J. Robb - Delusion in Death

“Of course.” Mira’s eyes met hers. “I’ll be available when you need me.”

Get it over with , Eve told herself, like a dose of nasty medicine . “Maybe we could take a few minutes after the briefing. That way it’ll be off both our plates.”

“All right.”

They began to filter in, the detectives, the uniforms, the e-team. The room buzzed with voices, scraping chair legs, shuffling feet.

She took her place, waited a beat. “Before you each give your own reports, I’m going to give you a fresh overview. As you can see we’ve added a selection of persons of interest.”

She ran them through it, focusing on the twelve people who’d come up in the cross-match search.

“We’re going to add another factor to the scans. Connections to the Urban-era cult Red Horse, or any connection to cults or fringe religious or political groups. Peabody, give the team summary of Red Horse.”

“We didn’t have much out of them in New York,” Feeney commented when Peabody finished. “Had a couple hits, I remember they took credit for. They didn’t last long here. People fight back, and fight dirty when you go after their kids.”

“My source has verified that there were two incidents in Europe, credited to Red Horse. Cafés where the substance we’re dealing with—one with the same elements we’ve identified, and with the same results—was employed. The same substance,” she repeated, “that the investigators identified. Before the government shut down the investigation, then closed and covered it. The cover-up included the apprehension of a suspect whose identity is unknown. Where he was taken is unknown. Whether he was executed, imprisoned or used to develop the substance or other chemical and biological weapons is unknown.”

She let the conversation on politics, cover-ups, the feds run its course.

“There’s a connection,” Eve continued. “And we need to find it. I trust Mira’s profile. This isn’t about politics or grand agendas. But the UNSUB has some connection to Red Horse or the cover-up or the original creator of the chemical.

“Feeney, I’d like to use Detective Callendar, and whoever you feel is your best in this area to dig for that connection. We need solid e-skills on this. Records were spottily kept during the Urbans.”

“You’ll work with Nickson,” Feeney told Callendar.

“I’m all over it.”

“Anything to add from EDD, Feeney?”

“We don’t have much, and nothing that adds at this point.”

“Baxter?”

“Stewart, Adam. You’ve got him up there. Sister, Amie Stewart’s one of the vics.”

“Trust fund babies.” Eve flipped through her list of victims. “She was in-house legal for Dynamo. And he’s currently unemployed, and borrowing heavily from the trust.”

“We got some of that,” Baxter continued. “Plus he buzzed. He’s got something going. He’s off, Dallas. And he was jittery, trying to pull off the grieving sib, comfort the parents. It didn’t play. We earmarked him, too.”

“Bring him in. Toast him some.”

He gave her two more, another of which crossed with hers.

She called on Jenkinson and Reineke, got four with three crosses.

“Prioritize the board, Peabody. Stewart, Adam—connect to Stewart, Amie. Berkowitz, Ivan—connect to Quinz, Cherie. Callaway, Lewis—connect to Cattery, Joseph. Burke, Analisa—connect to Burke, John. McBride, Sean, connect to Garrison, Paul. Add Lester, Devon, manager of the bar, and Lester, Christopher, his brother, a chemist.

“These are the next wave of interviews. Work them. Dig in for a connection to the Red Horse cult, the cover-up. I want their financials and electronics gone over in detail. Peabody and I will take the Lesters.”

She handed out other assignments, legwork, drone work, to uniforms, scheduled a briefing at four.

Whitney stood. “We’ll issue a statement to the media this morning, and hold a media conference at thirteen hundred. I’ll need you to meet with the liaison, Lieutenant, in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Handpick two more uniforms or detectives to assist in the search for sources of the chemicals and illegals. You’re cleared for it.”

“I’d like Detective Strong from Illegals, Commander, if she’s up for it.”

“Make it happen. You’ll need more to run the tip line after the media breaks this. One hour, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Get moving,” she told the team. “Peabody, contact Lester, Devon. Ask him to come in. Just a follow-up.”

“And the brother?”

“Not until Devon’s in the house. We’ll send a couple of stern-faced uniforms to bring him in. I need to reconnect with Morris, with Dickhead. And I want to go back to the scene. Get Devon in here asap, and we’ll take him after I meet the liaison, shift to the brother, then go out in the field.”

“On it.”

Eve turned back to the board, started toward it.

“Eve.” Mira moved to her. “You have an hour now. Why don’t we go to my office?”

“I really should—” Get it over with, she reminded herself. “Sure. I’ll be there in five.”

Eve approached the dragon who guarded Mira’s office expecting her to sniff in disapproval and tell her to wait. Instead the woman spared Eve a brief nod.

“The doctor’s expecting you. Go right in.”

With no choice, no reasonable excuse, Eve stepped into Mira’s sunny, comfortable office.

“You’re very prompt.” Mira stood by her little AutoChef. “I’m just getting tea. Sit down, relax a minute.”

“I’m kind of pressed.”

“I know. I’m going to look over the data you sent me, and your notes, and see if I can be of any more help. But meanwhile …”

In her quiet, easy way, Mira handed Eve floral-scented tea in a delicate china cup, then took her own. She settled in one of her set of blue scoop-chairs, sipped in silence until Eve felt obligated to sit.

Shrinks, she thought, knew the value of silence, just like a cop in Interview.

“You look well,” Mira said conversationally. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine.” She rolled her shoulder, got a flash of pain memory. “I heal fast.”

“You’re a physical woman in excellent shape.”

“Meaning the body heals fast.”

Mira merely watched her with those quiet blue eyes. “How do you feel otherwise?”

“I’m good. I’m mostly good. That should be enough. Nobody gets through perfect. There’s always something, some ding, some cloud, some shit. And cops have more of all of that than most. So.”

“But you said this was personal, not work-related.”

“There’s not much distance between the two for me. Sometimes none at all. I’m okay with that, too. I’m good with that.”

Stalling, Mira thought. So reluctant to be here. “You’ve found a way to blend them very well. Will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

“It’s not me. It’s Roarke.”

“I see.”

“Look, I’ve always had vivid dreams.” Eve set the tea aside. She wasn’t in the mood to pretend to drink it. “Ever since I can remember. They’re not always pretty. Why would they be? Where I came from, what I do and see every day now. Maybe they were an escape when I was a kid. I could go somewhere else if I tried hard enough, and even if that place wasn’t all warm and cozy, it was better than the reality. And the nightmares, the flashbacks, with my father, I’d beaten them back. I’d worked through it. I’d finished it.”

Mira just waited her out, waited for the pause. “And now?”

“They’re not as bad as before, but okay, I’m having some issues since Dallas.”

Small wonder , Mira thought, but nodded. “That manifest in nightmares?”