Eve woke with a start, sat straight up, stared blankly at the simmering fire.
“All right?”
She turned her head to where Roarke sat with his coffee and his stock reports.
“Yeah. Just a weird dream.”
“About?”
“The Avengers and that jerk Loki and his weird-ass army, and I’m trying to help them. Then I see this devil grab this bystander. Why are bystanders always standing by when they should be running and hiding somewhere?”
“A question for the ages.”
“Right. So the devil—and I know in the dream it’s the killer—is dragging the woman off, and she’s screaming and crying instead of trying to kick his ass and get away. So I have to leave the aliens and gods and whatever to the Avengers and pursue. I’m chasing him, and buildings are toppling, debris is falling like an avalanche. New York’s a frigging mess with more idiot bystanders running around screaming and waiting to get pancaked. And the devil, he jumps into this pit, just jumps right in. I put on the brakes, because it burps out some fire—the pit—and I’m trying to decide, do I go in after him, try to save the woman, catch the killer, or try to keep New York from becoming a big pile of rubble.
“And I woke up.”
“They could make an excellent vid if they could record your subconscious.”
“They had shawarma—the Avengers—after the whole battle of New York. I did an interview yesterday in an apartment over a shawarma place. It’s just weird. I need coffee.”
She rolled out of bed, walked over to get her first cup, looked out the window. “It’s going to take a couple days to dig out from under this.”
“Better snow than avaricious gods and aliens.”
“Yeah.”
She grabbed a shower, came back to find breakfast. Not oatmeal but scrambled eggs, some bacon, toast with jam, and the berries she thought nearly as good as candy.
“I’d figured on stopping by to see Daphne, but I’m going straight into Central,” she told him as they ate. “Not only to see who I can pull in for these interviews, but some people consider a blizzard a fine time to bludgeon, knife, or strangle somebody. Add in your accidentals and unattendeds, we could be busy.”
“There’ll be an A-T out front when you’re ready.”
“Thanks. Pretty quick actually.” She shoved in the last of the eggs, stood to walk into the closet.
She wasn’t the comp, or Roarke, but she could damn well dress herself. Especially since she was going for black—straight black—and warm.
She grabbed trousers, a sweater, a jacket, and because she’d likely be trudging through snow, black boots that rose to her knees.
When she stepped out, Roarke arched an eyebrow. “Black Widow couldn’t look more dangerous or alluring.”
“She could handle herself.”
“See that you handle any bad guys who come at my cop.”
“Dallas smash.”
Pleased she’d made him laugh, she bent down to kiss him. “It was good, coming home together, and everything after. Makes it hard to be annoyed with the snow.”
He tugged her down for another. “Mind the roads. They’re bound to be an unholy mess.”
“You, too. See you later.”
She jogged downstairs, swung on her coat, wound a scarf around her neck for warmth, pulled on the snowflake hat, stuffed the gloves in her pockets.
And pulled them out and put them on when she stepped outside into the bitter.
The burly A-T in sober gray waited, already warm inside. She decided if she couldn’t get downtown—or anywhere else—in this machine, she’d need a damn tank.
She drove down the perfectly cleared drive, through the gates, and onto the god-awful mess of the street.
She didn’t blame the road crews—or not much—as the snow had still been coming down when the Avengers beat the snot out of Loki and his team. The good part was the streets were nearly deserted. She spotted the road crews, a couple of emergency vehicles. Considering that, she tagged Peabody on her wrist unit.
“Can you get into Central?”
“Yeah. The subway should be running. Man, it’s so pretty out there.”
“Get in as soon as you can. If you need transpo, I’ve got an all-terrain.”
“I’ll check with Transport before we leave, make sure the trains are running. If not, I’ll tag you. Only official and emergency vehicles allowed on the streets until oh-nine-hundred, so no cabs or buses.”
“Yeah, and that’s what I call pretty.”
Eve clicked off and made her way downtown, easily breezing through blinking lights and empty intersections. Maybe, possibly … probably, she’d get bored with this kind of quiet, but for one morning’s commute, she’d take it. Halfway downtown, she realized not a single ad blimp had drifted across the sky to blast its hyperactive news about sales on something, somewhere.
She’d definitely take it.
She noted when she reached the garage that her level held only a scatter of vehicles. And the elevator carried no more than a handful of cops, several with snow melting off their boots, all the way to Homicide.
Maybe it was just a little spooky.
