Forgotten in Death(88)

“Jesus, DeWinter, it lines up. That’s 2024, and the damn restaurant opened for business in the spring of the next year. She couldn’t have fallen through a goddamn concrete floor. Did she fall or not?”

“Yes, she sustained a fall of between eight to ten feet.”

“Thirty-seven years ago, she’s early twenties and a few months away from having a baby. A baby she, this young, conservative woman of means, steps out of her race and culture—”

“You don’t know culturally where—”

“No mix. None. The baby would have been. Even the father had some different countries in his DNA—all WASP—but she doesn’t. You didn’t say most likely Lebanese with some Iranian and/or Sudanese, whatever. Her family, her ancestors stuck to their own. And the father of the fetus, his family stuck to the WASP.”

“That’s a fair point,” DeWinter conceded, “but—”

“Don’t but me,” Eve snapped back because—finally—she could see her victim. “Why did she come to New York—or America? Did her family immigrate, did she come to study, to work? She meets this guy, this white guy, and she steps out, and so does he.

“Maybe it’s love—even just passion—or maybe he was a hit-and-run sort. But the ring…” She shook her head. “Odds lean love, however transient. Not everybody wore wedding rings, and not every woman who got knocked up worried about it. She might have, but if he was a bang-and-blow sort, would she want to be reminded? Anyway…”

“That’s a lot of supposition.”

“It’s making a picture, it’s building a theory. Different races—who cares? Except some did, some still do.”

“Such as the Natural Order cult you just exposed.”

“Can’t have a cult unless some people want to join in. Different religions, too, right? She’d most likely be Muslim—probabilities,” she said before DeWinter could object again. “Not fringe, not hard-line, she’s too conservative for that. But that would be strike two for some people—say, family who’s traditional, who sticks with their own kind.”

“Enough to kill her over it?”

“Enough to object, to make things difficult. And people kill people, including family, for all kinds of ugly reasons. Three shots. Someone wanted her gone, her and the kid inside her. Gone and forgotten.”

They may have hard lines on their individual processes, but on this, DeWinter absolutely agreed.

“She won’t be forgotten now.”

“No, she won’t. I’ve got to get to Central. I have to take Alva Quirk’s ex apart, and take him down.”

“The one who beat her? How are you going to— Never mind. I’m already late getting started and I’d really like to get out of here on time today. I have a date.”

She smiled slowly, meaningfully. “With the sweet, charming, stunningly built Mackie.”

Eve very nearly goggled. “The construction guy?”

“That’s right, and you’re thinking he’s not my type.”

“I don’t know your type, but okay. You’re standing there in hot-pink skyscraper heels and a matching lab coat over a white dress. He’s work boots, coverall, and calluses.”

Face just a little smug, DeWinter examined the hot-pink tips of her fingers. “Did I mention he’s sweet, charming, and built? It’s just drinks, but I like his smile. And his delts.”

DeWinter set one pink-tipped hand on her hip. “You never fully believed I didn’t have designs on Morris.”

“Designs on is a bitchy phrase, and I didn’t think that. Not like that.”

“That’s appreciated. The fact is, Morris came into my life when I was in flux—new city, new job, new people, and all that new for my daughter. Hell, for our dog. And I came into his when Li was at his lowest. Not quite lowest, because you’d been there for him when he lost Amaryllis. We gave each other someone to talk to, who shares interests. We still do. He’s my closest friend.

“Now, Mackie,” she said with another smile, and patted a hand on her heart.

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Good luck with the wifebeater.”

“I’ll take it,” Eve said as she walked out. “But I don’t need luck on this one. He’s finished.”

She checked the time as she wound her way out of the lab, calculated she’d be a few minutes late for the nine o’clock. And she was fine with that.

She tagged Peabody. “I’m just leaving the lab. We have a face, not complete, and not the holo replica, but enough to start facial rec. I want you to go back to April and through the end of 2024, adding she’s Middle Eastern and the wedding ring. We’ll see if anything pops on that. We’ll start the full run after we’re done with Wicker.”

“Reo just got here.”

“Make sure she’s in Observation before he gets there. Which is any minute. You just tell him how I got held up and I’m on my way. You know the rest.”

“I’ve got it, and looking forward to it.”

“We’re not supposed to count our ducks, but—”

“It’s chickens,” Peabody corrected automatically. “You don’t count your chickens, but you have your ducks in a row.”