“Mrs. Swisher is dead,” Eve said flatly. “Persons unknown entered the residence last night. Mr. and Mrs. Swisher, their housekeeper, their son Coyle, your daughter were murdered. Their daughter Nixie was overlooked, and is now under protective custody.”
“This is a mistake.”
Jenny squeezed a hand on her husband’s arm as he began to shake. “But they have security. They have good security.”
“It was compromised. We’re investigating. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m extremely sorry.”
“Not my baby.” It wasn’t a cry so much as a wail as Matt Dyson crumbled, as he turned to his wife and collapsed against her. “Not our baby.”
“She’s just a little girl.” Jenny rocked, herself, her husband, as her shattered eyes clung to Eve’s. “Who would hurt an innocent little girl?”
“I intend to find out. Peabody.”
On cue, Peabody stepped forward. “Why don’t we sit down? Can I get you something. Water? Tea?”
“Nothing, nothing.” With her arm still wrapped around her husband, Jenny sank with him onto the couch. “Are you sure it was my Linnie? Maybe—”
“She’s been identified. There’s no mistake. I’m sorry I have to intrude at this time, but I need to ask you a few questions. Did you know the Swishers well?”
“We . . . Oh God, dead?” The barrage of shock had turned skin to paste. “All?”
“You were friends?”
“We were, God, like family. We . . . Keelie and I shared patients, and we . . . we all . . . the girls, the girls are like sisters, and we—Matt.” She encirled him, rocked again. Said his name over and over.
“Can you think of anyone who wished them harm? Who wished anyone in the family harm?”
“No. No. No.”
“Did any of them mention being worried about anything? About being threatened or bothered by someone.”
“No. I can’t think. No. Oh God, my baby.”
“Was either of them involved with someone, outside of the marriage?”
“I don’t know what you . . . Oh.” She closed her eyes as her husband continued to weep on her shoulder. “No. They had a good marriage. They loved each other, enjoyed each other. Their children. Coyle. Oh my God. Nixie.”
“She’s all right. She’s safe.”
“How? How did she get away?”
“She’d gone downstairs for a drink. She wasn’t in bed at the time of the murders. I don’t believe she was seen.”
“She wasn’t in bed,” Jenny said softly. “But my Linnie was. My baby was.” Tears flooded her cheeks. “I don’t understand. I can’t understand. We need to . . . Where is Linnie?”
“She’s with the Medical Examiner. I’ll arrange for you to be taken to see her, when you’re ready.”
“I need to know, but I can’t.” She turned her head so her shoulder rested on her husband’s as his did on hers. “We need to be alone now.”
Eve dug a card out of her pocket, laid it on the coffee table. “Contact me when you’re ready. I’ll arrange the rest.”
She walked away from their grief, and she and Peabody rode down to the lobby in silence.
The law offices boasted a comfortable waiting area, divided by theme rather than walls into distinct parts. A child’s corner, with a mini-comp and a lot of bright toys, flowed into a section designed, Eve imagined, with the older child in mind. E-mag vids, puzzles, trendy comp games. Across the room, adults could wait their turn in pastel chairs, and watch vids on parenting, sports, fashion, or gourmet cooking.
The receptionist was young, with a cheerful smile and a shrewd eye. She wore her streaked red and gold hair in what Eve assumed to be a stylish fringe of varying lengths.
“No appointment, but then cops don’t usually need one.” She made them as cops before badges were shown, and angled her head. “What’s up?”