And through the terminal, Eve thought, where she could go back out and catch any number of transportation options. Cab, bus, tram, private car, even the goddamn subway. And in effect, disappear.
"Thanks. If you remember anything else, contact me at Cop Central."
"I hope you get her." Lydia gave Eve a sympathetic look as she scanned her face. "Does that hurt?"
* * *
Outside again, Eve rubbed her aching neck. "We'll head back to Central, see what the Denver cops have sniffed out. Once it's verified it was Dunne, and we're multistate homicides, this is going to turn federal."
"We can't let them take this over."
"I wish I could say I'd hand it to them on a platter if they could scoop her up, but I'd be lying. I want her." She let out a long breath. "I'm counting on Denver being willing to stall on the identification for a few days."
Eve fished the sunshades out of her pocket, put them on. Immediately felt better. "Why don't you drive, Peabody? I want to catch a nap."
Lips twitching, Peabody slid behind the wheel. "Yeah, why don't I?"
"Is that smug I see on your face?"
"Damn." Peabody dabbed at her cheek. "I thought I'd got all that off."
"Swing by a deli on the way. I want a meatball sandwich." Eve kicked the seat back, shut her eyes, and dropped straight into sleep.
* * *
Meat was not the operative word in meatball sandwich. It consisted of a couple of hunks of tough bread softened up by an ocean of rusty red sauce and between which swam a trio of ball-like substances, which where, perhaps, some distant cousin to the meat family. To disguise this very loose connection, they were coated with a stringy cheese substitute and spiced so generously they set the average mouth on fire, and successfully cleared the sinuses.
They were both disgusting and delicious. The smell woke Eve out of a dead sleep.
"I got the jumbo and had them cut it in half." Peabody was already driving away from the deli in the steady, cautious manner that normally drove Eve insane. "Figured you for a tube of Pepsi this time of day."
"What? Yeah." Her mind was dull as chamber music. "Jeez. How long was I out?"
"About twenty, but you were at rock bottom. I kept waiting for you to snore, but you sleep like a corpse. Got some color back though."
"It's the fumes from the meatballs." Eve broke open the tube, took a huge glug of Pepsi before taking mental inventory. The headache had backed off, and so had the vague other-worldly feeling that had been creeping up on her. "Where are you heading, Peabody, and what century will we be in when we get there at this snail's pace?"
"I'm simply obeying the city traffic laws while showing courtesy and respect for my fellow drivers. But I'm glad you're feeling better, and I figured since we're in midtown and it's a nice day, we could eat these outside at Rockefeller Plaza. Fuel up, sneer at the tourists, and grab some rays."
It didn't sound half-bad. "No shopping of any kind."
"The thought never crossed my mind. For more than a minute."
Peabody eased down the pedestrian walkway off Fiftieth, slid the front wheel onto the curb, parked, and flipped up the on duty sign.
"What was that about obeying city traffic laws?"
"That's driving, this is parking. No point in being obsessive about it."
They got out, wound their way through the pack of tourists, lunchers, messengers, and the street thieves who loved them, and plopped down on a bench in the plaza with the ice rink at their backs.
Peabody divided the tower of napkins and handed Eve her half of the sandwich. And they got down to the serious business of eating.
Eve couldn't remember the last time she'd taken an actual lunch break, one where she'd had what passed for real food somewhere other than at her desk or in the car.
It was noisy and crowded, and the temperature was deciding whether it would settle for really warm or inch up all the way to hot. Sun lasered off the glass fronts of shops and a vender putting along on a mini glide-cart sang some soaring aria from an Italian opera.
"La Traviata." Peabody let out a gusty sigh. "I've been to the opera some with Charles. He really gets off on it. Mostly it's okay, but it sounds better out here. This is the best part of New York. Being able to sit out here and eat this really superior meatball sandwich on a summer afternoon and see all these different kinds of people while some guy hawks soy dogs and sings in Italian."