could say that. Just once.”
“Once would be all before I stabbed out your eyes with an ice pick.”
“Ouch. Might be worth it.”
“A dull ice pick,” Eve added just as Roarke joined them. “Scram.”
“Good night, Peabody.” He sent her a smile that made her think, Still worth it.
“Dull ice pick?” he said as they continued toward the glides.
“Girl talk.” She took one of the file bags, slung it over her shoulder. “Taking you in’s going to throw this trio off some. That’s good. I want impressions. I haven’t met the one, Stevenson Vann, but I’ll fill you in on all three of them. You drive; I’ll talk.”
“I have a few words of my own.”
“Teasdale?”
“We’ll talk in the car.”
She worried—marriage so often had some little pocket of worry—he’d found enough to push on ditching the fed. Shaking off Teasdale wouldn’t be a snap, but …
As the elevator opened, a human tank wearing restraints and sporting a massive erection under his flopping trench coat charged out. He upended cops like bowling pins as two uniforms scrambled out in pursuit.
“Never a dull moment,” Roarke commented just before Eve danced to the side, stuck out her foot. The tank, his long blond wig askew, went airborne.
He shouted, “Woo-hoo!”
He hit the floor with a bone-rattling thud, skidded—taking out another line of bystanders, then smacked the wall with an audible crack.
He lay, eyes glassy, erection spearing up like a monument.
