"Robb, J D - In Death 10 - Loyalty in Death (1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

Obligingly, Lisbeth swallowed the last of the claret, then set the glass aside.
"I'll just get my coat."
Peabody shook her head as Lisbeth tossed a full-length black mink over her
bloody silks and swept out between two uniforms with all the panache of a woman
heading out to the next heady social engagement.
"Man, it takes all kinds. She drills the guy, then hands us the case on a
platter."
Eve shrugged into her leather jacket, picked up her field kit. Thoughtfully, she
used solvent to clean the blood and Seal-It from her hands. The sweepers would
finish up, then secure the scene. "We'll never get her on murder one. That's
just what it was, but I'll lay odds it's pleaded down to manslaughter within
forty-eight hours."
"Manslaughter?" Genuinely shocked, Peabody gaped at Eve as they stepped into the
tiled elevator for the trip down to the lobby level. "Come on, Dallas. No way."

"Here's the way." Eve looked into Peabody's dark, earnest eyes, studied her
square, no-nonsense face under its bowl-cut hair and police-issue hat. And was
nearly sorry to cut into that unswerving belief in the system. "If the drill
proves to be the victim's, she didn't bring a weapon with her. That cuts down on
premeditation. Pride's got her now, and a good dose of mad, but after a few
hours in a cell, if not before, survival instinct will kick in, and she'll
lawyer up. She's smart, so she'll lawyer smart."
"Yeah, but we've got intent. We've got malice. She just made a statement for the
record."
That was the book. As much as Eve believed in the book, she knew the pages often
became blurred. "And she doesn't have to renege on it, just embellish it. They
argued. She was devastated, upset. Maybe he threatened her. In a moment of
passion -- or possibly fear -- she grabbed the drill."
Eve stepped off the elevator, crossed the wide lobby with its pink marble
columns and glossy ornamental trees. "Temporary diminished capacity," she
continued. "Possibly an argument for self-defense, though it's bullshit. But
Branson was about six-two, two-twenty, and she's five-four, maybe one-fifteen.
They could make that work. Then, in shock, she contacts the police immediately.
She doesn't attempt to run or to deny what she did. She takes responsibility,
which would earn points with a jury if it comes down to it. The PA knows that,
so he'll plead it down."
"That really bites."
"She'll do time," Eve said as they stepped outside into a cold as bitter as the
scorned lover now in custody. "She'll lose her job, spend a hefty chunk of
credits on her lawyer. You take what you can get."
Peabody glanced over at the morgue wagon. "This one should be so easy."
"Lots of times the easy ones have the most angles." Eve smiled a little as she
opened the door of her vehicle. "Cheer up, Peabody. We'll close the case, and
she won't walk. Sometimes that's as good as it gets."
"It wasn't like she loved him." At Eve's arched brow, Peabody shrugged. "You
could tell. She was just pissed because he'd screwed around on her."
"Yeah, so she screwed him -- literally. So remember, loyalty counts." The car
'link beeped just as she started the engine. "Dallas."
"Hey, Dallas, hey. It's Ratso."
Eve looked at the ferret face and beady blue eyes onscreen. "I'd never have