Feeney nodded slowly and nearly dug into his pocket for his bag of nuts before he remembered the occasion. “Is that the burr up your butt, kid?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She started to walk without any destination in mind, stopped, and turned around. “Who the hell was that blonde he was wrapped around?”
“I couldn’t say.” He sucked air through his teeth. “She was a looker though. Want me to rough him up for you?”
“Just shut up.” She jammed her hands in her pockets. “The commander’s wife said they were having a small, private memorial at their home. How long do you figure this sideshow will take?”
“Another hour, minimum.”
“I’m heading back to Cop Central. I’ll meet you at the commander’s in two hours.”
“You’re the boss.”
Small and private meant there were more than a hundred people packed into the commander’s suburban home. There was food to comfort the living, liquor to dull the grieving. The perfect hostess, Anna Whitney hurried over the moment she spotted Eve. She kept her voice down and a carefully pleasant expression on her face.
“Lieutenant, must you do this now, here and now?”
“Mrs. Whitney, I’ll be as discreet as I possibly can. The sooner I complete the interview stage, the sooner we’ll find Prosecutor Towers’s killer.”
“Her children are devastated. Poor Mirina can barely function. It would be more appropriate if you’d—”
“Anna.” Commander Whitney laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let Lieutenant Dallas do her job.”
Anna said nothing, merely turned and walked stiffly away.
“We said good-bye to a very dear friend today.”
“I understand, Commander. I’ll finish here as quickly as I can.”
“Be careful with Mirina, Dallas. She’s very fragile at the moment.”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps I could speak to her first, privately.”
“I’ll see to it.”
When he left her alone, Eve backed up toward the foyer and turned directly into Roarke.
“Lieutenant.”
“Roarke.” She glanced at the glass of wine in his hand. “I’m on duty.”
“So I see. This wasn’t for you.”
Eve followed his gaze to the blonde sitting in the corner. “Right.” She could all but feel the marrow of her bones turn green. “You move fast.”
Before she could step aside, he put a hand on her arm. His voice, like his eyes, was carefully neutral. “Suzanna is a mutual friend of mine and Cicely’s. The widow of a cop, killed in the line of duty. Cicely put his murderer away.”
“Suzanna Kimball,” Eve said, battling back shame. “Her husband was a good cop.”
“So I’m told.” With the faintest trace of amusement shadowing his mouth, he skimmed a glance down her suit. “I’d hoped you’d burned that thing. Gray’s not your color, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not making a fashion statement. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
The fingers on her arm tightened. “You might look into Randall Slade’s gambling problem. He owes considerable sums to several people. As does David Angelini.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s quite right. I’m one of the several.”