Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(102)

Though Eve considered that a reasonable response, she put a hand on the woman’s arm.

“Kid.” She pushed back her coat so her weapon came clearly into view. “You’ve just violated Code Eighty-two-seventy-six-B. You’ve got two choices. Go take a nap, or go to jail. There’s no ice cream in jail. No toys in jail, no cartoons on screen in jail. There’s just jail.”

The boy’s sleep-deprived eyes went huge. “Mommy!”

“There’s nothing I can do, honey. She’s the police. Please, Officer.” The mother turned to Eve, hands clasped as if in prayer, and with an almost insane grin on her face. “Please, give him another chance. He’s a good boy. He’s just tired and not feeling very well.”

“The law’s the law.” Eve aimed a hard, cold look at the kid. “Nap or jail.”

“I’ll take a nap!” He scrambled up and ran as if pursued by demons. Eve heard a door slam.

“I’ll be right in, baby,” the woman called out, then turned back to Eve. “If you take off your boots, I’ll kiss your feet. I’ll give you a pedicure. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Just answer a couple questions and we’re square.”

“We’ll never be square, but what do you want to know?”

“Clinton Frye.” Eve gestured across the hall. “When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday, about five, I guess. I had some food delivered because I can’t take Bailey out, and he was leaving.”

“Did he say where?”

“He doesn’t say anything. I haven’t had a conversation with him in the five years we’ve lived here. He’s not what you call neighborly.”

“Any trouble with him?”

“No. But I’m not surprised to find the police at my door asking about him. He just gives off that . . . vibe. I’ve never seen anybody visit, never seen him with a single friend.”

“And he hasn’t been home, that you’ve seen, since yesterday?”

“That’s right. He had a couple suitcases so I assumed he was taking a trip.”

“Suitcases.”

“Yeah. Anyone else, I’d have said something like, oh, you’re taking a trip. Him? I just kept my mouth shut.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything else? Bake you a cake? I’ve never baked a cake, but I’d try it.”

“No, thanks. We appreciate the time.”

“He really is a good boy. He’s just been so miserable the last few days. I think we’ll both take a nap, and hopefully wake up human again.”

“Good luck.” Eve stepped back, looked across the hall.

“Do you think he went rabbit?” Peabody asked.

“I think he figured out we might come looking. The flying baby,” she said again. “All those vids. He couldn’t be sure somebody didn’t get his face, and we wouldn’t do just what we did with the sketch. So he took what he wanted, relocated. But he’s not in the wind, not blown far.”

She took out her comm, ordered a canvass, a check on cab pickups, and asked Callendar to come up to go through any electronics he’d left behind.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Eve said, and pulled out her master.

“That was good work with the kid, by the way,” Peabody said. “Scaring him into thinking you’d throw him in jail.”

“Who said I wouldn’t have?” Eve countered and opened the door.

21

THE ABSENCE IN THE ROOM STRUCK EVE first. The living area seemed exactly the opposite—a nonliving area, lending the sensation the occupant had been gone weeks rather than a single day.

An oversized sofa, an oversized entertainment screen, a couple of tables, a single chair in the generous space made the room look lonely and lifeless. It lacked art, color, any softening or personal touches. Even the rug lay in a tired, listless gray.

Would he sit there, she wondered, the big man on the big couch watching the big screen? Would he sit, alone and silent while all those images of people and life and movement flashed by?

“This is taking minimalism to an extreme,” Peabody commented.

Saying nothing, Eve moved through to the kitchen with all its shiny, glossy conveniences. She opened the refrigerator, found brew, a supply of bottled water, and sports drinks. She found energy bars and soy chips in a cabinet, and a set of four plates, four mugs, four bowls.

A lot of space for nothing, she thought, then moved to the wall of windows.

But he could stand here, look out, look down. Observe. Like watching a vid on his big screen.

She opened drawers at random. Four knives, four forks, four spoons, a couple of unused memo cubes.

“No junk,” she said. “Nothing just tossed in a drawer or shoved in a cabinet to deal with later. No waste, except it’s all waste. All this space, all this shine and he didn’t know what to do with it.”

With Peabody she moved off and into the bedroom.

The mattress sat on a frame, its brown spread tucked with military precision. She’d bet she could bounce a credit off it.

Again a single chair, and a large bureau, a computer station minus the computer.

“Check the dresser, the desk,” she told Peabody and walked to the closet.