They got out, wound their way through the pack of tourists, lunchers, messengers, and the street thieves who loved them, and plopped down on a bench in the plaza with the ice rink at their backs.

Peabody divided the tower of napkins and handed Eve her half of the sandwich. And they got down to the serious business of eating.

Eve couldn't remember the last time she'd taken an actual lunch break, one where she'd had what passed for real food somewhere other than at her desk or in the car.

It was noisy and crowded, and the temperature was deciding whether it would settle for really warm or inch up all the way to hot.

Sun lasered off the glass fronts of shops and a vender putting along on a mini glide-cart sang some soaring aria from an Italian opera.

"La Traviata." Peabody let out a gusty sigh. "I've been to the opera some with Charles. He really gets off on it. Mostly it's okay, but it sounds better out here. This is the best part of New York. Being able to sit out here and eat this really superior meatball sandwich on a summer afternoon and see all these different kinds of people while some guy hawks soy dogs and sings in Italian."

"Um" was the best Eve could manage with a full mouth as she managed to save her shirt from a wayward gush of sauce.

"Sometimes you forget to look around and notice and appreciate it.

You know, the diversity and all. When I first moved here I did a lot of walking and gawking, but that wears off. How long have you been here? In the city?"

"I don't know." Frowning, Eve sucked in another bite. She'd bolted out of foster care, out of the system the second she'd been of legal age. And straight into the Academy, into another section of the system. "About twelve, thirteen years, I guess."

"Long time. You forget to notice stuff."

"Uh-huh." Eve kept eating, but her attention was on a clutch of tourists and the slick-looking airskater who dogged them. He made the snatch clean, dipping skilled fingers into two back pockets without breaking rhythm. The wallets vanished as he did a fancy turn and veered away.

Eve merely shot out her leg, catching his shins and sending him into a short but graceful swan dive. When he rolled, she pressed a booted foot to his throat. She munched on her sandwich until his vision cleared, then waved her badge in front of him and jerked a thumb at the uniformed Peabody.

"You know, ace, I can't figure if you're stupid or cocky, lifting wallets with a couple of cops in the audience. Peabody, you want to confiscate the contents of this moron's pockets?"

"Yes, sir." She hustled up, went through the half-dozen pockets and slits in the baggy trousers, the three in the loose shirt, and came up with ten wallets.

"The two you got out of the right knee slit belong to them." She gestured toward the happily unaware tourists who were taking holo- shots of each other. "Brown-haired guy with sunshades, blonde guy with the Strikers ballcap. Why don't you save them some shock and dismay and return them before you call in a beat cop to deal with the rest."

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant, I never saw the move."

Eve licked sauce off her fingers. "We all notice different kinds of stuff, Peabody."

As her aide rushed off, the street thief decided to try his luck. But as he started to scramble up, Eve bore down, closing off his windpipe for ten warning seconds. "Ah, ah, ah." She wagged a finger at him and polished off her tube of Pepsi.

"Cut me a break, why doncha?"

"What, like go and sin no more? I look like a priest to you?"

"Goddamn cop."

"That's right." She heard the amazed tourists take back their property with babbling thanks. "I'm a goddamn cop. Nice day, isn't it?"

"I'll drive back," Eve said when that little bit of lunch-time business was finished. "I'd like to get to Central before my retirement kicks in." She read her wrist unit. "And you're going to have to get moving if you're going to pick up Maureen Stibbs and bring her in for Interview."

"I thought I'd put that off a day or two."

Eve glanced over as she slid behind the wheel. "You said you were ready."

"I am. But, well... You're really busy right now, and not a hundred percent yet. I need you to observe in case I run into trouble. It can wait until you're up for it."

"I'm up for it today, so don't use me as an excuse." Peabody's stomach jittered. "If you're sure."

"You're the one who has to be sure. If you are, tag Trueheart. Two uniforms are more intimidating than one on a pickup. Fill him in, and have him go with you, then have him stand post inside the door in the interview room. He should say as little as possible, and look grim. As much as Trueheart can look grim. Snag a black-and-white for transpo. Use my authorization."

"Should I drive or should he?"

"Let him. Tell him he should give her the occasional blank stare in the rearview. You do all the talking. Try to keep her from lawyering up too fast. You've just got a few questions, need to clear a few things up. You know she wants to cooperate as she was the victim's friend, and this procedure may bring her husband some closure.

Blah, blah. Get her in, then start playing her."

"I just need one favor. If I start to lose her, if I start to go wrong, will you step in?" "Peabody-"

"I'd just feel better about it, more confident, if I knew I had a net."

"Okay. You take a tumble, I'll catch you."

"Thanks." Peabody took out her communicator to signal Trueheart and fill him in on the assignment.

Eve went straight into a 'link conference with the primary in charge of the Denver homicide. Detective Green was seasoned and irritable. Eve liked him immediately.

"Got a shit load of latents off the rooms. Coupla housekeepers, maintenance guy who dinked with the entertainment system after a complaint from the last tenants. Last tenants ID'd as Joshua and Rena Hathaway out of Cincinnati. Had the rooms for three days, checking out the day our girl checked in. They're clean. Got the vic's-just in the living area on him-coffee table, knife and fork, cup and saucer, juice glass. And we got Julianna Dunne's every- fucking-where."

He paused, slurped some coffee. "Got her visually ID'd from hotel discs, from the bellman and lobby staff. We're running hair outta the bathroom traps for DNA, just to sew her up."

"Sewing her up isn't the problem. It's bagging her first. Have you contacted Federal yet?" Green shifted, snorted, slurped. "Don't see there's any fucking hurry for the Feebs."

"You're playing my song. That's a lot of latents to sort through, Detective. Seems to me it might take some time to clear out all the excess and pinpoint Dunne."

"Might. And shit has a habit of getting misplaced around here. Could be misplaced forty-eight hours anyway. Could be seventy-two if we have, say, a little equipment problem. Especially if I were pursuing other leads."

"There's a lot of data on her through IRCCA, but I've got more.

Stretch that time frame out some, and I'll send you everything, including my personal notes."

"It so happens I'm a slow reader. And you know how you want to make sure you got everything in a nice package with a bow before you go and bother those busy Feebies with pesky stuff like murders.

When I get to the point I have to make that call, I'll contact you first and give you some lead time."

"Appreciate it."

"Campbell was one of the good ones. The genuine article. You bag her, Lieutenant, and you can count on Denver to help you sew her up so she can't ooze her way out again."

When she'd completed transmitting the data to Green, Eve pushed away from her desk, walked to her window. She focused on the window in the building across the street.

Hours of disc time, Julianna had said. So you watched me, Eve mused, but you didn't see. Not what you thought you saw. Sisters, my butt. The only bond between us is murder.

Notching a hip on the narrow sill, she let her mind clear and empty as she watched the fretful air traffic. An ad blimp crept by hyping rental condos on the Jersey shore.

She'd gone to the Jersey shore once with Mavis for a very strange, very drunk weekend. Mavis had reminisced sentimentally about working the boardwalk one summer, scoping for marks, running cons. Just a couple of years before Eve had busted her for doing the same on Broadway.

That was a bond, Eve thought. If she had any sort of sister, it was Mavis.

Mavis changed her appearance more often than the average teenage boy changed his underwear. Julianna was doing the same now, but not for the fashion statement.

Or maybe that was part of it. It was that female exploration-one that had always baffled Eve-to re-invent oneself, to experiment with new looks. To attract someone? Maybe, maybe, she mused as she pushed away to pace. But there had to be more, something satisfying to self first. A person would look in the mirror and find themselves new, fresh, different.