J. Robb - Survivor in Death

Though she now had steak and murder on her mind, Eve ate roasted chicken and tried to keep her conversation away from the investigation. But what the hell were you supposed to talk to a kid about over dinner?

They didn't use the dining room often-well, she didn't, she admitted. So much easier to grab something upstairs. But she couldn't call it a hardship to sit at the big, gleaming table, with a fire simmering in the grate, the scent of food and candles in the air.

“How come you eat so fancy?” Nixie wanted to know.

“Don't ask me.” Eve jabbed a fork toward Roarke. “It's his house.”

“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

Eve blinked twice, then realized the question was directed at her, and Roarke wasn't stepping in to field the ball.

“No.”

“When do I go back to school?”

Eve felt the back of her neck begin to ache. “I don't know.”

“But if I don't do my work, I'll get behind. If you get behind, you can't be in the band or the plays.” Tears started to shimmer.

“Oh. Well.” Shit.

“We can arrange for you to do your school work here, for now.”

Roarke spoke matter-of-factly. As if, Eve thought, he'd been born answering thorny questions. “You enjoy school?”

“Mostly. Who'll help me with my work? Dad always did.”

No, Eve thought. Absolutely not. She wasn't moving into that area if somebody planted a boomer under her ass.

“The lieutenant and I weren't the best of students. But Summerset could help you, for the time being.”

“I'll never get to go home again. Or see my mom and dad, or Coyle or Linnie. I don't want them to be dead.”

Okay, Eve decided. Maybe she was a kid, but she was still the eye wit. The case was back on the table along with the chicken.

Thank God.

“Tell me what everybody was doing. The whole day before it happened.” When Roarke started to object, Eve only shook her head. “Everything you remember.”

“Dad had to yell at Coyle because he got up late. He's always getting up late, then everybody has to rush. Mom gets mad if you rush your breakfast because it's important you eat right.”

“What did you eat?”

“We had fruit and cereal in the kitchen.” Nixie cut a spear of asparagus neatly, and ate without complaint. “Inga fixes it. And juice. Dad had coffee, 'cause he gets to have one cup. And Coyle wanted new airskids, and Mom said no, and he said that sucked, and she gave him the look because you're not supposed to say 'suck,' especially at the table. Then we got our things and went to school.”

“Did anyone use the link?”

“No.”

“Did anyone come to the door?”

She ate a bite of chicken in the same tidy way. Chewed and swallowed before she answered. “No.”

“How did you get to school?”

“Dad walked us, because it wasn't too cold. If it's too cold, we can take a cab. Then he goes to work. Mom goes downstairs to work. And Inga was going shopping because Linnie was coming after school and Mom wanted more fresh fruit.”

“Did either your mother or father seem upset by anything?”

“Coyle said 'suck' and didn't finish his juice, so Mom was down on him. Can I see them even though they're dead?” Her lips trembled. “Can I?”

It was a human need, Eve knew. Why should it be different for a child? “I'll arrange it. It may take a little while. You do okay today with Baxter and Trueheart?”

“Baxter's funny, and Trueheart's nice. He knows how to play a lot of games. When you catch the bad guys, can I see them, too?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Nixie looked back down at her plate, nodded slowly. “Okay.”

I feel like I've been in the Interview box, getting sweated by a pro. Eve rolled her shoulders when she walked into her office.

“You handled it, and very well. I thought you'd overstepped when you asked her to go over the day before the murders, but you were right. She'll need to talk about this. All of this.”

“She'll think about it anyway. She talks, maybe she'll remember something.” She sat at her desk, brooded a minute. “Now here's something I never thought would come out of my mouth-and if you ever repeat it, I'll twist your tongue into a square knot, but thank God Summerset's around.”

He grinned as he eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “Sorry, I don't think I quite heard that.”

Her look, her voice, went dark. “I meant it about the square knot. I'm just saying the kid's easy with him, and he seems to know what to do with her.”

“Well, he raised one of his own, then took me on besides. He has a soft spot for troubled children.”

“He has no soft spots whatsoever, but he's good with the kid. So yay.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I'll be talking with the Dysons again tomorrow. Depending on how things go, we could be moving her into a safe house with them in a day or two. Tonight, I'm going to focus on the housekeeper, see where that takes me. Need to send a memo toPeabody,” she remembered. “She's already hit the school, so she can swing by there in the morning, get the kid's work and whatever. Listen, let me ask you, why would you want, I mean, actually want to do the school thing if you had an escape hatch?”

“On that, I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it's like your work is to you, mine is to me. Somehow essential.”

“It's school. It's like prison.”

“So I always thought, too. Maybe we're wrong.” He leaned over, traced his finger down the dent in her chin. “Want some help with this?”

“Don't you have work?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that, but nothing I can't do while assistingNew York 's best cop.”

“Yeah, that was a good one. You know the security at the scene. Maybe you could tag Feeney at home, exchange data. See if you can figure out what kind of equipment these bastards needed to bypass. And where they might've come by it.”

“All right.” This time he brushed her cheek. “You've put in a long day already.”

“I've got another couple hours in me.”

“Save some for me,” he said, and walked into his own office.

Alone, she set up a second murder board, programmed a short pot of coffee, then ordered Inga's data onscreen.

She studied the ID photo. Attractive, but in a non threatening, homey sort of way. She wondered if Swisher had specified non threatening, nothing too young and pretty to tempt her husband.

Whatever the requirements, the match seemed to have worked. Inga had put plenty of years in with the Swishers. Enough, Eve noted, to see the kids grow up.

None of her own, Eve saw. One marriage, one divorce, full-time domestic since she was in her twenties. Though Eve couldn't understand why anyone would volunteer to clean up for someone else, she supposed it took all kinds.

Her financials were steady, reasonable considering her occupation, and her outlays within the normal range.

Normal, normal, normal, Eve thought. Well, Inga, let's go deeper.

An hour later she was circling her board.

Nothing, she thought. If there were hidden pockets, they were expertly concealed. Inga's life had been so utterly normal it was bordering on boring. She worked, she shopped, she took two vacations a year-one with the family she worked for, and the other, at least for the last five years, with a couple of other women to the same relaxation spa in upstateNew York.

She'd check with, and on, the other women, but nothing had popped out on them when she'd run their data.

The ex lived inChicago, had remarried, and had one offspring, male. He was a drone for a restaurant supply company, and had made no on-record trips toNew York in over seven years.

The idea that the housekeeper had heard or seen something dire while buying plums or cleaning supplies just seemed ludicrous.