Chapter Twenty-one

She changed into a breezy tank and shorts, and he into a T-shirt and casual pants. The August heat lurked under a sluggish breeze, but that, Eve decided, was summer.

The patio pots and planters appeared to agree, as they stood lush with color and scent while the sky held a bold and arrogant summer blue.

She figured if the alternative had been starving to death, she could figure out the grill. But under the circumstances, she took Summerset's advice.

She set out fish and chips, added some brown bread and butter, and switched out wine for Guinness.

Roarke took one look at the patio table and kissed her cheek. "Well now, this is perfect, isn't it?" He sat, lifted his glass to her. "Here's to you for knowing when and how to piss me off."

"It's a skill." She took his hand, squeezed it before she lifted her own glass. "And you're smart enough to know, when your head's clear again, you did her and her son a favor."

"A favor, is it?"

"You could've pressed charges, or you could have kept her on—made her pay the money back, but kept her on. You'd have considered both."

"I did, yes."

"But neither of those would've helped her, or her son. In her case, doing time wouldn't have accomplished much, and keeping her on? You'd never have trusted her again, and she'd know it. So she starts over from now. She fucked up and has to deal with the fallout."

"And that's a favor to her?"

"If you don't have to deal with the fallout, it's real easy to fuck up again, and it gets easier to fuck up on purpose, because why not?"

With a shrug, she rained salt on her chips. "She worked for you for a decade, you invited her into your home, so she's not an idiot or a career criminal. She'll remember what she did every time she makes a payment back to you. And unless the son's a complete dick, he'll remember how his actions affected his mother, which may—just may—help the rehab stick."

"She's not an idiot, no, and hardly one to make a career out of embezzlement. And rather than a complete dick, her son's young and foolish. Barely into his twenties, and if I'm a judge, sick at heart at what that foolishness cost his mother."

"You're a damn good judge."

"She raised him on her own—the father was out of the picture when I hired her. They're very close, so while I can't quite see the favor in it, I think they'll come around after a time.

"In any case, a brutal day, and I'm grateful to you for taking the edge off it."

Steam pumped out of the fish when she forked into it, and smelled pretty damn good. "I got to needle you, so that's a side benefit for me. Other than getting knocked on my ass by a piss-soaked junkie, it's about the only action I saw today."

"And how did a piss-soaked junkie knock you on your ass?"

"Couple of rooks hauled him into the elevator, which means I'm getting off because piss-soaked, and they let him slip. He rammed right into me. Jesus, the smell. I'm lucky it didn't have time to transfer."

"You meet such interesting people in the course of your day. And the memorial?"

It would take his mind off the brutal, Eve decided.

"I guess the highlight would be when Hunnicut's up there talking about Albright—heartfelt, touching—and Lopez comes in. Not altogether drunk, but definitely lit."

She ran it through—rant, slap, punch.

"I suppose that livened things up, so to speak."

"Shock, horror, fascination."

"And gave you a chance to take on Lopez in the box, I assume."

"Oh yeah."

She ran it through for him as they ate, and yes, she could see it took his mind off his own day.

"You don't think she killed Erin Albright."

"No. Do you?"

"She's impulsive, careless of others, hotheaded. And no. A moment's heat, an angry strike, then yes. But not the way this was done. It's far too cool and calculating."

"See, a good judge." She pulled her 'link out of her pocket. "Judge this. Greg Barney between slap and punch."

Roarke took the 'link, studied the screen. He looked at Eve and said, "Ah."

"Yeah, ah." After pocketing the 'link again, she ate more chips. "That's not the expression of a man, Mr. Nice Guy, watching his good friend and former sweetheart get clocked at her fiancée's memorial."

"So he's your man."

"Oh, he is. With any luck, I'll have him in the box tomorrow, and then in a cage."

"What else do you have?"

That single question, she had to admit, centered the problem.

"My gut, mostly, and personality. A kind of profile of an asshole."

She ran her day through for him as that day waned with softening light and quiet breezes.