When she walked into her bullpen, she saw Baxter at his desk—kicked back in his chair, feet up, eyes closed. He wore one of his slick suits with an unknotted tie draped around his neck. She walked over, punched him in the shoulder.
He shot straight up, one hand slapping his weapon.
“Nap on your own time.”
“Jesus. What time is it?” He looked blearily around the empty bullpen. “Where is everybody?”
“They’d better be en route.”
“Right. Right.” He scrubbed his face with both hands. “Trueheart and I caught one last night. Couple of guys decided it would be lots of fun to have lots and lots of drinks, smoke lots of illegals, and blast music loud enough people in apartments two floors down were complaining. Across-the-hall neighbor, who’d also done some copious drinking, decided, after several attempts to get them to knock it off, to bust in there and smash their player with a baseball bat. This action was cheered by many other occupants of the building, condemned by others.
“Violence ensued. Numerous injuries and one fatality.”
“Snow makes some people crazier than they already are.”
“Tell me. By the time we wrapped it up, it was too late and too bad out there to go home. We bunked in the crib. Might as well sidewalk sleep,” he complained, trying to work kinks out of his neck and shoulders. “My boy’s in the shower.”
“But you wrapped it up?”
“Yeah, wrapped and packed. Report’s in your box.”
“Okay then. I’m pulling in you and Trueheart to conduct interviews.”
Baxter’s sleepy eyes cleared with interest. “The Strazza murder? The serial rapist Nikki’s working?”
She glanced over as Trueheart came out of the locker room, his hair still showing damp from his shower, his young, earnest face all but dewy.
“Loo’s drafted us, pal. Come on and get briefed.”
“I’ll copy you on the file,” Eve began. “Basically, the suspect targets wealthy married couples, childless, in single-family residences. He possesses the skills to bypass their security, enter the residences. In the first two incidents, he laid in wait until the couple came home. In this last, he entered the premises during a dinner party, walked right by outside contractors and up the main stairs. He disables the male, restrains him.”
She punched her way through the details, the connections, the theories.
“Using the guest list from this charity event all known victims attended, we’ve extrapolated most likely future targets. It’s probable he’s attended other events and functions, earmarked targets there, but it’s a decent bet there’ll be some cross. I’m going to give you five. Arrange face-to-faces, walk them through what they need to know, find out if they use the caterer, the rental place, know or socialize with any of the other vics. You know the drill.”
“We’ll get it covered, boss.”
“Um, Lieutenant?” Trueheart half raised his hand. “Our usual vehicle probably won’t handle the current road conditions.”
“Requisition an all-terrain.”
She glanced around as Jenkinson came in, snarling, his blindingwhite snowflakes on a fiery red background tie leading.
“Didn’t they know it was coming?” he demanded of his partner as Reineke, smirking some, came in with him. “Didn’t they?” He threw out his arms to the nearly empty bullpen.
“Problem, Jenkinson?” Eve asked.
“Yeah, there’s a problem. Damn straight there’s a problem with the basic infrastructure and maintenance of this city we serve and protect.”
Reineke slapped Jenkinson’s arm. “I’m gonna get us come coffee, partner.” So saying he walked toward the break room, giving Eve a wild eye roll on the way.
“Weather guys all say the storm’s coming. Hold on to your asses, boys, it’s gonna hit. But are we prepared?” Jenkinson demanded, arms out like an evangelist preaching to the flock. “No, we are not.”
He tossed his coat on his desk chair, stomping that way on boots crusted with snow.
“I was fucking prepared. I tag my kids, tell them to get over to the skinny-ass garage I pay my left nut for every month, clear the snow from the door so I can get my vehicle in there. And they do, my kids do the job, so I get home, park it up. And what do you think happened? I’ll tell you what happened,” he ranted before Eve could respond. “I come out this morning, wade down there over sidewalks nobody’s cleared along streets the crews have half-assly cleared, and see they’ve shoved a couple feet of that fucking snow right in front of the garage door. What the fuck, LT!”
“Bastards.”
“Damn straight. Ends up, I flag down a black-and-white to haul me in, pick up Reineke. And my kids are bitching—can’t blame ’em—that they’ve got to go back over, dig me out a-fucking-gain.”
“Requisition an all-terrain.”
He opened his mouth, more raging on the tip of his tongue. Then angled his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You might as well have one on tap in case, and do it now before everybody else gets the same idea and we’re out. Meanwhile, you and Reineke hold down the fort.”
