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The first kill, mostly an accident, took place on a hot night in August. By the time they arrived in New York, in mid-January, their tally was up to twenty-nine.
“You can’t understand anything anybody’s saying, then they all die. We get plenty of that on the job.”
“That’s one of those oxygons.” “Moron.” Eve turned her head, aimed steely eyes. “Repeat that.” “I meant oxymoron. It’s oxymoron not gon. Sir.”
A thin snow started to spit out of grumpy gray skies. Which meant, Eve knew, that at least fifty percent of the drivers currently on the road would lose a minimum of one-third of their intelligence quotient, any skill they’d previously held at operating a vehicle thereby turning what had been the standard annoying traffic into mayhem.
“Some people have the ability to walk lightly through the world and still leave a deep impression.
Trust, she realized. Not just attraction, not just passion, not just a mutual goal. There had to be trust to work as a team.
“I owe you.” “We’ll work out a payment schedule.” “Yeah, like I don’t know that currency.” He laughed, pulled her in for a kiss. “Which makes me the richest man in the world.” “You already are—pretty much.” “Not without you.” This time he kissed her forehead, tenderly. “Not any longer.” He meant it, she thought as she returned to her desk. And she understood the sentiment. Once, the badge had been enough for her. All for her. Not any longer.
“Just a few inches, and it rules the brain, the ego and can obliterate common sense.”
She took the jacket from him, put it on and began to stow what she needed in various pockets. “You know I married you for sex and coffee, not boots.”
“A skeeze (she kind of liked the word), a fuckhead, a dickwad. He’s all of that and a bag of rice cakes.” “Chips. It’s a bag of chips,” Peabody told her. “Chips are good. Rice cakes are crap. He doesn’t get chips.” “Oh.” Peabody frowned over it before she nodded. “That makes sense.”
I kinda like rice cakes!
She pulled out her ’link when it signaled, saw Baxter’s ID, and pushed her way out into the world of snow. “Dallas.” “Hey. You’ve got a Deputy William T. Banner out of someplace called Silby’s Pond, Arkansas, in here. He wants to talk to you about our spree killers. I checked, and he’s legit—been with the sheriff’s office there for five years. I put him in the lounge since he’s pretty firm about talking to you first.”
Banner is one of Robb's best minor characters ever! I can see and hear him.
She spotted him quickly. A half mile of leg stretched out under the table. Long, narrow hands worked a PPC while a vending cup of something sat neglected in front of him. A lot of wavy hair the color of a wheat field, a long narrow face to match the hands. He either hadn’t shaved recently or wore the scruff on purpose. He wore jeans, boots that had seen a lot of miles, a flannel shirt that made her think of lumberjacks even though she wasn’t entirely sure what a lumberjack was.
“Deputy Banner.” “Yes, ma’am. Will Banner.” He shifted his long legs, rose. Unfolded was more like it, she thought. He was an easy six-five with a build like a beanpole. “Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas.” He took the hand she extended in one with a rough, hard palm. “I sure do appreciate you meeting with me, Lieutenant.” “You’re a long way from home, Deputy Banner.” “That’s the God’s truth. Farthest I’ve ever been.” “Where’s Silby’s Pond?” “We’re in the Ozarks, ma’am, not—” “Lieutenant. Sir if you want. Dallas will do.” “Sorry. Y’all do things different here. We’re in the north of Arkansas,
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Nodding, Banner took a hit of caffeine. His eyes went wide and glassy. “Sweet Baby Jesus, what is this? Is this New York coffee?” “Not exactly. It’s real coffee. I’ve got a connection.” “Real coffee.” He said it like a prayer, with awe and reverence. Remembering her first taste of Roarke’s coffee, she smiled. “Need a minute?” “It could take days.” He smiled back, and she saw, beneath the fatigue, a great deal of charm. “Wait till I tell the boys back home.”
“Yes, ma’am—Lieutenant,” he corrected. “You’ll have to give me time to break a lifetime habit.
“Clomp and prance,” Eve said and got a puzzled look from Banner. “Peabody and McNab.”
“Well, the magic elephant who carries the wide dish of the planet on its massive back moves ponderously on its daily trek around the sun.” “Oh, bite me.” But the image he’d painted made as much sense to her as the scientific one. She decided to give her detectives another thirty minutes in the rack.
“Son of a bitch,” he said for a third time, and met her eyes. His ears had gone faintly pink. “’Preciate it.” “Sure.” He bent to gather up his old coat, the box, and looked at her again. “Really appreciate it.” “Really sure.”
Reo, blond hair springing in all directions, baby blues shadowed, gave Eve a smirk. “I caught Judge Hayden watching Any-Time Sports on screen. He was awake and amenable. Warrant’s coming through.” “Good, quick work. Go back to bed.” “I never got out.”
“They won’t let me sleep. The dead won’t let me sleep. How can I? They keep asking me that. How can I sleep?” “It’s you who asks it, darling Eve. Not the dead.” He hoped to soothe her under again, stroked her back. “Death brings knowledge, to my thinking. Of all that couldn’t be known in life. So the dead know what you do, what you give.”
Sensing Peabody’s distress, Roarke crossed over, kissed her cheek. “I screwed up,” she said. “Did I say you screwed up?” Eve snapped it out this time. “You’ll know when you’ve screwed up because my boot will be up your ass.
“There has to be a way to widen this room,” Whitney commented. “I can find it in the budget.” “If it was bigger more people would come into it. Respectfully, sir,” Eve added as she programmed coffee.
“Whatever came before, whatever comes after, I know what love is because of you.”
“Whatever came before, whatever comes after, it’s you who’ve shown me love changes everything. Lifts everything. Gives everything.”
