J. Robb - Kindred In Death

“We do.”

“It’s possible he was a student here at one time, or employed here. It’s possible that if you ran that artist’s rendition through imaging with your database of student and staff IDs, you could match him before we do.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

“It can’t be done by anyone on staff. I need a cop to do it. That would take a warrant without your permission and approval on record.”

“You’ll have both.”

“That certainly cuts through the bullshit.”

This time Peach flashed a brilliant grin. “One of my best skills and favorite occupations.”

“Well then, when we have the sketch I’ll have an EDD man report here for that duty.”

“I’ll clear it.”

“I believe the suspect hacked into your student files in April, added his data, or the data he wished, so that any check would show him as a student here. He would have removed that data on or about the day of the murder. A good e-man might be able to find those hacks, and trace.”

Peach blew out a breath. “All right. It will be a lot of tedious work, I imagine.”

“That’s a good portion of what we do. Tedium.”

“Understood. Not so different from what I do. I suppose I was hoping for something more immediate and exciting.”

“Then you didn’t listen to your grandfather’s stories very closely.”

She smiled again. “I suspect he juiced them up. Still you get juice. I’m looking forward to reading Nadine Furst’s book on the Icove case.”

“Hmm.” Eve got to her feet.

“Lieutenant. While I do believe in law and order, in education and in that dry martini, I also believe in youth-its potential and its brevity, its marvelous thirst. I’m very sorry about Deena MacMasters, very sorry that youth was taken, and that potential ended.”

“So are we all.”

Peach handed Eve a card. “My contact information, including my personal ’link. Please use it if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lapkoff.”

“Call me Peach.”

AS SHE CROSSED THE GREEN EVE REACHED FOR her pocket ’link to check if Mira was on site or close, then spotted her. The police psychiatrist and top pro-filer sat in the white stream of sunlight on the wide ledge of a grand fountain. She wore shades with bold pink frames. Eve wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the elegant Mira in shades, much less any so frivolously female. Her face tipped up to the sun, her hair scooped back to wave at her nape and expose the multi-colored dangles at her ears, Mira looked absolutely relaxed and perfectly at home with the casual summer pace of the campus.

A faint smile softened a face lovely in repose while the water spilled musically from stone tier to stone tier behind her. Her excellent legs were crossed, exposed by the knee-length skirt of a suit the color of vanilla cream. Sassy open-toed shoes in the same tone boasted needle-thin heels. Beside her sat a petal pink handbag large enough to swallow a toddler.

Eve wondered if Mira slept, and if she should poke her or clear her throat. Then the smile spread, and Mira sighed deeply.

“God! What a gorgeous day. I so rarely get to take advantage of a spectacular morning like this.” Mira lifted her shoulders, then let them fall in a kind of happy shrug. “I have to thank you for pulling me outside.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s an upside. I didn’t have time to go downtown and back. We’re pushing hard on this.”

“Understood. The age of the victim and the connection to a police officer make it a priority. Can we speak here?”

“Yeah.” Eve sat beside her. “You read the file.”

“Yes.” Mira touched her hand briefly to Eve’s, a gesture they both knew acknowledged the painful memories of Eve’s childhood. “Would you have taken this case if MacMasters hadn’t asked for you specifically?”

“I don’t cherry-pick assignments.” The sharp tone, the defensive-ness in it, caught Eve off guard. She shook it off. “If I can’t handle what comes to me,” she said, “I don’t deserve the badge. That’s that.”

“For you, yes, I agree. Not with the philosophy, but with your belief in it. She’s lucky to have you-Deena-because you understand what she faced in those last hours of her life.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, it’s never the same. And, conversely, it’s precisely the same. I need to ask before we discuss the case, about your nightmares and flashbacks. I need to ask,” Mira repeated, gently, when Eve’s face went blank. “If this case exacerbates them-”

“It’s not. It won’t. They’re not as bad.” Dragging a hand through her hair, Eve struggled to put annoyance at the personal queries aside. Mira was right, she admitted, the question needed to be asked. “I still have them, but they’re not as… severe,” she decided. “They’re not as frequent or as intense. I think I’ve come to a place-I don’t know-it happened, and nothing can change what he did to me. But I stopped him. If I go back, in the nightmares, I can stop him again if I have to. He doesn’t have the power anymore. I do.”

“Yes.” Mira’s smile was as brilliant as the sunlight, and again she laid her hand over Eve’s. “You do.”

“I can’t stop the nightmares, but I can handle them better now. They’re not a dance in a meadow, which I don’t get anyway. Why is dancing in a meadow with all that tall grass hiding whatever’s slinking around under it, and the bugs flying around your head such a fun deal?”

“Hmm” was the best Mira could think of.

“What I mean is I don’t look forward to getting jerked around by my subconscious, but it doesn’t kick my ass nightly, not anymore.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Very glad.”

“I had a few moments, looking at Deena, at what was done to her, that had me a little shaky. But I got through it. It won’t affect my ability to lead the investigation.”

“I’d worry about your ability to lead the investigation if you weren’t touched in some way by what was done to her.”

Eve said nothing for a few moments. “And you brought this up, pushed it, so I could get it out. So I wouldn’t have it sneaking around in the back of my mind.”

Mira gave Eve’s hand a quick pat. “Did it work?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, good for me. And you. And Deena.”

“Okay.” Done, Eve thought. For now. “Did you review the video?”

“Yes. Particularly cruel, isn’t it? To force the girl to say those things, to intend the father to hear them, to show, graphically to the father the result.”

“No question it was a message to MacMasters.”

“No, none. It was all a message. The location, the use of police restraints, the method, and even the length of time the killer spent. Hours.”

“He enjoyed it,” Eve commented. “He enjoyed stretching it out.”

“Undoubtedly. But more, it’s a form of bragging. An in-your-face gesture. I did this to what you loved, in your own home, and I took my time.”

“He made her suffer, wanted MacMasters to know she’d suffered, that he’d had total power over her.”

“The rapes are another form of that power, and that message. I violated her, hurt her, humiliated her, terrified her, took her innocence before I took her life.” Mira shifted, angling toward Eve. “And he did so by first charming and dazzling her, making her feel something for him, believe he felt something for her.”

“It hurts more that way.” Eve studied the students strolling or jogging by. “Hurts her more when she understands he felt nothing.”

“It adds to it, to that power. He deceived her first, developed a relationship with her that took effort and time-and again he took his time. He enjoyed the planning, the deceit, her romantic entanglement with him as much as the killing itself.”