Reineke came out with coffee, shoved one at Jenkinson. “Tell him it’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor, Dallas.”
“It’s not going to do any good to call and bitch at the mayor.”
Jenkinson’s face settled into a haughty sulk. “It’s the principle.”
“It’s the politics,” Eve corrected. “I need you holding the wheel if I don’t make it back in from the field today. Remember?” She gestured to the squad slogan posted over the break room door. “That holds for before, during, and after snowstorms and shitty road-crew work.”
Jenkinson sighed, gulped coffee. “Yeah, but I bet nobody blocked the mayor’s car in.”
“Five’ll get you ten the mayor’s buried under irate ’link calls, e-mails, v-mails, and texts this morning.”
The idea had Jenkinson brightening. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s something.”
“If Peabody comes in, tell her to keep her coat on. We’re heading out in ten.”
Eve escaped to her office, got her own coffee. At her desk, she sent the list to Olsen and Tredway, to Baxter and Trueheart, earmarking names for each team to contact. She sent Baxter and Trueheart a copy of the case file, put a brief update together for Olsen and Tredway.
She skimmed Baxter’s report on the case they’d closed, found it—as expected—competent and thorough. Noted Carmichael and Santiago had caught one at roughly six-thirty that morning. Bludgeoning with a snow shovel.
Yeah, snow could make some people crazier than they already were.
She walked out to see Peabody, and a couple of uniforms who’d just logged in, listening while Jenkinson ran through his rant again.
“Peabody, with me.”
Peabody trotted to catch up. “Jenkinson’s on a tear.”
“I know. He already ripped through it once. Do I need to catch you up?”
“I read the update on the subway. No problem getting a seat this morning. Lots taking a snow day or working at home.”
“I sent our share of the list to your PPC. Start plugging in addresses when we get to the garage.”
“Do you want me to contact the couples first?”
“Let’s just do drop bys, see how it goes. Plug in the bartender/actor. We’ll pay him a visit.”
“Anson Wright—changed his name from George Splitsky when he turned eighteen. I ran through his education—average student, except in drama, theater, and stagecraft. There he excelled. Performed and participated in all the school plays, and even got a couple of walk-ons and minor parts on and off Broadway as a child and young teen.”
When they got to the car, Peabody took out her book, began transferring addresses. “Hit a dry spell, took a bartending class, joined the community players. He’s got an agent, and apparently goes out for auditions. Gets a part now and then. Nothing he could live on, and he lives pretty close to the top line of his income. When I worked my way through the maze, I found out he’s the nephew of the stepmother of the head waitress’s cohab.”
Peabody ordered the in-dash to list the addresses in order of distance. “Looks like our closest is Dana Mireball and Lorenzo Angelini, both artists, Tribeca.”
Roarke’s A-T laughed at shitty road-crew work, and muscled its way over the snow-crusted ice with a smooth, satisfied hum. The sun decided to bust out—which brought out the carts, the street vendors with scarves, caps, gloves, shovels, gray-market boots, and window scrapers.
Pedestrians began to pick their way along sidewalks. Kids, busted out of school for the day, raced, airboarded, and generally looked maniacally happy.
By the time they’d worked through the first five on the list, the traffic was back in force. The ad blimps boomed out the thrill of the Blizzard of ’61 sales.
Eve hated to admit it, but it all felt more normal.
They moved from arty loft to dignified townhouse, from slick converted warehouse to ultra-modern residence.
She didn’t feel a real buzz until number seven on the list.
Toya L’Page and Gray Burroughs lived in what had once been a church in Turtle Bay. The tall, arched doors opened directly onto the sidewalk. The stained-glass window over it gleamed color in the winter sun.
Eve gave her information and her badge for screening to the door comp, waiting until that door opened. A teenage girl with short, spiky, plum-colored hair peered at Eve with enormous brown eyes.
“Are you really cops?” she demanded.
Eve held up her badge again, and the girl sniffed.
“Like you can’t buy fake ID.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. Check with Cop Central if you’re worried about it. Otherwise we’d like to speak to Toya L’Page and/or Gray Burroughs.”
The kid cocked her hip—bodily snark. “Maybe they’re busy.”
“Why don’t you find out?”
“Gemma, you’re letting the cold in. You need to … Oh, sorry.”
Eve had seen a slice of beautiful women on this investigation. Toya L’Page towered over the rest.
