Purity in Death by Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb

Author:Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction:Detective
ISBN: 9781417712021
Publisher: Turtleback Books
Published: 2002-08-15T20:47:15+00:00

Chapter 12

Eve was a lot steadier walking into a bar that smelled of cop than she was hugging a pregnant woman.

You knew what to expect at a cop bar-good, greasy food, alcohol without the frills, and people who made you for what you were the minute you walked in the door.

The lights were low. Conversations didn't pause when she stepped inside, but she felt the subtle shifting of bodies. Then the flip back to business as usual when they recognized her as one of their own.

She spotted Dwier at the end of the bar, already half-done with his first glass of beer and the shallow black bowl of pretzels in front of him.

She walked down, slid onto a stool beside him. It was apparent he'd staked a claim on it as every other seat in the joint was occupied.

"Detective Sergeant Dwier." She held out a hand. "Lieutenant Dallas."

"Metcha," he said over his pretzels, then washed them down with a deep sip of beer.

"They spring you early from court?"

"Yeah. Supposed to get to me today. Didn't. Now I gotta give them more time tomorrow. Pricking lawyers."

"What's the case?"

"Assault with deadly and theft."

"Mugging?"

"Yeah. Guy mugs this suit coming out of a late meeting over on Lex. Gets his wrist piece, his wallet, wedding ring, and what all, then bashes him upside the head anyhow 'cause the guy asks him not to take the wedding ring. Got him cold hocking the wrist piece. Mope says, Oh hey, this? I found this on the street. Vic picks his face outta lineup, mope says, Mistaken identity. Got some bleeding heart PD who's trying to push that. Claiming the vic, seeing as he got his brains rattled, can't properly ID. Saying the wrist piece can't be directly tied to the crime as it's a common brand and style."

"How's it shaping up?"

"Shit." He popped more pretzels, chomped down. "Waste of my time and the tax dollar. Mope's got three priors. Figure they'd plead down if the PD wasn't so green and stupid. You drinking?"

"Yeah, I'll have a beer." She signaled the bartender by holding up two fingers. "I appreciate you taking the time here, Dwier."

"Don't mind wasting it over a beer. You read the files. Data's there."

"Sometimes the files miss impressions."

"You want my impression of Fitzhugh and George? They'd have to crawl up to reach scum level. Fitzhugh . . ." Dwier polished off the first beer. "Arrogant bastard. Never even broke a sweat when we hauled him in. Just sat there, smirking, hiding behind his high-dollar lawyers. Smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but you could see it in his eyes. He sat there thinking, You cops can't touch me. Turned out he was right."

"You talked to the vics, to their parents?"

"Yeah." He blew out a breath. "It was tough. Sex crimes are always dicey, but when it's minors . . . You know how it is?"

"Yeah." She'd been a minor. And when she'd been in that hospital bed, broken, she'd read in the eyes of the cop who'd tried to talk to her what she was reading in Dwier's now.

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