Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“What happens to her now?”

“Safe house, sealed record, uniform guards, a rep from Child Protection.” The cold steps, the impersonal stages. The kid’s life, as she knew it, had ended at approximately two-fifteen. “We’ll need to see if she’s got other family, or if there’s legal guardianship. Later today, we’ll talk to her again, see what more we can squeeze out. I want this house sealed up like a biodome, and we’ll start running the adult vics.”

“Dad was a lawyer—family law—Mom was a nutritionist. Private practice, run primarily out of an office space on the lower level. Those locks are still in place, and it doesn’t appear anything’s been disturbed in that area.”

“We look at their work, their clients, their personals. This kind of hit, it’s pro, and it’s thorough. Maybe one or both of them—or the housekeeper—had a sideline that linked up with organized crime. Nutritionist, could be a front for Illegals. Keep the client thin and happy the easy way.”

“There’s an easy way? A way that includes unlimited portions of pizza and no hideous stomach crunches?”

“A little Funk, a little Go as part of your basic food groups.” Eve lifted a shoulder. “Maybe she screwed with her supplier. Maybe one of them had an affair with a wrong number that ended bad. You’re going to wipe out a whole family, you’ve got one hell of a motivation. We’ll see if the sweepers turn up something on scene. Meanwhile, I want to go through each room again myself. I didn’t get much of a . . .”

She broke off when she heard the steady clip of shoes, and turned to see the social worker, sleepy-eyed but neat as a church, walk into the room. Newman, Eve remembered. CPS drone, and from the looks of her not too happy with the early call.

“Lieutenant, the doctor has found no physical injuries. It would be best if we transported the minor subject now.”

“Give me a few minutes to arrange security. My partner can go up, pack some things for her. I want to—”

She broke off again. This time it wasn’t a steady clip of shoes, but running bare feet. Still wearing the bloodied nightshirt, Nixie ran in, and threw herself at Eve.

“You said you wouldn’t leave.”

“Hey, standing right here.”

“Don’t let them take me. They said they were going to take me away. Don’t let them.”

“You can’t stay here.” She pried Nixie’s fingers from her legs, crouched until they were eye-to-eye. “You know you can’t.”

“Don’t let them take me. I don’t want to go with her. She’s not the police.”

“I’m going to have police go with you, and stay with you.”

“You have to. You have to.”

“I can’t. I have to work. I have to do what’s right for your mom and dad, for your brother and your friend. For Inga.”

“I won’t go with her. You can’t make me go with her.”

“Nixie—”

“Hey.” Voice pleasant, a non-threatening smile on her face, Peabody stepped in. “Nixie, I need to talk to the lieutenant for a minute—just over here. Nobody’s going anywhere yet, okay. I just need to talk to her. Dallas?” Peabody walked to the far side of the room, where they were still in Nixie’s line of sight.

Dallas joined her.

“What? Can I make a break for it?”

“You should take her.”

“Peabody, I need to do a more thorough on-scene.”

“I’ve done one, and you can come back and do your own.”

“So I ride with her to the safe house? Then she wigs on me when I have to leave her with uniforms. What’s the point?”

“I don’t mean take her to a safe house. Take her home. No place safer in the city—probably on the planet—than your place.”

Eve said nothing for ten full seconds. “Are you out of your mind?”

“No, and just listen first. She trusts you. She knows you’re in charge, and she trusts you to keep her safe. She’s the eye witness, and she’s a traumatized kid. We’ll get more out of her, bound to, if she feels safe, if she’s settled, at least as much as she can be. A few days, like a transition, before she ends up in the system. Put yourself in her shoes, Dallas. Would you feel better being with the icy, kick-ass cop, or the bored, overworked CPS drone?”