She easily hit six feet in her skids, and all of it willowy and perfect. Her skin appeared poreless, without artifice, a rich, deep brown smooth over knife-edged cheekbones. Her mouth, full, sharply sculpted, curved slightly. Large tawny eyes showed caution and curiosity as she moved quickly to the door. Subtly draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, putting herself between Gemma and Eve.
“Can I help you?”
“She says they’re cops,” Gemma announced, with ripe skepticism.
“Oh. Could I see some…” She trailed off as Eve held up her badge again. “Yes, of course. Can I ask what this is about?”
“We’d just like to ask you, and your husband if he’s available, some questions in connection with an investigation.”
“No way Toya or Gray did anything illegal. They’re totally equidistance.”
“We’re making inquiries,” Eve continued, “hoping for assistance in an investigation. Can we come in, Ms. L’Page? We won’t take up much of your time.”
“Of course. I apologize.”
“You don’t have to let them in without a warrant.”
“All right, Gemma.” Toya leaned down, brushed her lips to the girl’s temple. “My sister-in-law is very protective. Please come in.”
“You live here?” Eve asked the girl.
“I could if I wanted.”
“Gemma’s just hanging, right, Gemma? We’re going to try for some skating and sledding later. Will you go tell Gray to come down?”
Gemma shot Eve a warning look, then dashed to a staircase on the side of a spacious, open-concept entrance and living area. Light from the stained glass scattered over old wooden plank floors like jewels.
“This is a beautiful home, Ms. L’Page,” Peabody commented, head swiveling to take in the high ceilings, arched windows, massive fireplace.
“Thank you. We just love it. We’re still tweaking a few things. Please sit.” She gestured to high-backed chairs near the roaring fire, settled herself on a curvy sofa with carved wood trim.
“It was a church pre-Urbans. A nondenominational church and a community gathering place. It served as a shelter and a hospital during the wars, and was abandoned after for some time.”
“You were able to save some of the original features.”
“Some, and some we reconstructed. My husband’s an architect, and he simply fell in love with the building. His father had bought it, mostly for sentiment as he’d worked here, as a medical, during the Urbans.”
She was trying, Eve observed, to be polite, not to show nerves. So Eve let Peabody chat her up.
“My father and my brother are carpenters. They’d really appreciate what you’ve done here. How long have you lived here?”
“This is year three. We don’t count the year before that as it was full of workers and we only stayed occasionally. Sort of camping out. Gray.” Toya got to her feet when her husband came in, Gemma all but glued to his side.
He was tall like his wife, gym-fit, with a striking face with features that made Eve think of exotic islands with grass skirts and tiki huts.
“Is there a problem?”
Eve stood. “We’d like to ask you a few questions in connection with an investigation.”
He gave his sister a narrow stare. “Gemma.”
“I didn’t do anything! And it was a scavenger hunt. I wasn’t stealing. Plus, they’re Homicide. I looked them up before I went to get you. Somebody’s dead, and we sure as hell didn’t kill anybody.”
“Homicide?” Toya wrapped her long, elegant fingers around Gray’s arm.
“Anthony Strazza.”
“Oh God. We heard about that. It’s terrible. Just terrible.”
“Did you know Dr. Strazza or his wife?”
“We never met his wife. Sit down, Toya.” Gray tugged her down on the couch, glanced at his sister. “Gemma, go ask Pauline to make coffee.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“I am getting rid of you. Go ask Pauline to make coffee.”
Gemma rolled her eyes, but stomped off.
“She’ll have heard anyway,” Gray said, “or she’ll look it up. I don’t know how we can possibly help your investigation.”
“You knew Dr. Strazza?”
“He operated on my great-grandfather,” Toya told them. “Last winter after he fell and broke his hip, and his wrist. He was out walking the dog, in weather much like this, and he slipped and fell. Late at night, and no one heard him calling for help for more than an hour. I absolutely believe Dr. Strazza saved his life. I met him at the hospital—or we did. and I took Poppy in for follow-ups a few times.”
“You’ve never socialized?”
“Not really. I realized we’d attended some of the same events and functions. And it turned out we have some mutual acquaintances.”
“Could you give me those names?”
“Did she read you the Revised Miranda?” Gemma demanded as she rushed back in. “She’s supposed to, and if she hasn’t—”
“Look, kid,” Eve interrupted. “Nobody here is under arrest or under suspicion. A man’s dead and a woman’s in the hospital recovering from a brutal attack. My job is to find out who did that to them. I’m going to do my job, so stop showing off.”
