Survivor In Death (In Death #20)(26)

“Not as smart as they think,” Roarke commented.

“Because?”

“Smarter to have taken the valuables, to have torn the house up a bit. The entire horror would point more to burglary. Or to have hacked away at the victims, to make it seem like a psychopath, or a burglary gone very wrong.”

She let out a half laugh. “You know, you're right. You're damn right. And why didn't they? Pride. Pride in the work. That's good, that's good, because it's something, and I've got nothing. Fucking bupkus. I knew there was a reason I liked having you around.”

“Any little thing I can do.” He took her hand as they started downstairs. “And it's not true you have nothing. You have your instincts, your skill, your determination. And a witness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She didn't want to think about her witness quite yet. “Why would you wipe out an entire family? Not you you, but hypothetically.”

“I appreciate the qualification. Because they'd messed with mine, had been or were a threat to what's mine.”

“Swisher was a lawyer. Family law.”

Roarke tilted his head as they went out the front door. “That's interesting, isn't it?”

“And she was a nutritionist, did a lot of families, or had clients with families. So maybe Swisher lost a case--or won one--that pissed one of his clients or opposings off. Or she pushed the wrong buttons on somebody's fat kid, or had a client die. And the kids went to private schools. Maybe one of the kids screwed with somebody else's kid.”

“A lot of avenues.”

“Just have to find the right one.”

“One of the adults might have had an affair with someone else's spouse. It's been known to annoy.”

“Looking there.” She slid behind the wheel of her vehicle. “But it's not solidifying. These two, they had what looks like a pretty solid marriage, and a lot of focus on family. Took trips together, went out together. Like a group. The picture I'm getting doesn't leave much time for extramarital. And sex takes time.”

“Done well, certainly.”

“I haven't found anything in their data, their possessions, their schedules that points to an affair. Not yet, anyway. Neighborhood canvass didn't shake out anything,” she added as she pulled away from the curb. “Nobody saw anything. I figure one of them lives in the area, or they had a bogus permit, or--Jesus--they took the goddamn subway, hailed a cab a couple of blocks away. I can't pin any of it down.”

“Eve, it's been less than twenty-four hours.”

She glanced in the rearview, thought of the quiet house on the quiet street. “Feels longer.”

It was always weird, in Eve's opinion, to have Summerset materialize in the foyer like a recurring nightmare the minute she walked in the door, but it was weirder yet to see him there, with a small blonde girl at his side.

The kid's hair was shiny, wavy blonde, as if it had been freshly washed and brushed. Who did that? Eve wondered. Did the kid deal with her own hair, or had Summerset done it? And the thought of that gave her the heebies.

But the kid looked comfortable enough with him, even had her hand in his, and the cat at her feet.

“Isn't this a fine welcome?” Roarke shrugged out of his coat. “How are you, Nixie?”

She looked at him--all blue eyes--and nearly smiled. “Okay. We made apple pie.”

“Did you now?” Roarke bent to pick up the cat when Galahad slithered over to rub against his legs. “That's a favorite of mine.”

“You can make a little one with the leftovers. That's what I did.” Then those eyes, big and blue, lasered into Eve's. “Did you catch them yet?”

“No.” Eve tossed her jacket over the newel post, and for once Summerset didn't snark or sneer at the habit. “Investigations like this take some time.”

“Why? Screen shows with cops don't take very long.”

“This isn't a vid.” She wanted to go upstairs, clear her mind for five minutes, then start back over the case, point by point. But those eyes stayed on her face, both accusing and pleading.

“I told you I'd get them, and I will.”

“When?”

She started to swear, might not have choked it back in time, but Roarke played a hand gently down her arm and spoke first. “Do you know, Nixie, that Lieutenant Dallas is the best cop in the city?”

Something, maybe it was speculation, passed over Nixie's face. “Why?”

“Because she won't stop. Because it matters so much to her that she takes care of people who've been hurt, she can't stop. If someone of mine had been hurt, I'd want her to be the one in charge.”

“Baxter says she's a major butt-kicker.”

“Well, then.” Now Roarke smiled fully. “He'd be right.”

“Where are they?” Eve asked. “Baxter and Trueheart?”

“In your office,” Summerset told her. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Nixie, we need to set the table.”

“I'm just going to--”

This time Roarke took Eve's hand, squeezed. “We'll be down.”

“I've got work,” Eve began as they went up the stairs. “I don't have time to--”