She tossed the com down, pushed out of bed to pull at her hair, to pace, to curse. “I set him up; she took him out. Goddamn it, goddamn it. I could’ve taken him in. I could’ve slapped him in a cage, put the pressure on with what I had. But I wanted more. I wanted to make them sweat. I wanted more time to put it together, to see what she’d try next. Now he’s dead.”
“Don’t you stand there and take the blame for one dirty cop killing another.”
“I made a choice. The choice killed him.”
“Bollocks to that, Eve.” Roarke said it sharply enough to stop her, to make her turn. “His choices and Renee’s killed him. Do you think she couldn’t have gotten to him in a cage, had him done?”
“I’ll never know now. I miscalculated. I didn’t think she’d risk bringing this kind of attention to the squad, adding another avenue of investigation. She outplayed me on this.”
“I disagree. You’re angry, and foolishly guilty, so you’re not thinking it through.”
“I’m thinking it through—Garnet’s dead.”
“Yes, and killing him requires another tale spun. More lies, more cover-up. If she’d thought it through, she’d have found a way to placate him, to keep him level. Failing that, kill him, certainly, but get rid of the body, lay a path that indicates he packed up, left.”
She stopped dressing to frown at him. “Hmm.”
“Hmm? He’d been suspended, and after tonight, he’d lose his badge. He’d be disgraced. Christ, I can write the script myself. Eliminate him, destroy the body. Meanwhile, go into his apartment, pack what a man who’s angry, who’s fed up, who’s humiliated might pack. Toss a few things around—temper, temper—and so on. In a day or so, tap his account, use his credit—send a message to his lieutenant, maybe to you, telling you all to go to hell. You can keep the bloody badge. He’s done with it, with you, with New York.”
“Okay, I can see how that would work. It’s a little unnerving just how easily you came up with it, but I can see it.”
And calmer, Eve saw it clearly.
“Keep tapping the account,” she considered, “tapping the credit awhile, making it look like he’s traveling or gone to Vegas II, whatever. Then transfer the money out.”
“Basically. A few finer details to tie it up, but basically. He’s not dead. He’s just gone.”
“But she didn’t think of that—and she should have. Hell, I should have. But she wanted him dead and gone. She went with impulse—she may not see it that way, but that’s what it was. And what I didn’t expect. She went with impulse rather than planning. So there’ll be mistakes in there. One of them was not arranging for one of her crew to get the tag on this. No way Janburry contacts me this early if he’s with her.”
“Now you’re thinking. I’ll drive.”
“No. I’d appreciate the other set of eyes, and the scary brain, but if I’m hung up I need you here to start briefing the team.”
Those fabulous eyes stared right through her. “You want me to brief a room of cops? That’s appalling, Eve, on so many levels.”
“Nobody knows how to run a meeting as well as you. I’ll try to be back, but I have to follow this out.”
“I’m definitely going to want the costumes. I may have them designed for you.”
“One of us is worth a dozen of them,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re one of us.”
“I realize you see that as a compliment, but ...” He trailed off, sighed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Roarke watched her rush out, sighed again. “Bloody hell.”
Since he was up, he’d get some work done—of his own, thank you—before the cops came to his door.
She went in hot. She didn’t want to give Janburry time to change his mind, and did a quick run on him on the way.
He looked solid. Fourteen years on the job, into his tenth as a detective—and recently promoted to second-grade. He was thirty-seven, on his second marriage—four years in—with a two-year-old kid.
Good service record, from what she could see. No big highs, no big lows. She knew his lieutenant a little. She could tug some lines if she needed to.
First, she’d see how Janburry wanted to play it.
She nosed in behind a black-and-white, hooked her badge in the breast pocket of her jacket.