Concealed in Death (In Death #38)(122)

“You shouldn’t begrudge yourself a feeling of not quite full satisfaction.”

“It’s closed, questions are answered. Except . . . The last victim. She doesn’t have a name. She’s not on any record anyway. If she was, Feeney would have found her. Whoever she came from didn’t bother to name her. It—”

“Makes you think of yourself.”

“They didn’t name me, because I was a thing to them. I guess I see her as something of the same. To whoever brought her into the world, she was just a thing. She didn’t matter to anyone, except, for a short time, to the man who killed her. He didn’t even know her name.”

“Give her one.”

“What? She’s Jane Doe.”

“Give her better than that. Give her a name.”

“What do I know about names?”

“You named the cat.”

She frowned at Galahad, currently sleeping on the bed with all four legs in the air. “Yeah, I did. But a person, that’s two names.”

“She was found on the West Side. West for her surname. There, I’ve done mine. What’s her first name?”

“I don’t . . . Angel.” Since that flashed into her mind, Eve went with it. “Might as well do the higher power thing. She deserves something.”

“Angel West she is then. And she matters.”

“Okay.” She let out a long breath. “Why don’t we just sit here awhile, drink this wine, and look at the tree.”

“A fine idea.”

“I like it.” She tipped her head to his shoulder. “Christmas. I guess I have to buy stuff.”

“Horrors.”

She laughed, sipped her wine.

She’d put it aside, she told herself. Take down her board, close her murder book. She’d done her job, she’d done her best. Now she was home with the fire warm, the tree shining, the cat snoring, and the man who loved her sitting beside her.

It was a lot more than enough.