Chaos in Death (In Death #33.5)(14)

“You got the last one,” Peabody told her.

“I probably did. And let’s see if we can find anyone connected to the center or Get Straight who’s involved in theater or theatrical makeup. Costume parties,” she added. “Places like the Center have fund-raisers like that, right? Where they make people dress up like idiots, then squeeze them for donations.”

“I doubt they think of it in quite those terms,” Roarke considered. “But, yes.”

“We’ll look at that. If you get anything close to a hit,” she told Peabody, “let me know.”

She went back in her office with Roarke. “Go ahead,” she said, gesturing at the take-out box. “I want to try to get a meet with Mira.”

She sat and began chipping away at the scales of the dragon at Mira’s gates. “Ten minutes,” Eve insisted. “I’ve got three DBs.”

“And Dr. Mira has a full schedule today.”

“Ten minutes,” Eve said again. “For this.” She angled so her ‘link captured the murder board.

“In thirty minutes,” the admin told her. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Sampling the pizza, Roarke wandered over to her board. “You know, you could contact Mira directly.”

“Yeah, but it’s not right. Channels are channels for a reason, even when they’re annoying.”

“I suppose. You’ve discounted this being done by someone from their past? An addict, a dealer.”

“Not discounted.” She tried the pizza herself. “But the probability’s low any of them knew someone back then who had the skill to surgically remove body parts. I think he was on something when he did—the frenzy, the strength and endurance, then laughing and dancing. So even flying he had skill, a steady hand. Add to it, Darnell’s been out of that for nearly four months and wouldn’t be tough to track down. If she’d known something that threatened someone with this skill, wouldn’t he have dealt with her before? For four months she’s been immersed in the Center and the program. It’s somebody attached to that.”

“I can’t fault your logic. I rarely can.”

Her ‘link signaled. “Dallas.”

“Dallas, I was in surgery.” Louise, still in scrubs, mask dangling, came on screen. “I just heard. I can’t quite believe it.”

“You knew them.”

“Yes. I’m actually Jen Darnell’s physician of record. I do her monthly exams. Did,” she corrected. “I’d see her often when I did a rotation at either the Center or Get Straight. And Coby, too, in the last few months. I met Wil recently. He hasn’t been in the program as long.”

“How well do you know Rosenthall and Arianna Whitwood?”

“Very well. They were in Haiti helping to set up a new clinic when Charles and I got married or they’d have been at the wedding.”

“Eton Billingsly.”

Louise’s pretty face pruned. “He’s an excellent therapist and a complete jerk.”

“I need to talk to you about this.”

“I’ve got another surgery scheduled. It’s minor, but they’re already prepping the patient.”

“Have her and Charles meet us for drinks,” Roarke suggested and got a blank look from Eve.

“Here.” He simply nudged her aside. “Hello, Louise.”

“Roarke. I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Why don’t you and Charles meet us for drinks after work? You and Eve can discuss what needs to be discussed.”

“Yes, I think that would work.”

While Roarke set it up, Eve turned back to her board. She liked Louise and Charles, but wasn’t sure how she felt about her interview with a source turning into a social hour.

What the hell.

“Find somewhere to meet up near the crime scene,” Eve said, and gave Roarke the address. “I want to go back over it.”

“There.” Roarke turned away from the ‘link when he’d finished. “Now you can talk to Louise, revisit your crime scene, and have a little time with friends. Interlude on West Eleventh, between Sixth and Seventh. At five, or as close as you can make it.”

He skimmed a fingertip down the dent in her chin. “It’s efficient.”

“I guess it is.”

“I’ve got a meeting shortly, so I’ll see you there.” Leaning down, he brushed his lips over hers. “Take care of my cop,” he told her, then left.

It should have weirded her out, Eve mused, sharing pizza and good-bye kisses, making dates for drinks in her office. It did, she admitted, but not as much as expected. Her gaze landed on the bakery box, narrowed.

She said, “Hmmm,” and, picking it up, walked out. She ignored the noses that came up sniffing as she passed through the bullpen, and caught a glide to Mira’s office.

The admin, busy on her comp, glanced up with a stern frown. “You’re early.”

“Then I’m not late.” Eve set the box on the desk. “Thanks for clearing time for me.”

Stern turned suspicious as the woman lifted the lid of the box a fraction, then more as she peered in. “Cookies? You brought me cookies?”

“They’re good. I had one. Is she free now?”