Page 114 of Passions in Death
“Bugger it,” he decided.
He’d apologize to Summerset later.
Chapter Seventeen
She let it roll and circle and backtrack as she drove downtown. It mattered, she thought. Not only because every detail mattered, but because—if she’d hit it right—it widened the motive.
Still a stupid murder, but not as stupid if it accomplished two for one.
Take a life, destroy a dream.
For Lopez, take the life of the one who rejected you and destroy the dream of the one she chose instead.
For Barney, take the life of the one who—even years later—replaced you, and destroy the dream of the one who moved on from you.
It felt stronger with Lopez, she decided—and it had been a downright mean murder: the time, the place.
But Barney had put something in that damn box. Nerves, a trace of guilt. She wasn’t wrong there.
Erin could have given the swipe and the case to either of them.
The killer came in the back, almost certainly. Nothing to stop Lopez from sliding in back there, putting the case in the room, then joining the party. In fact, wouldn’t that be exactly what Erin would’ve requested?
And nothing to stop Barney—except the risk of being seen—from using the swipe, going in, waiting.
She could see it both ways, and found that incredibly irritating.
When she pulled into Central, she considered tagging Mira. Not yet, she decided, no point yet. Speculation, and lots of it, but not yet.
She’d wait until she got a better feel at the memorial.
The elevator hadn’t cleared the garage levels when the doors opened. Two uniforms who didn’t look old enough for a legal drink walked an obviously jonesing junkie inside.
He had wild red hair, wilder blue eyes and smelled like a dumpster that hadn’t been unloaded in a week, then had its contents pissed on by a group of drunks.
“Oh, come on, man” was all Eve could think of.
“Sorry, Lieutenant.”
The wild blue eyes wheeled at Eve. “I’m the captain. I outrank you. I’m the captain. I just need a taste. Just gimme a taste!”
As he wailed it, the second cop sighed. “Just settle down, Jack. Stronger than he looks. He tried to throw some schmuck through the window of a twenty-four/seven.”
When the door opened again, Eve started to step out—away from the smell. Jack the junkie wrenched away from the uniforms and launched himself at Eve like a cannonball.
“I’m the captain!” He screamed it as they both flew through the elevator doors.
Her hip struck the floor hard enough to sing, but she rolled clear. With his hands cuffed, Jack just slid, face and body. When he tried to scramble up, Eve simply stuck out a leg, tripped him, and sent him sliding again.
“Sorry! Sorry, Lieutenant!”
The uniforms grabbed him from both sides, hauled him up.
“Jesus Christ, Officers! Maintain control of your prisoner.”
“He’s slippery. I mean literally, sir. Greased-pig slippery. Do you need medical?”
“No, I don’t need frigging medical. Maybe the fume tube, but not medical.”
