Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(19)

“Victim’s door.”

“Yep.” Something rustled, then he popped a candied almond in his mouth. “Not tampered with, but bullshit on the unsecured. Key card used to open it at zero-seven-eighteen.”

“About four minutes after Huffman bought the takeout.”

“If you say. Last key-card use prior, twenty-two-forty-six.”

“Is that so?” Eve narrowed her eyes on her board, and the TOD of twenty-two-forty-eight. “Is that fucking so?”

“It’s fucking so.”

“Same card? Can you tell?”

“I can tell you it wasn’t Huffman’s original. Copy used, but I can’t tell you if it was one copy or two copies. Might be able to if you get us the copy or copies.” He ate another almond. “That’s a might be.”

“I’ll take a might be.”

“I got McNab going over the vic’s ’link, her comp. Nothing much popping right now. She’s got art and business stuff on the comp, and a calendar. She’s got some of the dates marked with a little red heart. Including last night.”

“I could use those dates. I’m bringing a suspect into the box.”

“I’ll tell him to send them.”

“Appreciate it, Feeney.”

She got up to study the board, make some additions. Once again an incoming interrupted.

This time she saw Julie Byrd on the readout. The mother, the next of kin Eve hadn’t been able to reach to inform.

“Hell.” She went back to her desk, answered. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Yes, yes, this is Julie Byrd.”

The woman, an older version of her daughter, looked deliriously happy.

“I had a voice mail from you on my ’link. I completely forgot my ’link this morning! My daughter-in-law went into labor and we all just rushed out to the birthing center. Such an exciting day. I just got back to my son’s house. He’ll be bringing Ally and our gorgeous Fiona—seven pounds, three ounces, and eighteen inches of perfect—home in a few hours. I came back to get everything ready for the homecoming and saw my ’link sitting on the kitchen counter.”

“Ms. Byrd.”

“Yes? Oh, I forgot to stop and buy flowers.” With a laugh, the woman tapped the flat of her hand against the side of her head. “I need to run out and do that.”

“Ms. Byrd, I’m very sorry. I have some difficult news.”

“Oh, nothing’s difficult on this day. Not after watching that precious life come into the world.”

“I’m afraid it is. It’s about your daughter, Ariel. I regret—”

“Ariel. Lucas—my son—said he’d contact her when I realized I didn’t have my ’link. She’s going to be so excited! She’s an aunt!”

Never easy, Eve admitted. Notification shouldn’t be easy. But some were worse than others.

“Ms. Byrd, I regret to inform you your daughter, Ariel Byrd, was killed last night. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“What? That’s a terrible thing to say. I’m hanging up!”

“Ms. Byrd, I’m Lieutenant Dallas of the New York Police and Security Department. I’m the primary investigator on your daughter’s murder.”

“Murder? No one would murder Ariel. You can’t mean any of this.”

The screen blurred, then cleared again. Eve realized the woman had dropped down to sit on the floor.

“I’m very sorry.”

“What happened to my baby? What happened to my girl?”

There were times you didn’t lay the details on top of the weight. “We’re investigating. I know this is difficult, but if you could answer some questions, it would help us find the person who hurt your daughter.”

“I don’t understand. Who would want to hurt her? She never hurts anyone. She’s an artist. She works to bring joy and beauty into the world.”

“Do you know of anyone she had an issue with, anyone who threatened her, or she argued with?”

“No. No. No. She’s so involved with her work. I tell her she should go out more, have fun, but her work is her passion, her joy. Her fun.”

“What about romantic attachments?”

The image on-screen swayed as Julie began to rock herself. “I know she’s been seeing someone for several months now. I don’t know who—Ariel’s very private. But I know the woman she’s involved with makes her happy. Frustrates her sometimes, but that’s love, it can be frustrating. And she’s so young, so young and so talented. So much left to do and experience.”

The tears came now, in a flood. “Oh God, oh God, my baby. I have to come home to my baby. I’m—I’m in Atlanta. My boy lives in Atlanta, and I’m here to help with …”

“Ms. Byrd. Julie. I can assure you we’re doing our best for your daughter, that she’s in good hands. If you want to take a day or two before traveling back to New York, I can keep you informed.”

“I can’t leave Ariel there alone.”

“She’s not alone. Is there someone who can travel with you when you come back?”

“I … My husband … there was an accident. Four years ago now. He died. Now I have to tell my boy, on his happiest day, his sister is gone.”