"Riggs?" She mouthed it slowly, then offered her badge when he nodded. At his polite yet baffled look, she gestured toward the break room.

He didn't look pleased, but he crossed the hangar quickly, coded in at the door, then yanked it open. The minute he was inside he pulled tiny protectors out of his ears, tossed them in a container.

"That's my shuttle. I've got to put it through its safety tests in twenty minutes. I've got a run."

Eve pulled off her own protectors. She hadn't heard a word he'd said, but she got the point. He lifted his brow at the condition of her face.

"Run into a door, Lieutenant?"

"I was just waiting for that one."

"Looks painful. So. What's the problem?"

"You had a private shuttle run last night, to Denver, return this morning. Juliet Darcy." "I can verify the trip, but I can't discuss clients. That's a privacy issue."

"You don't want to go all regulation on me here, Riggs, or you're not going to make your next run." "Look, lady-"

"I'm not a lady, I'm a cop. And this is a police investigation. Your client went to Denver last night, ordered herself a nice late supper from room service, probably got a good night's sleep. This morning she killed a man named Spencer Campbell in her hotel room, took a cab back to the airport, hopped on your shuttle at which time you returned her to New York."

"She-she killed somebody? Ms. Darcy? You can't be serious."

"You want to see how serious I am? We can take this down to Central."

"But she... I want to sit down." He did so, dropping into a wide black chair. "I think you must have the wrong woman. Ms. Darcy was charming and refined. She was just in Denver overnight to attend a charity function."

Eve held out a hand. Peabody slapped a photo into it. "Is this the woman you know as Juliet Darcy?"

It was a still taken from the disc found in Daily Enterprises and one that matched the image sent by hotel security. "Yes, that's... Jesus Christ." He took off his cap, raked his fingers through his hair. "This shakes you up."

"I'm sure Spencer Campbell feels the same way." Eve took a seat.

"Tell me about the trip."

Once he'd decided to cooperate, she couldn't have stopped him with a laser blast. He paged the flight attendant to fill in any blanks and as a result Eve was given a full account of the round trip.

"She was extremely polite." Riggs downed his second cup of coffee.

"But friendly. I'd noted by the log that she'd insisted on being a solo.

No other passengers coming or going. When she boarded, I thought she looked like someone famous. We get a lot of celebs, and minor celebs, who insist on solos but who don't want the trouble and expense of housing and maintaining a private transpo."

"I didn't think she was friendly." The attendant, Lydia, sipped bottled water. She was already dressed for her flight, perfectly groomed in a navy jumpsuit with a military touch of gold braid.

"What did you think she was?" Eve countered.

"A snob. Not that she wasn't pleasant, but it was a veneer. There was a tone, mistress to servant, when she spoke to me. We offer caviar and champagne along with a fruit and cheese plate to our premier level passengers. She was a little put out by the brand of champagne. She said we could never hope to overtake Platinum or Five-Star in the ratings if we didn't upgrade our service."

"Did she make or receive any transmissions during the flight?"

"No. She did some work on her personal, turned it over so I couldn't see the screen-like I cared-when I came back into the cabin to offer her coffee before landing. She called me by name every time she spoke to me. Lydia, this, Lydia that. The way people do when they want you to think they're warm and friendly but that comes off as insulting somehow."

"She seemed perfectly pleasant to me," Riggs cut in.

"You're a man." Lydia managed to make the comment soothing and withering. And Eve decided she must be aces at her job. "How about the return this morning. What was her mood?"

"Really up. Happy, sunny, relaxed. I figured she got laid the night before." "Lydia!"

"Oh, Mason, you know you thought the same. She took the full breakfast: eggs Benedict, croissant, marmalade, berries, coffee. Ate like an athlete, and washed it down with two mimosas. Selected the classical music, and kept her privacy light on. I had the screen on the morning media reports, but she ordered it off. A little snippy on that, too. I guess we know why now. That poor man."

"When she got off the shuttle, did she have ground transpo waiting?"

"She went into the terminal. Struck me funny at the time." Lydia shook her head. "Somebody snobby like that usually has a car waiting in the private transpo area. But she went inside."

And through the terminal, Eve thought, where she could go back out and catch any number of transportation options. Cab, bus, tram, private car, even the goddamn subway. And in effect, disappear.

"Thanks. If you remember anything else, contact me at Cop Central."

"I hope you get her." Lydia gave Eve a sympathetic look as she scanned her face. "Does that hurt?"

Outside again, Eve rubbed her aching neck. "We'll head back to Central, see what the Denver cops have sniffed out. Once it's verified it was Dunne, and we're multistate homicides, this is going to turn federal."

"We can't let them take this over."

"I wish I could say I'd hand it to them on a platter if they could scoop her up, but I'd be lying. I want her." She let out a long breath.

"I'm counting on Denver being willing to stall on the identification for a few days."

Eve fished the sunshades out of her pocket, put them on. Immediately felt better. "Why don't you drive, Peabody? I want to catch a nap."

Lips twitching, Peabody slid behind the wheel. "Yeah, why don't I?"

"Is that smug I see on your face?"

"Damn." Peabody dabbed at her cheek. "I thought I'd got all that off."

"Swing by a deli on the way. I want a meatball sandwich." Eve kicked the seat back, shut her eyes, and dropped straight into sleep.

Meat was not the operative word in meatball sandwich. It consisted of a couple of hunks of tough bread softened up by an ocean of rusty red sauce and between which swam a trio of ball-like substances, which where, perhaps, some distant cousin to the meat family. To disguise this very loose connection, they were coated with a stringy cheese substitute and spiced so generously they set the average mouth on fire, and successfully cleared the sinuses.

They were both disgusting and delicious. The smell woke Eve out of a dead sleep.

"I got the jumbo and had them cut it in half." Peabody was already driving away from the deli in the steady, cautious manner that normally drove Eve insane. "Figured you for a tube of Pepsi this time of day."

"What? Yeah." Her mind was dull as chamber music. "Jeez. How long was I out?"

"About twenty, but you were at rock bottom. I kept waiting for you to snore, but you sleep like a corpse. Got some color back though."

"It's the fumes from the meatballs." Eve broke open the tube, took a huge glug of Pepsi before taking mental inventory. The headache had backed off, and so had the vague other-worldly feeling that had been creeping up on her. "Where are you heading, Peabody, and what century will we be in when we get there at this snail's pace?"

"I'm simply obeying the city traffic laws while showing courtesy and respect for my fellow drivers. But I'm glad you're feeling better, and I figured since we're in midtown and it's a nice day, we could eat these outside at Rockefeller Plaza. Fuel up, sneer at the tourists, and grab some rays."

It didn't sound half-bad. "No shopping of any kind."

"The thought never crossed my mind. For more than a minute."

Peabody eased down the pedestrian walkway off Fiftieth, slid the front wheel onto the curb, parked, and flipped up the on duty sign.

"What was that about obeying city traffic laws?"

"That's driving, this is parking. No point in being obsessive about it."