"Robb, J D - In Death 12 - Judgment In Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

"Okay, I'm pissed that you're here at all. I'll get over it. When's the
last time you were in here?"
"Months. It ran well and didn't need my direct attention."
"Who manages it for you?"
"Rue MacLean. I'll get her information to you as well."
"Sooner than later. Do you want to go through the place now?"
"No point in it until I've refreshed myself on how it was. I'll want to
be let back in once I've done that."
"I'll take care of it. Yes, Peabody?" she said, turning as her aide
inched forward and cleared her throat.
"Sorry, sir, but I thought you'd want to know I reached the victim's
squad captain. They're sending a member of his unit and a counselor to inform
next of kin. They need to know if they should wait for you or see the wife
alone."
"Tell them to wait. We'll head over now and meet them. I have to go," she
said to Roarke.
"I don't envy you your job, Lieutenant." Because he needed it, he took
her hand, linked their fingers firmly. "But I'll let you get back to it. I'll
have the information you wanted to you as soon as I can."
"Roarke?" she called as he started for the door. "I'm sorry about your
place."
"Wood and glass. There's plenty more," he replied as he looked at her
over his shoulder.
"He doesn't mean it," Eve murmured when he'd shut the door behind him.
"Sir?"
"They messed with him. He won't let it go." Eve heaved out a breath.
"Come on, Peabody, let's go see the wife and get this particular hell over
with."
-=O=-***-=O=-
The Kohlis lived in a decent, mid-level building on the East Side. The
kind of place, Eve mused, where you found young families and older retired
couples. Not hip enough for the single crowd, not cheap enough for the
struggling.
It was a simple multi-unit, pleasantly if not elegantly rehabbed post-
Urban Wars.
Door security was a basic code entry.
Eve spotted the cops before she'd double-parked and flipped her On Duty
light to active.
The woman was well turned out, with gilt-edged hair that curved up to her
cheeks in two stiletto points. She wore sun shades and an inexpensive business
suit in navy. The shoes with their thin, two-inch heels told Eve she worked a
desk.
Brass. Eve was sure of it.
The man had good shoulders and a bit of pudge at the middle. He'd let his
hair go gray, and there was a lot of it. Currently, it was dancing in the breeze
around his quiet, composed face. He wore cop shoes -- hard-soled and buffed to a
gleam. His suit jacket was a little small in the body and starting to fray at
the cuffs.
A long-timer, Eve judged, who'd moved from beat to street to desk.
"Lieutenant Dallas." The woman stepped forward but didn't offer her hand