Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

She stepped back onto the street, signalled to Nadine. “Do your interviews. But keep our names out. I don’t want whoever did this to know we suspect a connection to the Swisher murders.”

“And you do.”

Eve started to say “off-record,” but decided it would be an insult under the circumstances. “No. I know there is. But we make that known, Newman is dead. Probably is anyw

ay, but that would seal the deal. And it wouldn’t hurt to pump up the human interest regarding Minnie Cable—recovering funk addict, working to stay clean and do right by her kids, so on. She stood up, called this in. But make it clear, Nadine, like crystal, that she was unable to give any description of the perpetrators.”

“Was she?”

“No. Couple of guys, dressed in black. Masked, moved fast. She couldn’t make height, age, weight, race, nothing. Just make it clear on-air.”

“Got that. Hey!” She strode, high heels clipping, as Eve walked away. “Is that all I get?”

“All there is, at this point. Nadine?” She paused long enough to glance around. “Your heads-up is noted, and appreciated. Officer,” she continued, stepping up to the uniform. “Give me your report.”

Eve sat in the double-wide cube at Child Protection and fought not to squirm. She hated places like this. An atavistic loathing with an unreasonable current of fear rushed through her. She knew it was unreasonable, knew its root was in a monster spinning horror tales to make her believe he was the lesser of evils.

Lies, of course, vicious lies to keep her in control.

How long did it take to shed the fear-skin of childhood?

Did we ever?

The woman sitting at the workstation in the cube didn’t look like a monster. They’ll toss you in a pit, little girl. Black and deep and full of spiders. She looked like someone’s plump and comfortable grandma. At least the way Eve envisioned plump and comfortable grandmas. Her hair was in a neat circle around a round, rosy-cheeked face, and she wore a long, shapeless print dress. She smelled like berries. Raspberries, Eve thought.

But when you looked in her eyes, the cozy granny was nowhere to be seen. They were dark and shrewd, tired and concerned.

“She hasn’t checked in, and doesn’t answer her ’link.” Renny Townston, Newman’s supervisor, frowned at Eve. “All our reps—male and female—are issued panic alarms. They often visit rough neighborhoods, and rougher subjects. They’re given standard defense training and are required to update that training, along with their other job qualifications, annually. Meredith knew how to take care of herself. She’s no rookie. In fact . . .”

“In fact,” Eve prompted.

“She’s on the edge of the board, in my opinion. A year, maybe two left in her for this job. She does the job, Lieutenant, but she’s lost the heart. Most do after a few years. In six months, if it doesn’t turn around, all she’ll be doing is putting in time. The fact is . . .”

“The fact is?”

“She should never have allowed you to override her on the Swisher matter. Never have permitted you to take that child out of her care or supervision. She didn’t even demand the location, and barely followed up on the matter the following morning.”

“I pushed pretty hard.”

“And she didn’t stand up to it, to you. At the very least, she should have gone with you and the child, reported in. Instead, she went home, and didn’t file the report until morning.”

Annoyance, then worry, pursed Townston’s lips. “Now, I’m afraid one of her clients grabbed her up. They blame us, you know, same as you cops get blamed, for their own screwups and failings.”

“How about her personal life?”

“I don’t know much about it. She isn’t a chat-in-the-breakroom sort. I know she was dating someone for a while recently, but that’s over. She’s a loner, which is part of the problem. Without a life outside, you don’t make it to retirement age.”

Though she knew it was a time waster, it was a routine one, so Eve took the data on Newman’s case files. She took the names, the addresses. And with Peabody, went next to Newman’s apartment.

The living/kitchen area was larger than Minnie Cable’s, but lacked the color and life of clutter. It was clean to the point of sterile with its blank, white walls, engaged privacy screens, its straight-lined sofa and single chair.

There was a data unit on a workstation in the bedroom—bed tidily made—and two boxes of discs, clearly labeled.

“Kinda sad, isn’t it?” Peabody glanced around. “Thinking about the different places we’ve been in today. Say, Mrs. Grentz’s insane treasure house, the wild space where Hildy lives below. Even Minnie Cable’s pitiful little rooms. People lived there, you could see. Stuff happened there. This is like a vid set. Single professional female with no life.”

“Why didn’t they take her here, Peabody? Why risk a street grab when they can slide into a secured family dwelling and kill five people in less time than it takes to get pizza delivered?”

“Um. They’d be in a hurry. They’d want to get her fast, see what she knows.”