"The last one I talked to, just before I left Central, worked under him at the shop. A woman, early forties, married, two kids. She worked there part-time, and said he made a habit of saying how she'd make more as a professional mother, and how much better off her kids would be if she stayed home."

"There's another ah from me."

"She'd say how she liked working, being out in the world, and her kids were fine. It irritated her some, but she didn't think much of it. He also wondered, out loud, why she wanted to work in a men's shop. Wouldn't she be more comfortable, if she insisted on working, putting in her time at a woman's boutique—shit like that."

She took the bread, slathered with butter, that Roarke offered, bit in.

"After a while, he started cutting her hours. Hired another part-timer—a man, naturally. She took off for a school function, with advance notice—but he wrote her up for it. Just continued to undermine her in little ways, claimed some customers complained about her attitude, her service, which she said was bullshit. And I believe her on that.

"Eventually, she quit—decided it wasn't worth the annoyance of dealing with him. And get this, he told her she was making the right choice for her family."

"More than a bit of a prick, isn't he then? And calculating."

"Exactly. He takes his time, maneuvers and manipulates. No problem lying to get his way, or using his position as a supervisor to bully staff. Because in his world, he's right, he knows best."

"And if Shauna—whom he'd consider part of his world—won't do what's best for her, won't live as he believes she should and must, well then, he'll simply remove the impediment. And she'll need to deal with the results of her poor choices, won't she? A dead love, a broken dream, a slap in the face."

Sipping her beer, Eve smiled at him. "It's nice eating fish and chips with someone who sees it like I do."

"I can certainly see why you don't like him on a personal level, and I can see why you do like him as Albright's killer. Why don't you help me see how you intend to get him into the box, then into a cage?"

"I can do that. Why don't we deal with these dishes, then I'll do that while we take a walk."

Now he reached for her hand. "Darling Eve. Are you making time for me?"

"For us. A few things—not case related. Did you know you're supposed to marinate ribs?"

"Whose ribs?"

She laughed, and polished off her beer. "The kind you eat smothered in barbecue sauce if you've got any sense."

"In that case, I didn't, no. Why?"

"Mr. Mira called when I was consulting with Mira. Apparently he fixed a leaky faucet or pipe or something." Considering him, she frowned. "Could you do that?"

"I could, actually, and have done."

"Good to know. During their brief conversation, he said he was marinating ribs, and they'd have wine if he could find the corkscrew. You know how he is."

"I do. Charming and wise."

"Yeah, he is. She told him where to find it, and it struck me like it did this morning. It's nice being married. So it's good to make time when we can.

"Then, as I'm about to leave Central, Baxter tells me he and Trueheart just closed one, and are heading out for a brew. Santiago and Carmi chael are finishing up the paperwork on another, and are going to join. Jenkinson and Reineke are waiting for an ME report, and Reineke will meet them because Jenkinson has a family thing. Peabody's going to see if McNab's up for it. So they'll go hang some at the Blue Line, have a brew."

"You didn't want to join them?"

"Work on my mind." She shook her head. "And I just wanted to get home. But it made me think about the idea of Off Duty, and how it'll be good to have another place. Maybe you want more than a fake burger and a half-decent brew. Maybe you want some music and more variety after closing one, or when you've got a hard one and need a break."

"It's coming along well."

"Also good to know." She rose. "Let's get this stuff out of the way."

It felt good, that walk, as the sun slipped lower and some crazed bird sang to oncoming twilight. In the grove, peaches hung like rosy balls just waiting to be plucked.

Roarke did just that, handed it to her.

The first bite, so sweet, so fresh, had her taking another. "God, that's ridiculous. Nothing should taste that amazing."

"When I had them planted, years ago, I wanted the look and scent of them. As well as the magic Summerset can make with them. I never imagined walking here with you, enjoying them right off the branch."

"I sure as hell never saw myself eating a peach, or anything else, right off the tree." Since she was, she took another bite. "I'd never even seen a peach tree before these. Can you grow one from the seed or whatever it is?"

"I think it's a pit, and I suppose. How else would they get them?"

"How the hell would I know? Peabody would. We should give her some."

"Peaches or pits?"