Gemma sulked, but she shut up and sat down beside her brother, who disguised a laugh with a cough. “You should go on upstairs, sweetie.”
“I know what happened. I looked it up. Besides, Junie’s mother was there that night.”
“Who is Junie, and who is her mother?” Eve demanded.
“I don’t have to say.”
Eve shifted back to the adults. “If I could have those names,” she began.
“Junie Wyatt. Her mom’s Catherine Frummon. You guys don’t know her mom,” Gemma said to her brother and Toya. “Junie mostly lives with her dad.”
“Abbott Wyatt,” Toya supplied. “They’ve been divorced for years, as far as I know.”
“Okay. Anything else?” Eve asked Gemma.
“Junie said her mom went whacked after it happened because Oh My God! She was there, and she could’ve been attacked or murdered. Like that. It’s always all about her mom with her mom. And she said how Dr. Strazza’s wife probably did something stupid so Dr. Strazza got killed because she thinks his wife is stupid and a gold digger and a trophy. Junie’s mom is a bitch.”
“Gemma!”
Gemma looked around her brother, at her sister-in-law. “If you knew her, you’d say the same. I’m not going to lie to the police. That’s a crime.” So saying, she smiled. “Right?”
“I can’t argue.”
Toya let out a sigh. “Off the top of my head—and you may have others, Gray—the mutual acquaintances would be Junie’s dad, Abbott Wyatt…”
The housekeeper or cook or whatever she was rolled in a cart. To Eve’s surprise, Gemma hopped right up. “I’ve got it, Miss P, thanks.” And began to pour and serve while Toya ran down a list of people.
“Okay. Can you tell me if you’ve ever used Jacko’s Catering?”
“All the time. We’re terrible cooks, and don’t mind staying that way,” Toya said. “Pauline will often make meals for the AutoChef before she goes home for the evening, or we’ll do local delivery or takeout. And we eat out a lot. But Jacko’s is a favorite if we’re having friends or family over. Not to serve unless it’s a bigger party, but they have a terrific menu and they deliver, so I can set it up as if I’ve fussed for hours.”
“Nobody’s fooled,” Gray reminded her.
“No, but it’s all in the presentation.”
“How about Loan Star Rentals?”
The quick amusement faded out of Gray’s face. “I’ve used them for staging a project, and we used them when we were working on this house, staying here occasionally. We didn’t want to furnish it until we’d made real progress. How does this apply?”
“We’re connecting dots” was all Eve would say. “According to our information, you both attended the Celebrate Art Gala in April of last year. Is that correct?”
“Yes. We missed the year before because Gray was on a project out of town, and I didn’t want to go alone. It’s no fun without him.”
“I’d like you to think back to that night. Who you met, who you spoke with. There was dancing. You probably danced with other people.”
“We had a table of friends,” Toya recalled. “It’s a lovely evening, really one of my favorite events. We spoke to so many people … I couldn’t begin. Gray?”
“It’s a social evening,” he continued. “We had a lot of friendly competition in our group and with some others we know on a couple of items in the silent auction.”
“Anyone who stands out for any reason? Anyone who bothered you or made you uncomfortable?”
“Mavis Freestone was there—talk about a standout. I actually stalked her into the ladies’ lounge and begged an autograph and a selfie for Gemma.”
“You a fan?” Eve asked Gemma.
“Anybody who isn’t is wheeze. She’s the ult.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty much the ult.”
Gemma eyed Eve, considering. “You’re into Mavis?”
“You could say that.”
“She was so sweet about it,” Toya added, “even later when I stalked her husband, who’s one of my favorite designers. They’re such a striking couple, and I loved meeting them. It was the high point of the night for me.”
“Every time I turned around Toya was off trying for another sighting.”
“I wasn’t that bad.” Batting her husband’s arm, Toya laughed. “And I stepped out a few times so Gemma and I could text our mutual excitement. That was when—” She broke off, frowned.
“When?” Eve prompted.
“Oh, nothing. Just a minor annoyance. Not worth mentioning.”
“I’d like you to mention it.”
“Well, it’s nothing, really, but it did bother me at the time. I was in this little nook, texting Gemma, and this man sort of blocked me in.”
“What?”
