Judgment in Death (In Death #11)(5)

"Well..." was all Clooney said as they stepped off on the fourth floor.

She would know, and they were all aware of it. A cop's spouse would know the minute she opened the door. How the words were spoken varied little, and it didn't matter a damn. The minute the door opened, lives were irrevocably changed.

They didn't have the chance to knock before it began.

Patsy Kohli was a pretty woman with smooth, ebony skin and a closely cropped thatch of black curls. She was dressed to go out, a baby sling strapped across her br**sts. The small boy at her side had his hand clasped in hers as he danced frantically in place.

"Let's go swing! Let's go swing!"

But his mother had frozen in place, the laughter that had been in her eyes dying away. She lifted one hand, pressing it to the baby, and the baby to her heart.

"Taj."

Roth had taken off her sunshades. Her eyes were coldly blue, rigidly blank. "Patsy. We need to come in."

"Taj." Patsy stood where she was, slowly shaking her head. "Taj."

"Here now, Patsy." Clooney moved in, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "Why don't we sit down?"

"No. No. No."

The little boy began to cry, wailing yelps as he tugged on his mother's unresponsive hand. Both Roth and Eve looked down at him with stares of sheer, hot panic.

Peabody eased inside, crouched down to his level.

"Hi, pal."

"Going swing," he said pitifully, while great tears spilled down his chubby cheeks.

"Yeah. Lieutenant, why don't I take the boy out?"

"Good idea. Good thinking." Her stomach was busily tying itself into knots at the rising sobs. "Mrs. Kohli, with your permission, my officer will take your son outside for awhile. I think that would be best."

"Chad." Patsy stared down as if coming out of a dream. "We're going to the park. Two blocks over. The swings."

"I'll take him, Mrs. Kohli. We'll be fine." With an ease that had Eve frowning, Peabody lifted the boy, set him on her hip. "Hey, Chad, you like soy dogs?"

"Patsy, why don't you give me your little girl there." Gently, Clooney unhooked the sling, slipped the baby free. Then, to Eve's shock, he passed the bundle to her.

"Oh listen, I can't -- "

But Clooney was already guiding Pasty to the sofa, and Eve was left holding the bag. Or so she thought of it. Wincing, she looked down, and when big, black eyes stared curiously up at her, her palms went damp.

And when the baby said, "Coo," she lost all the spit in her mouth.

She searched the room for help. Clooney and Roth were already flanking Pasty, and Clooney's voice was a quiet murmur. The room was small and lived-in, with a scatter of toys on the rug and a scent -- one she didn't recognize -- that was talc and crayons and sugar. The scent of children.

But she spotted a basket of neatly folded laundry on the floor by a chair. Perfect, she decided and, with the care of a woman handling a homemade boomer, laid the baby on top.

"Stay," she whispered, awkwardly patting the dark, downy head.

And started to breathe again.

She tuned back into the room, saw the woman on the sofa gathered into herself, rocking, rocking, with her hands gripped in Clooney's. She made no sound, and her tears fell like rain.

Eve stayed out of the way, watched Clooney work, watched the unity of support stand on either side of the widow. This, she thought, was family. For what it was worth. And in times like this, it was all there could be.

Grief settled into the room like fog. It would, she knew, be a long time before it burned away again.

"It's my fault. It's my fault." They were the first words Patsy spoke since she'd sat on the sofa.

"No." Clooney squeezed her hands until she lifted her head. They needed to look in your eyes, he knew. To believe you, to take comfort, they needed to see it all in your eyes. "Of course it's not."

"He'd never have been working there if not for me. I didn't want to go back to work after Jilly was born. I wanted to stay home. The money, the professional mother's salary was so much less than -- "

"Patsy, Taj was happy you were content to stay home with the children. He was so proud of them and of you."

"I can't -- Chad." She pulled her hands free, pressed them to her face. "How can I tell him? How can we live without Taj? Where is he?" She dropped her hands, looked around blindly. "I have to go see him. Maybe there's a mistake."

It was, Eve knew, her time. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kohli, there's no mistake. I'm Lieutenant Dallas. I'm in charge of the investigation."

"You saw Taj." Patsy got shakily to her feet.

"Yes. I'm sorry, very sorry for your loss. Can you talk to me, Mrs. Kohli? Help me find the person who did this?"

"Lieutenant Dallas," Roth began, but Patsy shook her head.

"No, no. I want to talk. Taj would want me to. He'd want... Where's Jilly? Where's my baby?"

"I, ah..." Feeling sticky again, Eve gestured to the hamper.

"Oh." Patsy wiped tears from her face, smiled. "She's so good. Such a love. She hardly ever cries. I should put her in her crib."

"I'll do that for you, Patsy." Clooney rose. "You talk to the lieutenant." He gave Eve a quiet look, full of sorrow and understanding. "That's what Taj would want. Do you want us to call someone for you? Your sister?"