Possession in Death (In Death #31.5)(16)

“I’m just going to sit here. Bring Morris, will you? I just… need to sit here.” Deal, she ordered herself. Deal with what’s in front of you, then figure out the rest. “Could really use something cold to drink.”

Roarke rose, cursing under his breath as he ordered a tube of Pepsi.

“He’s gorgeous.” Janna smiled a little even as she knuckled at tears. “Mega frosted. Is he your boyfriend?”

“We’re married,” Eve murmured.

“Seriously icy for you,” Janna said as Roarke glanced down.

“So we are,” he said. “And I’ll be taking my wife to a doctor in short order. I’ll get you Morris first, but then you’re done here.”

“He’s got a really sexy voice, too.” Janna sighed as Eve took the tube Roarke had opened, drank.

“Thanks. I’m going to sit right here,” she said as much to Janna as Roarke, “while you get Morris.”

And while she sat wondering if she had a brain tumor or had dropped into some strange, vivid dream, she put on the cop and interviewed the dead.

Minutes later, Morris hurried down the tunnel with Roarke.

“Dallas.” He knelt, laid a hand on her brow as Roarke had. “You’re feverish.”

“Just tell me if you’ve gotten a body in—female, mixed race, midtwenties, ID’d as Janna Dorchester. Beating death in Riverside Park.”

“Yes. She’s only just come in. How did you—”

“Who caught the case?”

“Ah… Stuben’s primary.”

“I need to contact him. Can you get me his contact data?”

“Of course. But you don’t look well.”

“I’m feeling better, actually.” Odd, she thought, how the cop approach steadied her, even when her interviewee was dead. “I think I’ll feel better yet once I talk to Stuben. I’d appreciate it, Morris.”

“Give me a minute.”

“Eve.” Roarke took her hand as Morris strode away. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m not sure, and I need you to give me a really open mind. I mean wide-open. Yours is already more open than mine about, you know, weird stuff.”

“What sort of weird stuff is my mind going to be wide-open about?”

“Okay.” She looked into his eyes, so blue, so beautiful. Eyes she trusted with everything she had. “There’s a dead woman sitting right beside me. Her name’s Janna Dorchester, and some ass**le named Rennie Foster bashed her head in with a rock in Riverside Park. She’s worried her friend Sara might be next on his list. So I’m going to pass the information to the primary. I can read Russian.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I can read Russian. I think I can speak it, too, and I’m pretty sure I can make Hungarian goulash. And maybe borscht, possibly pierogies. The old woman, the one who fell into my lap and happened to be a Gypsy speaker for the dead, did something to me. Or I have a brain tumor.”

Staring into her eyes, Roarke cupped Eve’s face in his hands. “Kak vashi dela?”

“U menya vsyo po pnezhne mu. Hey, you speak Russian?”

He sat back on his heels, rocked right down to the bone. “A handful of phrases, and certainly not as fluently as you, apparently. And despite your answer, I doubt you’re fine.”

They looked up as Morris came back. “I have what you need.”

“Great.” Eve took out her ‘link, and staying where she was, contacted Detective Stuben. “Lieutenant Dallas,” she said, “Homicide, out of Central. I’ve got some information on your vic, on Janna Dorchester.” She looked at Janna as she spoke. “You’re going to want to find Rennie Foster and get some protection to a Sara Jasper. Let me lay it out for you.”

When she had, she answered his question on how she came by the information by claiming a confidential informant.

“Unless Stuben’s an idiot—and he didn’t strike me that way—that should do it.” Eve got to her feet. “It’s all I can do.”

“I’m still dead, but I’m not as scared. It’s not so cold anymore.”

“I don’t think you have to stay here.”

“Maybe for a little while. It helped to talk to you. I still wish I wasn’t dead, but…” She trailed off, shrugged.

“Good luck.” Eve turned to Morris. “I don’t know how to explain it. I need to see Gizi Szabo.”

“Dallas, did you just have a conversation with the dead?”

“It sure felt that way. And I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread it around. I need to work, I need to keep going, or I’m pretty sure I’m going to go crazy. So…” She started forward, glanced back, and saw Janna lift a hand in good-bye. “I need to confirm TOD on Szabo.”

“I’ve run it three times, using various components. It’s still thirteen hundred.”

“It’s not possible.” She shoved through the doors of the autopsy suite. “I was there. Lopez was there, hours later. She fell off the curb, we administered first aid. She—”

“Eve,” Roarke interrupted, “you just spoke with a woman killed more than two hours ago, and you’re questioning the possible?”