“Louise can take her own shower. She’s a big girl.”

“Bridal shower.”

“Oh crap.”

Nadine fluttered her lashes. “You’re just too sentimental for your own good. So. Do you think a big-girl party at your place? You could rent a ballroom-or hell, a planet-but Peabody and I thought something more fun and informal at your house.”

“Peabody.” Eve uttered the word like it was a betrayal.

“We’ve chatted about it a couple times.”

“Why don’t you chat about it lots more, then I’ll show up when and where.”

Nadine beamed, flicked a hand in the air as if tapping a magic wand. “Presto and perfect. Just what we hoped. Now, next order of business.” Nadine reached in her city-swallowing bag and came out with a disc. “This is it. The book.”

“Uh-huh.”

“My book, Dallas. Deadly Perfection: The Icove Agenda. Or it will be the book when I turn it in. I want you to read it first.”

“Why? I was there, so I already know how it ends.”

“Exactly why. You were there, and you stopped it. Risked your life to stop it. I want you to tell me if I went off and where. This is important, Dallas, not just to me. Though, oh boy, it really is. It’s important information. It’s an important story, and it wouldn’t be a story, it wouldn’t be my story, without you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but-”

“Please read it. Please.”

Eve couldn’t even work up a scowl. “Oh balls.”

“And be honest, be brutal. I’m a big girl, too. I want it to be right. I want it to matter.”

“Okay, okay.” Eve took the disc, laid it on her desk. To compensate, she picked up a doughnut. “I’ve got work, Nadine. Bye.”

“You said ‘maybe.’” Nadine gestured back toward the murder board.

She had, and not just because of the doughnuts. Nadine might sink her teeth into a story like a terrier, but she never forgot there were people inside it. And she kept her word. “The NYPSD has confirmed through medical records that the man poisoned in St. Cristóbal’s was not Miguel Flores, but an as of yet unidentified individual who posed as same.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, that sums it.”

“Where’s Miguel Flores? What medical records?” Nadine dug her recorder out of her bag. “Do you have any lines on the victim’s real identity, and is the motive tied to that?”

“Down, girl. Police are pursuing all leads.”

“Don’t hand me the departmental line, Dallas.”

“The departmental line works. We are pursuing all leads. We don’t know the whereabouts of Miguel Flores, but are actively pursuing. At this time, we’re also pursuing the theory that the victim’s real identity may have gone to motive.”

“So someone recognized him.”

“It’s a theory, not a fact in evidence. The victim had some facial surgery, which leads us to believe he had it done to more closely resemble Flores.”

“He posed as a priest for five years-close to six, right?”

“Maybe longer. We’ve got to confirm various details.”

“And nobody suspected? The other priests he worked with, the people who attended his church?”

“Apparently, he was good at it.”

“Why do you think-”

“I’m not going to tell you what or why I think. You’ve got what you’ve got, and with a couple hours’ jump on the rest of the media.”

“Then I’d better get it on the air.” Nadine rose. “Thanks.” She paused at the door while Eve licked sugar off her thumb. “Off the record. Why do you think he posed as a priest all this time?”

“Off the record, he needed a mask and Flores was handy. He was waiting for something or someone and wanted to wait at home.”

“Home?”

“Off the record, yeah, I think he came home.”

“If you confirm that and pass it on, there’re more doughnuts in it for you.”

Eve had to laugh. “Beat it.”

When Nadine beat it, clicking briskly down the hall on her sky-scraper red heels, Eve turned back to the murder board. “Something or someone,” she murmured. “Must’ve been pretty damn important to you, Lino.”

EVE TAGGED FEENEY AT HIS DESK. HER FORMER partner, now captain of the Electronic Detectives Division, sat munching on candied almonds and looking comfortably rumpled.

“Any progress on my ID?”

“I’ve got two of my boys on it. McNab and Callendar.”

The fact that Callendar had breasts and no Y chromosome didn’t make her any less one of Feeney’s boys. “And?”

“They’re working on it. I took a quick pass. It’s damn good, and it’s dug in deep. It’s not going to take five minutes.” His droopy eyes narrowed in his saggy face. “What’s that? What have you got?”

“What? Where?”

“Doughnuts?”

“What is this, some new EDD toy? Smell-a-’link?”

“I can see the corner of the box. I know a bakery box when I see one.” Feeney shifted right and left as if to get a better angle. “Cookies? Danishes?”

“You hit it the first time.”

“So you tag me instead of coming up and sharing?”

“I got work here. I’m waiting for the lab to recon-struct the vic’s tattoo, and I’ve got to get these baptism records, and run the vic’s prints and DNA, and… I don’t have to share my doughnuts. They’re my bribe.”

“Then you shouldn’t flaunt them in front of my face.”

“I-” Damn, she thought, and gave the box a shove to take it out of screen range. “Listen, aren’t you Catholic or something?”

“Mostly.”

“Okay, so if you’re Catholic, is it like a bigger sin to kill a priest rather than a regular guy?”

“Jesus, no. Well, maybe. Wait.” Pausing, Feeney scratched his head through the wire brush of silvered ginger hair. “No. He wasn’t a priest anyway, right?”

“Right. I’m just trying to cover bases here. It goes two ways. Either they were killing the priest, or they were killing the guy. Or three ways, they were killing the guy who just happened to be a priest. I think it’s two.”

“I forgot what two is.”

“The guy. I think they knew the guy, but since he’d been there for years, why so long a wait?”

Feeney exhaled through his nose, then popped more almonds. “Maybe they weren’t around until now.”

“Maybe. Maybe. Or he slipped. Five years, you could get careless, say something, do something. Shit. I don’t know. Gotta think. Let me know when you’ve got something.”

“You got any jelly-filled?”

“Probably.” She smiled, cut him off.

She organized her notes, added the Solas family photos to her board-though she considered them periphery. She was debating calling the lab and pushing for her tattoo when Peabody poked her head in.

“We got-Hey, doughnuts.”

“You’ll get yours. What have we got?”

“Marc Tuluz. Want him in here or the lounge?”

“Here’s a puzzler,” Eve began. “If we’re in the lounge interviewing him, how many doughnuts will be in this box upon our return?”

“I’ll bring him in here.”

The man had the long, streamlined build Eve associated with runners, and skin the color of coffee with a liberal dose of creamer. His eyes, a hazy blue, looked weary, but met hers levelly. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Mr. Tuluz, thanks for coming in. Have a seat.”

“Magda said I missed you this morning. We’re still not working at full power. Miguel… Well, I guess Magda told you we considered ourselves a team. And friends.”

“Sometimes friends of the same gender share more openly than they do with friends of the opposite sex.”

“Yeah, I guess they do.”

“So, tell me about your friend and teammate.”

“Okay.” Marc took a couple breaths. “It’s hard to think about him in the past tense. Miguel was smart and interesting. Competitive. He played to win. He put a lot of himself into the center, into getting the kids involved and excited about being part of something. A team. About contributing to that team. He didn’t preach at them, so, well, they listened instead of tuning out half of what he was talking about. They related to him, and he to them. Hell, half the time they didn’t think of him as the priest. Just as one of us.”