Framed in Death (In Death, #61)

by J.D. Robb

“Making a jacket?” “A leather jacket. In my abso-mag-to-the-ult craft room. I just have to decide on the color.” “If you make yourself a pink leather jacket, you’ll leave me no choice. I’ll have to kill you, but I can make sure you’re buried in it.”

“Why New York? For you, I mean. Why here especially?” “Because you can be anybody here. You can disappear if you want. Nobody knows you, and nobody cares where you came from. It’s the whole fucking world in one place.”

“That? That last bit? For me, too. The excitement, the so much of it. I wanted the badge, also, but I wanted it here. I wanted some of that so much. It scared me a little, at first, and even that was exciting.” As they got in the car, Peabody belted up. “Did it scare you at first?” “No, it was the answer.” Eve thought of herself sitting at the counter window, eating her first slice of New York pizza. Freedom, at last. “It was all the answers. I thought I could shake off everything that happened before, shut it away. That the city would just burn it off. I was wrong about that, because you never shake it all off.” She considered a moment. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” She pulled into traffic. “But it was still all the answers. We’ll hit the morgue.” “You made friends in New York.” “Mavis didn’t give me a choice.”

“Morris?” Peabody paused at the door. “Can I ask why you decided to be an ME?” He sent her a surprised look, then an easy smile. “It’s simple, really. There are those who tend to the living and those who tend to the dead. Those, like me, work to find answers to give those like you. Those who stand for the ones who had their lives taken.” He laid a hand on Lessa’s head again. “The dead also need tending.” “Thanks.”

There were some, she thought, no matter what they came from, who worked to make themselves better.

“Is that a brownie?” “Yes, sir. Would you like it?” “More than I can say, but she’d know. She always does. Anna has a way.”

“McNab, exterior again. Team one, Peabody, Roarke, myself, front entrance. Team two, Carmichael, Santiago, garage entrance. East side entrance, team three, Jenkinson, Reineke, McNab. Team four, Baxter, Trueheart, Feeney, rear entrance. No one moves into position until security is down and we have eyes and ears.

“For Christ’s sake,” Eve exploded. “We found several in your residence. Woman with a Parasol—Monet. Self-Portrait with Grey Felt Hat—Van Gogh. The Crystal Ball—Waterhouse. The Desperate Man—Courbet.”