Page 28 of Bonded in Death

“Someone from the Urbans—that’s speculation, but it rings. Someone he served with. That’s a tight connection. Whitney… He mentioned some things about him and Feeney and the Urbans, and you could feel it. That connection. They were partners on the job, but after that. That’s another bond, the partnership.”

“But they’d been through a war together. I don’t know what that’s like, but it feels like it’s big. It’s like, forever. ‘We few, we happy few.’”

“What?”

“It’s Shakespeare. I can’t remember from what. But about war. ‘We band of brothers.’”

“What about sisters?”

With a shrug, Peabody drank some of her diet version of Pepsi. “Well,Shakespeare, so I don’t think women did much soldiering. Anyway, yeah, a tight connection.”

“Why do you kill your brother? And Fawn? That sounds female. Why do you murder your fellow soldier?”

“Somebody from the other side?”

“Who’s still pissed they lost. Yeah, that’s an angle. Somebody who lost, and did some considerable time? That, at least, would explain the gap of decades. The old-school kill, the old canister. The Wasp. Or all that’s the smoke screen. Set up to throw us off.”

Eve ate more pizza. “Too soon to tell. We need to talk to the widow again. How do you live with someone for four decades and not know?”

“I’ve got a great-uncle—my dad’s side. He was in the Urbans. I’ve never, ever heard him talk about it.”

“I thought Free-Agers were pacifists.”

“True, but he wasn’t, at least not then. I think it turned him into one though.”

Peabody frowned as she nibbled a second slice.

“Summerset worked as a medic back then, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” She’d mine there if necessary. “And his friend, Ivanna, did some Underground back then. I’ll push there if I need to. I don’t see how—”

She broke off when her desk ’link signaled.

“Antonio Rossi. That’s one of the vic’s sons.”

She picked up the ’link. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant Dallas. I am Antonio Rossi. My father is—was—Giovanni Rossi. My mother and I are now in New York.”

“Mr. Rossi. Should I engage the translator?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I speak English. My mother does as well, but not as fluently. Please tell me, Lieutenant, you are sure this is my father?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. We’re very sure.”

He looked to be early fifties, with dignified gray at his temples, deep brown eyes that radiated grief.

“We would ask if you’d tell us when and where we can see my father.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll send you all that information, and notify the medical examiner. Mr. Rossi, I’d like to speak to you and your mother at your earliest convenience.”

“This will help you find who took my father’s life?”

“I believe so.”

“Then we’ll come to you. I think this is easier for my mother. To come to you after seeing my father, and beginning the arrangements for him.”

“All right. You’ll ask for Dr. Morris,” she began.

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