Page 20 of Thankless in Death

“I’m going to set up a meet with Mira, do the notifications. The vics’ parents need to be told before the media leaks their names. Get your notes together so I can—” She broke off as her desk ’link signaled. Though she intended to ignore it, she glanced over at the readout.

“Crap. It’s the commander.” After swiping a hand over her mouth, in case, she flipped it on. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

Rather than his admin’s, Whitney’s face filled her screen. “I’d like to see you in my office, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now.”

“On my way.”

He clicked off.

“God, I get gut knots just thinking about if it was me he called up like that.”

“Shit. I ate most of a loaded dog. I have loaded dog breath.” Rising, Eve yanked open drawers. “I must have something around here.”

“Try this.” Peabody offered a little box, flipping the lid to the tiny pink balls.

“Why are they pink?”

“Bubble gum flavor. It’s good. And they work.”

With little choice, Eve popped two. Pink or not, they were pretty good. “If I’m not back in ten, I need you to do the notifications.”

“Oh please, be back.”

“That’s up to Whitney.”

Swinging through, she noted Jenkinson and his tie among the missing, and imagined he and his partner, Reineke, caught one. Baxter had shifted to his comp, intensely, she noted. His shades hooked in his front pocket where she assumed he put them, intending to stick them back on the minute the tie walked back in.

It was a joke that would last the entire shift.

She stepped out, spotted Detective Carmichael at Vending.

“Hey, Loo, just getting our current bag of scum a cold one. Sanchez’s working him in Interview A.”

“What did the bag of scum do?”

“Tossed a junkie down a flight of stairs, then stomped him to death for trying to scam him with play money. I mean actual play money, like from a game. Bag of scum deals mostly to funky-junkies.”

And the Funk played hell with eyes. “Play money probably seemed fine to him.”

“Yeah, well, he won’t be passing Go.”

“Go where?”

“You know. Go.” Carmichael circled her hands in the air. “Monopoly. The game.”

“Dead makes a full stop.”

“You got that. Bag of scum’s claiming the junkie fell, and he’s claiming the reason he ran like a freaking gazelle when we tracked him is how he was late for an appointment. And how all the bags of Funk and zoner we spotted—and managed to even scoop up a few before bystanders swarmed—weren’t his. And he’s being arrogant about it, which makes you want to bitch-slap him a few times.”

“I didn’t hear that part.”

Carmichael smiled. “Sanchez keeps me in line. He’s a peaceful sort.”

“Stomped him? How are the bag of scum’s shoes?”

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