It rocked. Not only was everything operational, but it moved. She could zip into vertical and down again, stream instead of muscle her way through traffic.
All comp systems were go, as she was told, politely, by a computerized voice before she even thought to ask. The voice addressed her as Lieutenant Dallas, informed her the outside temp was a pleasant seventy-eight degrees with winds from the south, southwest, at a mild twelve per hour.
It offered to calculate the most convenient route to her destination, or destinations, with projected traffic patterns and ETAs.
It was a fricking miracle.
“You love this car,” Peabody said with a smug little smile on her face.
“I do not love a vehicle. I appreciate and expect efficient machines and tools, machines and tools that assist me in doing my job rather than inconveniencing and hampering me.”
She whipped around a trudging maxibus, threaded through a mired mass of Rapid Cabs and, for the hell of it, executed a quick vertical maneuver that shot them east.
“Okay. I love this car!”
“Knew you would.” Peabody all but sang it.
“If they try to take it from me, I’ll fight them. To the death. To the bloody death.”
She smiled all the way to her destination.
Since Polinski was out on personal time, she dealt with Silk, a stubby fireplug of a man who sat at his desk munching on no-fat soy chips while he gave her background on the Missing Person’s investigation.
Breen Merriweather had been reported missing by her neighbor and childcare provider on June tenth. She’d left the studio between midnight and twelve-fifteen. And vanished without a trace.
No serious romantic relationships, no known enemies. She’d been in good health and good spirits and had been looking forward to an upcoming vacation—she’d planned to take her son to Disney World East.
Eve took copies of files and notes.
“Tag Nadine,” Eve told Peabody. “Let’s do this setup at the castle. In an hour. Make it ninety minutes.”
They met Royce Cabel at his apartment. He opened the door before they knocked, and looked at them with what Eve recognized as terrified hope.
“You found out something about Marjie.”
“Mr. Cabel, as I told you when I contacted you, we’re conducting a follow-up. I’m Lieutenant Dallas. This is my partner, Detective Peabody. Can we come in?”
“Yeah, sure. Yeah.” He dragged a hand through his long, wavy brown hair. “I just thought—I wanted to meet you here instead of at work because I thought maybe you’d found something. Found her. And didn’t want to tell me over the ’link.”
He glanced around the room, blankly, then shook his head. “Sorry. I guess we should sit down. Ah, aren’t Detectives Lansing and Jones still working?”
“They are. We’re pursuing another angle. It would help us if you’d tell us what you know.”
“What I know.” He sat on a deep green sofa heaped with pretty pillows.
The apartment was painted a dull gold, and struck Eve as being female—the pillows, the soft, fancy throws, the sudden splashes of reds and dark blues.
“I feel like I don’t know anything,” he said after a moment. “She was workin
g nights. That was going to change in June, when she took over as day manager. We’d be on the same schedule again.”
“How long had she been working nights?”
“For about eight months.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs as if he didn’t know what else to do with them. “It was okay. She liked the work, and the restaurant’s only a couple blocks away. I’d go in and have dinner at least once a week. And having her days free gave her lots of time to handle the wedding stuff. She was doing almost everything herself. Marjie loves planning.”
“Did the two of you have any problems?”
“We didn’t. I mean we did—everybody does—but we were in a real up phase. The wedding. Hell, I didn’t have to do anything but show up because she had everything organized. We talked about starting a family.”