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

guessed."
He gave the wheezy inhale that passed for a laugh. "Yeah, right. Yeah. So
listen, Dallas, I got something for you. How 'bout you meet me and we'll deal.
Okay? Right?"
"I'm heading into Central. I've got business. And my shift's over ten minutes
ago, so -- "
"I got something for you. Good data. Worth something."
"Yeah, that's what you always say. Don't waste my time, Ratso."
"It's good shit." The blue eyes skittered like marbles in his skinny face. "I
can be at The Brew in ten."
"I'll give you five minutes, Ratso. Practice being coherent."
She broke the connection, swung away from the curb, and headed downtown.
"I remember him from your files," Peabody commented. "One of your weasels."
"Yeah, and he just did ninety days on a D and D. I got the indecent exposure
tossed. Ratso likes to flaunt his personality when he's piss-faced. He's
harmless," Eve added. "Mostly full of wind, but every now and again, he comes up
with some solid data. The Brew's on the way, and Cooke can hold for a bit. Run
the serial number on the murder weapon. Let's verify if it belonged to the
victim. Then find the next of kin. I'll notify them once Cooke's booked."
The night was clear and cold with a stiff wind snapping down the urban canyons
and chasing most of the foot traffic indoors. The glide-cart vendors held out,
shivering in the steam and stink of grilling soy dogs, hoping for a few hungry
souls hearty enough to brave February's teeth.
The winter of 2059 had been brutally cold, and profits were down.
They left the swank Upper East Side neighborhood with its clear, unbroken
sidewalks and uniformed doormen and headed south and west where the streets went
narrow and noisy and the natives moved fast, their eyes on the ground and their
fists over their wallets.
Smashed against curbs, the remnants of the last snowfall was soot gray and ugly.
Nasty patches of ice still slicked sidewalks and lay in wait for the unwary.
Overhead, a billboard swam with a warm blue sea hemmed by sugar-white sand. The
busty blonde frolicking in the waves wore little more than a tan and invited New
York to come to the islands and play.
Eve entertained herself with thoughts of a couple of days in Roarke's island
getaway. Sun, sand, and sex, she mused as she negotiated bad-tempered evening
traffic. Her husband would be happy to provide all three, and she was nearly
ready to suggest it. Another week or two maybe, she decided. After she cleared
up some paperwork, finished some court appearances, tied a couple of dangling
loose ends.
And, she admitted, felt a little more secure about being away from the job.
She'd lost her badge and had nearly lost her way too recently for the sting to
have faded. Now that she had both back, she wasn't quite ready to set duty aside
for a quick bout of indulgence.
By the time she found a parking space on the second-level street ramp near The
Brew, Peabody had the requested data. "According to the serial numbers, the
murder weapon belonged to the victim."
"Then we start off with murder in the second," Eve said as they trooped down to
the street. "The PA won't waste time trying to prove premeditation."
"But you think she went there to kill him."
"Oh yeah." Eve crossed the sidewalk toward the murky lights of an animated beer