“Detectives eat less often than aides.”

“I never heard that. You’re just saying that to scare me.” She trotted on her increasingly uncomfortable shoes after Eve. “Right?”

Maid In New York was a pared-down, storefront operation that put all its focus and frills into the services. This was explained to Eve with some snippiness by the personnel manager, who reigned in an office even smaller and stingier than Eve’s at Central.

“We keep the overhead to a minimum,” Ms. Tesky of the sensible bun and shoes informed Eve. “Our clients aren’t interested in our offices-and rarely come here in any case-but are concerned about their own offices and homes.”

“I can see why,” Eve observed, and Tesky’s nostrils pinched. It was sort of interesting to watch.

“Our employees are the product, and all are strictly and comprehensively interviewed, tested, screened, trained and must meet the highest of standards in personal appearance, demeanor and skill. Our clients are also screened, to ensure our employees’ safety.”

“I just bet they are.”

“We provide residential and business housekeeping services, in teams, pairs or individually. We use human and droid personnel. We service all of greater New York and New Jersey and will, upon request, arrange for maids to travel with a client who requires or desires approved out-of-town, out-of-country and even off-planet services.”

“Right.” She wondered how many of the maids were also licensed companions, but it didn’t really apply. “I’m interested in the employee or employees who handled Samantha Gannon’s residence.”

“I see. Do you have a warrant? I consider our personnel and client files confidential.”

“I bet you do. I could get a warrant. A little time, a little trouble, but I could get a warrant. But because you made me take that time and that trouble when I’m investigating a murder-a really nasty, messy murder, by the way, that’s going to take a whole slew of your mighty maids to tidy up-I’m going to wonder why you slowed me down. I’m going to ask myself, Hey, I wonder what Ms. Testy-”

“Tes-ky.”

“Right. What she has to hide. I have a suspicious mind, that’s why I got to be a lieutenant. So when I get that warrant, and I start wondering those things, I’m going to dig, and I’m going to keep digging, getting my suspicious little finger smears all over your nice tidy files. We’ll just have to give INS a heads-up so they can breeze in here and make another big mess, making sure you didn’t miss any illegals in all that testing and screening.”

The nostrils pinched again, even as a thin breath hooted up them. “Your implication is insulting.”

“People keep saying that to me. The fact that I’m innately suspicious and insulting means I’ll probably make a bigger mess than those anal-retentives in INS. Won’t I, Detective Peabody?”

“As someone who’s cleaned up after you before, sir, I can verify that you will, absolutely, make a bigger mess than anyone. You’ll also find something-you always do-that will certainly inconvenience Ms. Tesky and her employer.”

“What do they call that? Tit for tat?”

Throughout Eve’s recital, Ms. Tesky had turned several interesting colors. She appeared to have settled on fuchsia. “You can’t threaten me.”

“Threaten? Golly, Peabody, insult, sure, but did I threaten anyone?”

“No, Lieutenant. You’re just making conversation, in your own unique style.”

“That’s what I thought. Just making conversation. So, let’s arrange for that warrant, shall we? And since we’re taking the time and trouble, let’s make it for the financials, and civil and criminal cases or suits brought, as well as those personnel files.”

“I find you very disagreeable.”

“There you go,” Eve said with an easy smile. “Tit for tat one more time.”

Tesky spun her chair around to her desk unit, coded in.

“Ms. Gannon’s residence is on a twice-monthly schedule, with quarterly extended services, and priority for emergency calls and entertainment requests. She was due for her regular service yesterday.”

Several more frown lines dug into Tesky’s forehead. “Her maid failed to confirm completed service. That’s simply unacceptable.”

“Who’s the maid?”

“Tina Cobb. She’s seen to the Gannon residence for the last eight months.”

“Can you check on there if she’s missed any other jobs recently?”

“One moment.” She called up another program. “All Cobb’s jobs were completed and confirmed through Saturday. She had Sunday off. No confirmation of the Gannon residence yesterday. There’s a flag by her name today, which means the client notified us she didn’t report for work. Scheduling had to replace her.”

Ms. Tesky did what Eve assumed anyone named Tesky would. She tsked.

“Give me her home address.”

Tina Cobb lived in one of the post-Urban Wars boxes that edged the Bowery. They’d been a temporary fix when buildings had been burned or bombed. The temporary fix had lasted more than a generation. Lewd, creative and often ungrammatical graffiti swirled over the pitted, reconstituted concrete. The windows were riot-barred, and the loiterers on the stoops looked as though they’d be more than happy to burn or bomb the place again, just to break the monotony.

Eve climbed out of her car, scanned the faces, ignored the unmistakable aroma of Zoner. She took out her badge, held it up.

“You can probably guess that’s mine,” she said, pointing at her vehicle. “What you might not be able to guess is that if anybody messes with it, I’ll hunt you down and pop your eyes out with my thumbs.”

“Hey.” A guy wearing a dingy muscle shirt and a gleaming silver earring flipped her the bird. “Fuck you.”

“No, thanks, but it’s sweet of you to ask. I’m looking for Tina Cobb.”

There were whistles, catcalls, kissy noises. “That’s one fiiine piece of ass.”

“I’m sure she’s delighted you think so. Is she around?”

Muscle Shirt stood up. He poked out his chest and jabbed a finger at Eve’s. Fortunately for him, he stopped short of actual contact. “What you want to hassle Tina for? She don’t do nothing. Girl works hard, minds her own.”

“Who said I was going to hassle her? She might be in trouble. If you’re a friend of hers, you’ll want to help.”

“Didn’t say I was a friend. Just said she minds her own. So do I. Whyn’t you?”

“Because I get paid to mind other people’s own, and you’re starting to make me wonder why you can’t answer a simple question. In a minute, I’m going to start minding yours instead of Tina Cobb’s.”

“Cops is all shit.”

She bared her teeth in a glittering grin. “Want to test that theory?”

He snorted, shot a glance over his shoulder at his companions as if to let them see he wasn’t worried about it. “Too hot to bother,” he said, and shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Ain’t seen Tina for a couple of days anyway. Don’t run a tab on her, do I? Her sister works across the street at the bodega. Whyn’t you ask her?”

“I’ll do that. Mitts off the car, boys. Pitiful as it is, it’s mine.”

They walked across the street. Eve assumed the kissing noises and invitations for sexual adventure that came from the stoop were now aimed at her and Peabody. But she let it go. The skinny asshole was right about one thing. It was too hot to bother.

Inside, she noted the girl manning the checkout counter. Short, thin, olive complexion, an odd updo of hair with purple fringes over the ink black.

“I could get us something,” Peabody offered. “Something to do with food.”

“Go ahead.” Eve walked to the counter, waited while the customer in front of her paid for a pack of milk powder and a minuscule box of sugar substitute.

“Help you?” the woman said, without much interest.

“I’m looking for Tina Cobb. You’re her sister?”