"Well, if we give her some peaches, she'd have both."

"A fine idea. I'll see to it. Now. The box and the cage?"

"Barney took something from that apartment. I knew it at the time—nothing I could do about it, but I knew it. I'm more sure of it now. It fits his pattern, his profile."

"What sort of thing, do you think?"

"See, that's a question I've been playing with. Nothing big, nothing anyone else would notice. Family and a couple other friends have been in there getting things for Hunnicut, taking Albright's clothes and stuff, so nothing that stands out."

"Something tucked away then."

She pointed at him with what was left of her peach. "See that? That's cop thinking, and you just have to swallow it."

"I don't at all, because it's thief thinking as well. And there I have the foundation."

"Well, maybe." She'd allow it, she decided as they strolled toward the pond. "But even tucked away, not really something people would notice right off. They're bringing clothes and so on to her. And she was wearing earrings at the memorial. Not the ones she had on the night of the party, so someone brought those to her."

"Seems like something more between the two of them—Hunnicut and Barney."

"That's what makes the most sense. Something he wanted back because she didn't deserve it now. Maybe something he gave her at some point. And probably when they were a couple. That's what it feels like to me.

"‘I gave you this when you were perfect, and now you're not. You can't keep it.'"

She sat on the bench by the pond, looked at the floating lilies. The tree with the flowing branches she and Roarke had planted seemed to have grown some. That struck her as an accidental triumph.

"I could be off there. Could be something else. A note he wrote her, a photograph. Maybe even something Albright gave her that burned his narrow-minded ass. Maybe something to do with the wedding the others hadn't removed yet."

She tossed the peach pit. "Wouldn't it be a kick in the ass if it grew a tree there?"

"I'd say more a minor miracle."

They sat a moment, enjoying the evening, the shine of the water as the sun dipped lower yet, the spread of the plants around the pond.

The worst edges of his day worn away, he laid a hand over hers.

"And how will you know what he took?"

"That's the sticky part. I have to convince Hunnicut—push her if it comes down to it—to go back to the apartment with me and Peabody. She hasn't been back since the murder, and she's made it clear she won't. But I have to get her to not only go back, but go through the place. To look in closets, in cupboards, in drawers. Then make absolutely sure she keeps her mouth shut about it."

Eve let out a breath. "She's used to sharing. It's her nature to tell things to her friends, her family. Possibly complete strangers. So the trick is, go back where she's staying in the morning, when we can be reasonably sure she's alone. Then convince her to go back, go through, and tell no one."

"She loved Albright. I don't think it'll be as sticky as you imagine to convince her to do this if she believes it will help."

"She's also used to trusting." As day slipped toward dusk, Eve tipped her head to Roarke's shoulder. "I have to make her trust me more than she does her tribe."

"She may not, but she'll respect your authority. She's a rule follower, isn't she? Wouldn't that be one of the reasons, besides her looks, why Barney was attracted to her, attached himself to her?"

"You're right about that. Hunnicut broke one of his rules, so she had to pay for it."

"How will that help you, if you find what he took?"

"By getting a search warrant for his place, finding what he took, charging him with theft, getting him into the box on it, then pushing the right buttons. I'm going to make it work. You took the edge off my day, too."

"Did it have one?"

"Mostly the edge of frustration. I know he did it, I know where to find him. I know how he did it—or close enough. Why, or close enough. But I can't just knock on his door and cuff him."

"But you like a challenge, Lieutenant."

"I guess I do. He's such a weak asshole, Roarke, the motive is so idiotic, it annoys me. He's so not worth it."

"So you remember Erin Albright is."

God, he understood her.

"So I remember Erin Albright is. It's small, annoying steps instead of a big takedown. But she's worth it."

She lifted her head, looked at him. "I forgot. I bought that painting—or will."

"Your first slice of New York."

"Yeah. I'll like having it for that. And to remind me that sometimes it takes a lot of small, annoying steps. I need to go in, take some more of them."

"All right."

"In a minute." She lowered her head to his shoulder again. "Just one more minute. I feel sorry for people who don't have a spot like this—not the big grand scope of all this. Just a quiet spot where they can sit, with someone who matters or alone, and smooth out the edges of the day."

