Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,114
down, the pair of you. You don’t care for the whiskey, Eve. I have some very nice wine.”
“I’m on duty,” she began. Then sat, then sighed. “Screw it, I’m really not. I’d like a glass of wine, thanks.”
“Put this on that bruise then, and I’ll get you some.” Sinead passed Eve an ice pack, turned to Roarke. “Such a pretty face,” she said, cupping his chin in her hand. “Even now, a pretty face. Your mother would be proud of you, my own, as I am.”
She drew him to her, gently, kissed the top of his head. “Of both of you,” she told Eve. “It takes a strong woman to stand back and let her man do what she wants to do herself. Don’t think I didn’t see it, and understand it.
“Now.” She walked over to get the wine. “Let’s get our Eve a glass, and clean up that pretty face.”
Just then Aidan opened the back door. “They said they need someplace, right and tight, to keep that bastard until they can fix him up and move him out.”
“Take him to the root cellar. I won’t have the likes of him in my kitchen.”
Eve sipped the wine, sighed again. “It takes a strong woman to stand her ground when a bunch of cops try to move her aside. You’re unshakable, Sinead. I see where Roarke gets it.”
Smiling, Sinead wrung out a cloth from the bowl on the table. “Nothing you could say at this moment pleases me more.”
Abernathy came in. “I beg your pardon.”
“No, you’re welcome. There’s whiskey and glasses right there on the counter if you wouldn’t mind pouring your own while I clean my boy up.”
“Thank you, very much.” He poured a generous three fingers. Downed half of it. “The prisoner’s being secured in the root cellar. Your niece—cousin—I’m sorry, it’s confusing. In any case, she’s just arrived and will see to Cobbe’s medical needs. We have my agents and your Detective Jenkinson, and Mr. Podock—who was very insistent—guarding him.”
He sipped whiskey again, more slowly. “Lieutenant, I owe you.”
“I did my job.”
“You did, and with the fine officers of the NYPSD, including your civilian consultant, and madam, this family, have aided in Cobbe’s capture. Within days of being assigned to the investigation of Galla Modesto’s murder.
“With that in mind,” he continued, “I’d like to offer you the first—limited—interview with the subject at this time.”
“No shit?”
“Not in the least. It will, of course, be recorded, and I need your word there will be no physical contact.”
Eve sat back. “Do you want a confession out of him?”
“It’s not necessary, but as you know, it’s the icing on the cake.”
“My consultant comes into the interview with me.”
“I don’t see how that’s—”
“You want a confession?” She jerked a thumb at Roarke. “He’s the key.”
Abernathy downed the last of the whiskey. “Bloody hell. We’ve gone this far. Once the medic clears him, you have thirty minutes.”
Eve looked at Roarke, smiled ferociously. “That’ll do it.”
Epilogue
Outside the root cellar, Eve stood in the damp air.
“It’s my lead,” she told Roarke. “When I pass it to you, you run with it, but it’s my lead.”
“I’ve seen you work in the box often enough to know how it’s done.” He wore his own clothes again, and a black eye, a sunburst bruise on his jaw.
His ribs were killing him. And he found a dark satisfaction in the pain.
“I want to say I got what I needed out there, so if you’d rather Peabody or—”
“I’m not the hammer.” Peabody, sans apron, shook her head. “You are. The way he fought you? He’s probably better at it than that, but he couldn’t control it. He won’t control it down there, either.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“I’m going back to the kitchen. You guys are going to miss out on all the food. Man, these people can put on a spread, and put it on fast. Go nail his sorry ass.”
“Well then.” Roarke rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go nail his sorry ass.”
They walked down into the dank. The light was dim, but strong enough to show Cobbe’s face wasn’t close to pretty.
Broken nose. Eve checked off the list. Split lip, two black eyes, and Roarke’s sunburst looked like a guttering star in comparison with the black, blue, and purple over Cobbe’s face.
The medic had dealt with it—reported three cracked ribs, now strapped for healing, had closed the numerous cuts.
Like Roarke’s, his knuckles were scraped raw and swollen. But there, Eve saw with satisfaction, Roarke had him beat.