“You’re not fit to speak her name. You’ve whored your badge. You’re a disgrace. Don’t think your husband’s money or threats will stop me from using all my influence to have that badge taken from you.”
“I don’t stand behind Roarke any more than he stands behind me.” She kept talking as Hayes stepped forward and laid a hand on Skinner’s shoulder. “I don’t stand on yesterday’s business. Two people are dead here and now. That’s my priority, Commander. Justice for them is my concern.”
Hayes stepped in front of Skinner. “The seminar is over. Commander Skinner thanks you for attending and regrets Lieutenant Dallas’s disruption of the question-and-answer period.”
People shuffled, rose. Eve saw Skinner leaving, flanked by the two guards.
“Ask me,” someone commented near her, “these seminars could use more fucking disruptions.”
She made her way toward the front and came up toe to toe with Hayes.
“I’ve got two more questions for the commander.”
“I said the seminar’s over. And so’s your little show.”
She felt the crowd milling around them, some edging close enough to hear. “You see, that’s funny. I thought I came in on the show. Does he run it, Hayes, or do you?”
“Commander Skinner is a great man. Great men often need protection from whores.”
A cop moved in, poked Hayes on the shoulder. “You’re gonna want to watch the name-calling, man.”
“Thanks.” Eve acknowledged him with a nod. “I’ve got it.”
“Don’t like play cops calling a badge a whore.” He stepped back, but he hovered.
“While you’re protecting the great man,” Eve continued, “you might want to remember that two of his front-line soldiers are in the morgue.”
“Is that a threat, Lieutenant?”
“Hell, no. It’s a fact, Hayes. Just like it’s a fact that both of them had fathers who died under Skinner’s command. What about your father?”
Furious color slashed across his cheekbones. “You know nothing of my father, and you have no right to speak of him.”
“Just giving you something to think about. For some reason I get the feeling that I’m more interested in finding out who put those bodies in the morgue than you or your great man. And because I am, I will find out—before this show breaks down and moves on. That one’s a promise.”
9
If she couldn’t get to Skinner, Eve thought, she’d get to Skinner’s wife. And if Angelo and Peabody hadn’t softened and soothed enough, that was too fucking bad. Damned if she was going to tiptoe around weepy women and dying men, then have to turn the case over to the interplanetary boys.
It was her case, and she meant to close it.
She knew that part of her anger and urgency stemmed from the information Roarke had given her. His father, hers, Skinner, and a team of dead cops. Skinner was right about one thing, she thought as she headed for his suite. Blood spoke to blood.
The blood of the dead had always spoken to her.
Her father and Roarke’s had both met a violent end. That was all the justice she could offer to the badges lost so many years before. But there were two bodies in cold boxes. For those, whatever they’d done, she would stand.
She knocked, waited impatiently. It was Darcia who opened the door and sent Eve an apologetic little wince.
“She’s a mess,” Darcia whispered. “Mira’s patting her hand, letting her cry over her goddaughter. It’s a good foundation, but we haven’t been able to build on it yet.”
“Any objections to me giving the foundation a shake?”
Darcia studied her, pursed her lips. “We can try it that way, but I wouldn’t shake too hard. She shatters, we’re back to square one with her.”
With a nod, Eve stepped in. Mira was on the sofa with Belle, and was indeed holding her hand. A teapot, cups, and countless tissues littered the table in front of them. Belle was weeping softly into a fresh one.
“Mrs. Skinner, I’m sorry for your loss.” Eve sat in a chair by the sofa, leaned into the intimacy. She kept her voice quiet, sympathetic, and waited until Belle lifted swollen, red rimmed eyes to hers.