She slid her hand into his, linked fingers. "I never imagined this, any more than eating a peach off the tree."

"We planted that one there."

"Sure as hell did. It's growing, right? It looks like it is to me."

"It's growing." He kissed the top of her head. "I suppose so are we."

They went back in, and up to Eve's office, where the cat lay sprawled in her sleep chair. He eyed them both as if to determine the need to retreat again.

Sensing the crisis had passed, he stretched, rolled, and sprawled in a different direction.

"Do you really have work to deal with?" Eve asked Roarke.

"Not really, no. I can get quite a bit done when pissed off, and did."

"Do you want an assignment?"

He slid a hand into his pocket, fingered the gray button. "Will I enjoy it?"

"You tell me. The first is to take a good look at Becca DiNuzio's family. I want to see how they fit in Barney's narrow worldview. The next is to check and see if Barney's insured any paintings since the murder. He'd have had time now if he thought to. And last, to look at his finances again."

"There now, we're getting to the enjoyment."

"Can you dig down into purchases, gift-type things, specifically for women? Girlfriend gift–type things, in the last three years."

"Ah, you want to see what he might buy for DiNuzio, as it may lead you to what he might have bought back in the day for Hunnicut. And taken back."

"Yeah. I want to see if he considers Becca—and her family—worthy enough, and if so, what he buys his girlfriend."

"All right. I'll enjoy that. Not such a small step, I'm thinking, as it may save you several others."

"That's the goal."

While he went into his office, she updated her board. Then set it aside to read over the paperwork from her other detectives, signed off. Good work there, she thought, all around.

Now it was her turn, so she programmed coffee and settled into it.

When Roarke came back, she frowned at him. "That didn't take long. No luck?"

"How easily you doubt me. First." He sat on the edge of her command center, drank what was left of her second cup of coffee. "DiNuzio's parents have been married thirty-one years. To each other. She's the oldest of three—I assume you ran her before so know the basics. Her mother's a mathematician, and took parental leave for each offspring. The father, an engineer, coached her younger brother's softball team. They've lived in the same house, the same neighborhood, for twenty-six years."

"Potentially worthy then, on his scale."

"And your instinct continues. He insured a painting, an Albright, only this morning, valued at forty-eight hundred. As for gifts, he strikes me as, again, very stagnant and very ordinary. Cross-reference DiNuzio's birthday, his mother's, his sisters' and it's easy to find. His mother, his sisters, a sweater, a scarf, that sort of thing. A girlfriend gets jewelry. The same holds for what I'd assume is Christmas, and as the date range matches for the last three years, what would likely be an anniversary. Add Valentine's Day."

"Jewelry."

"He tosses in a few other items for Christmas, but jewelry, yes, is the main thing. Nothing overly expensive, but not too cheap, either. He frequents the same jeweler on Fifth, or has for these purchases. Earrings are his go-to, but he's gone for a necklace, a bracelet now and then."

"She wore this necklace, linked hearts, played with it some in Interview."

"Linked hearts—a boyfriend gift, I'd say. And for her birthday last spring, a ring. Not an engagement type. A blue topaz flanked by citrines. A blue stone," he explained, "with smaller yellow ones on each side. Set in silver."

"Yeah, I got it. She's had it on every time I've seen her. Okay, okay, it's jewelry. And it's probably jewelry he took."

She pushed up, paced. "Shauna got engaged. He's not ready for that yet, but he switches up and gives Becca a ring. Symbolic, maybe. It's always jewelry, so we'll try that first tomorrow. He's got a pattern, he has tradition. This makes sense. Thanks."

She glanced back at her command center where he sat still, looking so easily Roarke. Her coffee was gone, and she had nothing to do, not really, until the next morning.

As if reading her, he got up, slid his arms around her.

"Why don't you shut this down, and we go for a swim? We can smooth out the rest of each other's edges."

"You just want to get me wet and naked."

"I absolutely do." He kissed her, slow, long, deep, to prove it.

