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“Yes, sir.”

“You suspect Roth?”

“She captains the squad. It would have been negligent not to consider her. I’ve questioned her, analyzed her data, and run a probability.”

“And the result?”

“In the sixties.”

“Low, but troubling. I won’t

take up your time or mine by asking you to go through the steps of your investigation. At this time,” he qualified. “But I will ask you, Lieutenant, if your husband is connected to Max Ricker, on a personal level or a business one, and if that connection should concern this office.”

“My husband is not connected to Max Ricker on a business level. It is my understanding that at one time, over a decade ago, there may have been some business between them.”

“And on a personal level?”

This was tougher. “It was my impression, sir, during my interview with Ricker, that he held a personal grudge against Roarke. He did not specify this, but intimated. Roarke is a successful man, and a glamorized one,” she said for lack of a better term. “Such status invites resentment and envy in certain types of individuals. However, I see no reason why a potential grudge held by Ricker for Roarke should concern this office.”

“You’re honest, Dallas. Carefully so. Almost politically so. And my saying that, I see, insults you.”

“Somewhat,” Eve managed.

“Do you have any conflict of feeling or loyalty in pursuing a killer who may be a fellow officer, even though the victims were dirty or perceived to be so?”

“None whatsoever. Law and order, Chief Tibble. We uphold the law. We are not allowed to nor are we equipped to judge and sentence.”

“Good answer. She does you credit, Jack. Lieutenant,” he continued while she dealt with the sheer surprise of his comment, “you’ll report your findings to your commander and keep him closely apprised of your progress. Go to work.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“One last thing,” he said as she reached the door. “Bayliss would like your skin on a rack—roasted.”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that. He wouldn’t be the first.”

When the door closed, Tibble went behind his desk. “It’s a fucking mess, Jack. Let’s pick up some shovels and start cleaning it up.”

chapter fourteen

“Nice job, Dallas.” Feeney rode down with her to lobby level. “Now I’m going to tell you what they didn’t. If Bayliss gets back behind his desk, he’s going to be gunning for you.”

“I can’t let a rat turd like Bayliss worry me. I got two cops and one witness in the morgue. Until I work through the layers of that, Bayliss can blow all the hot air he wants.”

“Enough hot air blows at you, you get scalded. Just watch your back. I’m going over to your place, switch off with McNab for awhile.”

“I’ll meet you back there. I want to swing by Kohli’s, have another talk with the widow. I’ll pull Peabody. You know an Illegals Detective, Jeremy Vernon?”

Lips pursed, Feeney ran through his head files. “Nope. Doesn’t ring for me.”

“He’s got an attitude—and a fat bank account. I’m probably going to pull him in for a chat, tomorrow latest. You want in on that?”

“I always like sitting in on one of your chats.”

They separated, with Eve moving through the late-lunch pedestrian traffic to her vehicle. She waited for a maxibus to clear, contacting Peabody as she pulled away from the curb.

“I’m on my way to Kohli’s. Meet me there. I want a follow-up with the widow.”

“I’ll head out now. Dallas, McNab’s picked up three more accounts for Detective Vernon. We’ve got a total of two million six, and still counting.”


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