“It was nothing,” Toya repeated, rubbing Gray’s arm when he reacted. “Honestly. I said, ‘Excuse me,’ or something along those lines, and stepped forward. But he didn’t step back right away. He said he’d noticed I was alone, and said I should join him for a drink. I said I was there with my husband.”
“That was it?” Eve asked.
“That’s the gist of it.”
“So he backed off when you told him you were there with your husband.”
Now Toya shifted. “Not immediately.”
“Damn it, Toya, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d have confronted him, and it wasn’t really anything. I just didn’t like … He blocked me for just a few more seconds. It was deliberate, I guess, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me. But then he just smiled and walked away.”
“Did he touch you?” Eve asked.
“No. No, he did not. He invaded my space, absolutely, and it was a narrow opening to the little nook, so I couldn’t have gotten past him without touching him, and I didn’t want to. He didn’t say anything offensive. He thought I was alone, asked me to have a drink, I said no, I’m with my husband. He didn’t say anything else. But it was the body language and the look in his eyes that, I guess, insulted me, and intimidated.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Oh, I don’t really think so. It was nearly a year ago, only about half a minute at most, and it was a little dim there. Ah, he was white, I’m fairly certain, and probably in his thirties? But I’m not altogether sure.”
“You’re about six feet, right?”
“On the money.”
“Glam event like that, you’d be in heels.”
“Absolutely. I love a good shoe.”
“Was he tall, like your husband?”
“No. Shorter than me, by far. But a lot of men are shorter than me, especially when I hit six-four in heels.”
“Build?”
“Average?” Toya posed it like a question. “I’m sorry. That’s pathetic, but I didn’t pay attention. I just wanted him to move away.”
“Okay. If any more details come to you, I want you to contact me.”
“Why is this important?” Gray asked.
Eve turned her head, gave Gemma a cool stare. Gemma just shrugged.
“You can send me out, but I know where to go to listen. Plus, I’ll get it out of Toya. I have ways of making her talk. She’s my sister,” Gemma added, reminding Eve of Tish DeSilva. “We look out for each other.”
“We believe the man responsible for the attack on the Strazzas, and two previous attacks, attended that gala. We’ve been able to discern a certain pattern to this individual’s selection of targets. The two of you fit that pattern.”
“How?” Gray spoke more steadily than she’d expected. He slid an arm around his sister, took his wife’s hand, but spoke steadily. “We need to know.”
“Wealthy married couples who live alone in single-family residences. No children. Good security that is, nonetheless, compromised. In each case, the wife has been particularly attractive. Beautiful, striking. You fit on every point.
“You should know,” Eve continued, “we’ve spoken with several others who fit this pattern, and have several more to speak to. However, to this point you’re the only ones who knew one of the other victims personally, and use the two vendors we discussed. And the only one who’s mentioned, when asked, any sort of incident or uncomfortable situation at this event.”
“What should we do?” Toya managed.
“I’m staying.” Gemma said it fiercely. “Live alone, no kids, I can cross off two of those, so I’m staying. You can’t make me go.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” her brother corrected.
“If you make me go I’ll find a way to get back. I will!”
He poked her between the eyes. “I’ll hire security. Private security. We’ll have professional security in the house, around the clock, until you find this maniac. I’ll arrange that right away.”
“That’s a good precaution. If you go out, don’t leave the house unattended. He may do test runs—may enter the empty house to get a feel for it. Let the security you hire make themselves known. They shouldn’t be subtle about it. Sorry.”
Eve pulled out her signaling communicator. “Dallas, text only,” she ordered.
Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, see the officer at 122 Morton. Reported double homicide. Male and female, possibly connected to current investigation.
“Acknowledged.” Eve got to her feet. “You’ve been helpful. If you remember anything else, or if you see or hear or even feel something that concerns you, contact me. Peabody, give them a couple cards. If she talks you into letting her stay here?” Eve gave Gemma a glance.
“I am staying.”
“Okay. Don’t be subtle about that, either. He’s a coward, he attacks from behind. He’s not going to want to try for you when you’ve got a teenager and a security guard in the house.”
When they stepped outside, Peabody glanced back. “We’ve got another.”
“We’ve got another.”
Peabody gave the house a last glance before trudging to the car. “I think they’re going to be okay. They’re forewarned, they’ll take precautions.”
And, Eve thought, there are two dead who weren’t forewarned, hadn’t had the chance to take precautions.