“Yes. Exactly. But as I said, he’s a very nice man, and we want only the best for Seraphim. Lieutenant, I feel I should tell the rest of the staff, the children. Have some sort of gathering of respect. I know the children, with their attachment to their e-toys, will hear of this. I want to protect them, but I want to be open with them.”
“That’s up to you. We’ll be in touch when we have more information to give you. Please contact us if you think of anything that might relate.”
“I don’t think any of us will be thinking about anything else. I hope what we’ve been able to give you helps.”
She led Eve and Peabody toward the door. Feeling a little tingle, Eve glanced back, up the steps, and saw the girl—Quilla, she remembered—sitting on them, staring holes through her.
Once outside, she walked to the car, then just leaned on it. Waited.
“Do you want me to track down this Seraphim who has the bad taste to date a Free-Ager?”
“Untwist your panties, Peabody. A lot of people consider Free-Agers a little out in the weird.”
“Because we believe in personal choice, in acceptance, in respecting the planet and everything, everyone on it?”
“There’s that,” Eve said easily, enjoying the moment. “And the weaving your own cloth, living in communes—or mostly—growing sheep and carrots and paying homage to the Goddess Moonglow for the harvest.”
“There is no Goddess Moonglow.”
“Well, it’s an easy mistake since half of Free-Ager women are named Moonglow. Or Rainbow. Or Sundrop.”
“I only have one cousin named Rainbow, and my cousins are legion.” In a huff, Peabody leaned on the car as well. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Nice mouth, Free-Age Girl. And yeah, some. Philly in there? She’s all about talking the inclusive talk, and might believe she means it. But her idea of what everybody should believe, God-wise, would fit in a pretty small box. With a very tight lid.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s true. And she strikes me as the type who doesn’t mean to dismiss others’ belief systems, or even their lack thereof. It’s just she’s so unshakably sure hers is right—and more, the only right one.”
Peabody paused a moment. “What are we waiting for?”
Eve jerked a chin toward the building as the front door opened. “Her.”
Quilla squeezed out the door. She paused at the palm plate, pulling something out of her pocket, shoving it underneath. Then she strolled very casually down the short steps, turned toward the bench, now empty, in the tiny courtyard.
Then suddenly veered off—cam blind spot, Eve guessed—jogged to the fence, vaulted over it.
And strutted up to Eve.
She said, “Hey.”
“Back at you.”
“You’re completely the Icove cops.”
“We’re New York cops,” Eve corrected, and got a big eye roll.
“You get me.”
“What did you put on the plate, the security, to get clear?”
Quilla shrugged. “It’s a jammer. We’ve got a couple of e-geeks in group. I paid one of them to make me one. You came because of all the dead girls they found this morning, right?”
“What dead girls?”
“Shit, get off. The ones that were all dead to the bone up in Midtown. In the
fuck same building Ms. Jones used to have. So you’re here about all that.”
“Let’s start here. How do you know all this?”