"Since that means I get you wet and naked, too, what are we waiting for? Close operations," she said, and kissed him back.

She woke in the morning with everything as smooth as it got.

And there, on the sofa, sat Roarke and the cat, so she began a day as well as she'd ended another.

She rolled out of bed and went straight for coffee.

"I'm so ready for today."

"Be ready for some rain as well," Roarke warned her. "We're likely in for a storm later."

"Before it's over, Greg Barney's going to find out I'm the goddamn storm."

When she went in to shower, Roarke looked at the cat. "She's not wrong about that, as we well know. Let's feed the storm, shall we?"

When she came out, he put his tablet aside. He enjoyed seeing her in a robe, which certainly explained why he couldn't resist buying them for her. This one was as close as he'd dared come to pink, with its deep rose tone, and in silk that shimmered, just a little.

He took off the domes as she sat, and found himself pleased when she gave the full Irish a nod and a narrow look.

"That's just right for today."

"You'll let me know, won't you, when you have him?"

"Sure. I want to take him at his shop. Mortify him." She shrugged as she crunched into bacon. "Not necessary, but it's a personal wish."

She glanced at him as she dug into her eggs. "You'll have a better day today."

"I will. What's done's done. I'll move along to what's next—as will you. Don't wear black today."

She paused as she cut into a fat sausage. "Oh, come on."

"Wear a strong color, but not black. He'll understand and respect the cut, the fabric. Add a strong color, and you'll intimidate, just a bit, along with it. A vest, once you're in the box, so your weapon's visible."

"I like that part," she mumbled.

"It wouldn't hurt, at least until he notices, to leave this out." He slid a hand over to lift the chain of the Giant's Tear diamond she wore under her shirts.

"I don't like to wear it out on the job. Cops don't wear big, fat diamonds."

"Exactly. This, the weapon, the clothes, the woman in charge? For his type, there'll be some confusion along with the intimidation. He won't like you and Peabody being in control. He manages people, and he's superior to women."

She considered as she ate. "Okay, those are solid points. And you've made it so fricking complicated I'm going to say you pick it all out. Which was your plan anyway."

"Consider it my contribution to helping him into a cage. I was there at the crime scene, Eve, and saw her in the room where you once were."

He settled on a jacket in a strong sharp blue and a vest in something like dark copper—but thankfully not shiny. The pants matched the jacket, but had a stripe of that something like dark copper down the sides.

And somehow she had a pair of boots in the same tone. He added a collared shirt in white. She studied herself in the shirt and vest and weapon, and decided, as usual, he'd been right.

"Take the diamond out."

When she did, she nodded. Okay, it made a statement, and a contrast. But she tucked it away again. "Maybe in the box, just for a few seconds."

"It's all you'll need." He rose when she swung the jacket on. He pulled her in and kissed her. "He doesn't stand a chance against you. But take care of my cop in any case." He patted her hip where he'd discovered a bruise the night before. "And watch out for piss-soaked junkies."

"You can bank on that one." She cupped his face, looked in his eyes. "Take care of my gazillionaire."

"I will. Don't worry."

She wouldn't—or not too much, she thought as she started downstairs. She just found it… disconcerting when he lost his balance. But he'd found it again, so she wouldn't worry too much.

And she was about to take what she was determined would be the last steps in bringing down a killer.

She worked on her strategy—first in dealing with Shauna Hunnicut—on the way downtown. She could leave any needed softening and stroking on that to Peabody. And the push she'd handle herself.

In the garage, she took the elevator halfway up before escaping the chaos of change of shift for the glides.

Since she'd beaten her squad in, she went straight to her office, then tagged Peabody.

ETA to Central?

Just got here, waiting for elevator.

My office as soon as you get here.

Knowing the elevator, Eve waited a couple of minutes before programming coffee. When she heard Peabody's clump, she sat. Then pointed to the mug of coffee and to the visitor's chair.

"Sit. I'll fill you in and tell you how I think it's going to go. It's going to be jewelry," she began as Peabody snagged the mug.

"You think he took some jewelry from the apartment?"

"Yeah, and here's why."