Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(25)

“Great, and if he cut out her tongue, he’s going to lead us right to himself.”

“Dallas.” Reo held up her hands, inner wrists touching. “Tied. But I’m going to do everything I can do, leverage wherever I can leverage, push where I can push. Tell me, do you, the primary, believe one of Bastwick’s clients killed her?”

“I don’t have enough information to believe or disbelieve. I’ve got a file of threats made over the years. It’s hefty.”

“Send me a copy. There I can help.”

“I did a quick cross, and I wasn’t involved directly in any of the cases that elicited a threat. Baxter and Trueheart got the collar on one last year, Reineke took another like five years back, and he and Jenkinson were on one more than three years ago.”

“Flag those.”

“All three are doing time. She got the Baxter and the solo Reineke knocked down from Second Degree to Man One – your office made the deal.”

“Okay.”

“The last she lost, big, and the client’s doing life on Omega. I’m looking at the possibility someone hired a hit on her.”

“Then I’ll look over these three first, and thoroughly. I’ll do whatever I can, Dallas, that’s what I wanted you to know.”

“Appreciate it. Okay. I have to get back to this.”

She went from lawyer to shrink, opened Mira’s messages.

Eve, I’m sending you a list of five individuals, with their communication to you. While it will take several days to read and evaluate all the communication, I felt these five warranted a closer look. Although only one of the five resides in New York, all have written to you multiple times, and correspondence shows an unhealthy attachment. There are three males, two females, with age ranges between twenty-eight and sixty-nine.

Please let me know immediately if your investigation into them turns up any additional element of concern or connection.

I’m also sending you, by separate cover, my profile of Leanore Bastwick’s killer. Please contact me, at any time, to discuss. Meanwhile, I expect to provide you with another list of names sometime tomorrow.

Okay, Eve thought, took a breath, poured more coffee. And opened the first name with its correspondence.

When Roarke came back in, she was up and pacing.

“People are f*cked up,” she told him.

“So you’ve said before.”

“How can they be even more f*cked up than I thought? I’ve seen what they’ll do to each other over a harsh word, or because they wake up one day and think: Hey, disemboweling somebody could be fun. But that’s violence, and mostly I understand violence. But where does stupid and f*cked up come from? Screw it,” she decided. “Nobody knows that.”

She strode over to the coffeepot, but Roarke beat her to it, held it out of reach.

“Enough.”

“I say when it’s enough. I want some goddamn coffee.”

“There’ll be no more coffee, at all, if you abuse it.” When her eyes fired hot into his, he just lifted his brows over his cool ones. “You want to punch something. You can take a shot at me, but it won’t be free.”

“Fuck it.” She spun away, paced again. “Just f*ck it.”

To solve the problem, he took the pot back into the kitchen, came back with a bottle of water. “Hydrate,” he suggested, but she ignored him.

“Read that!” She pointed to the wall screen, kept pacing.

Dear Eve,

I understand few call you Eve, but it’s how I think of you, and always have. All my life I’ve felt something – someone – was missing. I searched, and I let people come in and go out of my life during that search. But no one really connected. You know what I mean, I know you do. I sense it’s been the same for you.

Then one day, I saw you, only on screen, but the rush of feeling that swept through me was amazing. You stood on the steps of Cop Central in New York, so fierce, so strong, so real. And I knew. There you are, I thought. At last.

Did you sense me? I think you did. For a moment, just one moment, our eyes met. You looked right into me, Eve. I know you felt it.

I felt giddy and whole at the same time.

We’ve been together before, time and time before. Loved as few love, time and time before. I’ve been to a sensitive, and had this confirmed. We’re destined to meet, to be together, life after life.

I know I must be patient. I’ve followed your life now, your career. I’m so proud of you! I understand you’re married – as was I – and I must wait for you to come to the end of that relationship. It will be soon, though every day without you is a thousand years.

Only know I’m waiting.

Yours, always yours, throughout time,

Morgan

“Well,” Roarke said, “well. At least he’s patient until you give me the boot.”

“She,” Eve corrected. “Morgan Larkin, a forty-year-old woman, a mother of an eight-year-old boy. Three divorces – all from guys. A systems analyst from Columbus, Ohio, who ought to know better.

“And you can wipe that smirk off your face, pal.”

“Sorry, but my wife getting love letters from a thrice-divorced woman with a son does have some amusing factors.”

“You won’t think it’s so funny if you read the following fourteen letters she’s sent.”