Page 25 of Fury In Death

Louise stared a moment, gray eyes filled with compassion. “Do you know why?”

“Not yet. He worked for Banner-Wyst. What do you know about them?”

“They do good work. We stock some of their serums and vaccines here at the clinic. They’re pricey, too pricey, in my opinion, but we applied for and were granted a break on that. Was he killed at work? He was . . . research? Lab work?”

“At home. Can you give me a sense of how Bradley felt about his father?”

“He loved him, I know that. He was grateful his parents supported him through medical school, and didn’t push him toward private practice. I’m so sorry to hear this. I’d like to contact him. Is there a problem with that?”

“No. I won’t keep you. If you think of anything, if anything strikes you, tag me back.”

“I will. I’ll see you at the party. God, poor Brad. He’s a good doctor, Dallas. We’re lucky he gives the clinic some of his time.”

“Okay. Wait. The brother. Do you know the brother?”

“Again, I’ve met him. I know they’re tight, and he seems like a good guy. I can and will tell Brad to trust you and Peabody to do everything you can to find whoever did this.”

“Appreciate that, and we will. Thanks.”

It wasn’t family, Eve thought again. That just didn’t click. She needed to talk to the younger brother. And she needed to talk to the houseman.

People who worked in your home, cooked meals, changed your sheets, they knew things about you, had impressions.

But first, she thought as she neared the morgue, Morris.

The dead spoke to Morris, she knew. Just as they spoke to her.

Chapter Four

It always smelled of lemons soaked in bleach. The lights always burned bright, bouncing off the hard white tiles.

Eve didn’t want to think how many times she’d walked down the echoing tunnel of the morgue since she’d first picked up a badge. How many bodies she’d stood over.

Lawrence Chu wouldn’t be the first to end up on a slab after a vicious beating, but in her years as a cop, she had to rank him as one of the worst.

She’d walked halfway to Morris’s doors when she heard the echoing clomp. Peabody, she thought, and she’d gone with the cowgirl boots today. Pink, of course, which Eve had to admit was her own fault, as she’d, on a strange whim, bought them for her partner.

She stopped, waited until Peabody turned the curve in the tunnel.

Yes on the boots, then there was the red-streaked dark hair bouncing in a tail—the look Peabody had adopted. At least in the area between the boots and the hair she looked cop-like enough with gray trousers, a white shirt, and a jacket in tiny checks of two tones of the gray. With the pop of dark red buttons.

She’d probably made the jacket herself, something beyond Eve’s comprehension.

“I have to say,” Peabody called out, “holy cow.”

“Why would you say that?” Eve demanded, because she’d instantly gotten an image of a herd of cows, standing on hind legs with halos glowing. “Cows aren’t holy.”

“Alternative to holy shit. Bella came over this morning to say hi. The victim, I mean jeez, he didn’t have much of a face left.”

Peabody caught up, blew out a breath. “I’d’ve come back uptown. It had to be a lot to handle.”

“Roarke stood in for you, and McNab.”

“Yeah, I got that from the report. You put in some serious overtime.”

“The dead don’t keep regular hours.”

“I hear that.”