Page 99 of Fury In Death

“And if I can prove to him whoever’s left on his list will pay?”

“Unless there’s enough of him left of who he was before all this? I don’t know that it will matter.”

No, Eve thought as she left, neither did she. Mira always made her think. And now she thought: Duty.

She’d aimed toward revenge, fury, yes, the determination, but focus. She hadn’t, however, equated the murders with duty.

Now she would.

She turned into Homicide, squinted to protect her corneas from the tie. Flaming red today with jagged explosions of blinding white and screaming yellow.

“It’s a storm,” Jenkinson told her. “On Mars.”

“Whoever designs those ties needs to take their medication.”

“I figure they’re self-medicating already. Must be some good shit. Peabody just took a guy down to the lounge, said to let you know. Came in on his own. One of the friends of your suspect.”

Eve turned on her heel, kept moving fast.

She saw Peabody at a table with a man, mid-forties, mixed race, linebacker’s build. He had his big hands around Vending coffee Peabody had likely warned him about.

He had his head down, talking softly while Peabody wore her sympathetic look.

“Mitch, this is my partner, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Mitchell Rosenthal, linebacker, solid, now assistant coach, New York Giants,” Eve said as she sat. “You had a damn good run on the field. Now the Giants are having a pretty good year.”

He managed a weak smile that didn’t quite meet his pale blue eyes. “We’re doing okay. I got word you were talking to people about Steve.”

“You’re friends.”

“Yeah. Didn’t start off that way. We’re from the same neighborhood, didn’t always get along. Then, um, my father died. He walked into a liquor store to buy a bottle of wine. My parents’ anniversary, and he walked into a robbery. He tried to help, and he died trying. Messed me up, and I got in some trouble. Or would have. Steve got me out of it. He never said a word about it to anyone. After that, we got to be friends.”

Loyalty, Eve thought. A debt for a debt.

“He came to you when he left the health center six years ago.”

“I couldn’t believe it when he showed up at my door. I’d been to see him, plenty, and he’d just lie there, or sit if they had him sitting. Then here he is. I grabbed him, like holy shit, you know? He said he needed my help, and I had to swear not to tell anyone.”

Mitch drank some coffee, took a moment.

“I was like, ‘Come on, man. Your parents, your sister, they’re going to be crazy happy.’ But he said I had to swear, right then, right there, or he’d leave and that would be that.”

“So you swore.”

“I gave him my word. Look, I knew what he’d been through, and he’d been there for me when I needed. I knew Ari, and that little boy? God, that kid was just terrific. I’ve got one of my own now, and if anything happened to her . . . I guess I’d lose my mind, like Steve did. So I gave him my word.”

“What else did you give him?”

“A place to stay for a couple of nights. I got him some clothes. Bought them. Anything I had wouldn’t fit. He said he needed to go away. He couldn’t stay in New York, he couldn’t be with his family and didn’t want them to know. I was afraid he meant to go somewhere, kill himself. But he said he wouldn’t, and since he wanted the clothes, I believed him. And he asked me for a loan. I’d’ve given him money, but he insisted it had to be a loan for him to take it.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand. I couldn’t talk him out of leaving, couldn’t talk him out of not telling his family, his friends, anybody. He said he’d be back one day, when he was ready.”

“And you told no one?”

“No one. I gave him my word. A couple of months ago, long after I figured he wasn’t coming back, and it was better, after all, not to tell anyone anyway, and I go out to get in my car, drive into work. And there on the seat—right on the seat, door’s locked—is an envelope. Ten thousand in it, with a note thanking me for the loan, and asking me to keep my word awhile longer.”