“Right. Well, this mag boss has a waitress—Cesca—coming in. Tag Yancy for a consult with her. The timing’s too slick for the third male in that group leaving not to be our killer. Sitting right behind me,” she muttered. “Son of a bitch, I want him for that insult alone. When we’re done with the waitress, we’re heading to Seventy-Five. We talk to people, have her work electronics taken in. And I want a sit-down with Nadine. If she doesn’t know some of Mars’s bullshit, she’ll find out. I expect the media to hammer this one, and I’ll need to report to Whitney, probably juggle something with Kyung.”
Kyung, the media liaison—and not an asshole—would juggle back.
“At some point, we need to go by the lab, give DeWinter a push on the facial reconstruction.”
She swung into Homicide.
Finding herself right about Jenkinson’s tie didn’t dull the glare of what looked like urine-colored sperm squiggling over virulent purple.
As he worked both his ’link and his comp, she held back any comment. Instead she crossed to Baxter’s desk.
No sperm tie for Baxter; his had purple stripes against gray and set off his snappy gray suit.
“I heard you caught and closed a double.”
“Yeah. Babies, boss, a couple of babies who’ll never grow up.”
“You’re solid on the double suicide?”
“Yeah.” He heaved out a breath. “She snuck him into the house, into her room. They took enough tranqs to put them down if not out, and before they went down they zip-tied plastic bags over each other’s heads. Laid down and took the long sleep.”
“They left notes.” Newly minted detective Trueheart spoke up from his desk. “Full intent spelled out, LT. Nobody wanted them to be together in life, so they’d be together eternally in death.”
“Her mother found them,” Baxter continued. “She generally checked on the kid at least once a night, as said kid had started sneaking out, or sneaking the boy in. Good families. A couple of kids taking a wrong turn and bringing out the worst in each other.”
“File it, move on.”
“Working on it.”
It’s all you could do, Eve thought, and walked to her office.
She’d barely begun to set up her board when Peabody came in.
“The waitress is here. She brought a friend.”
“Yeah, I told her she could.”
“He’s the one who had the vic’s table.”
“Spinder, right? Kyle. Better yet. Let’s set them up in Interview. Find what’s open.”
She went back to her board, put up both waiters’ photos. Wished for coffee but, following Peabody’s confirmation text, walked out and down to Interview C.
She found Cesca and Kyle huddled at the table, clutching hands.
“This is where you interrogate people.” Cesca’s voice shook like a leaf clinging to a branch in a windstorm. “You said I wasn’t in trouble.”
“You’re not,” Eve assured her. “We’re in this room because it’s quiet and private, that’s all.”
“Maybe we should get a lawyer.”
Eve glanced at Kyle when he spoke up. “You can. And we can talk somewhere else if the room bothers you. I have no reason to suspect either of you—and I wouldn’t be talking to you together if I did. We believe Cesca waited on someone we do suspect.”
Now Cesca let out a squeak and clutched at her throat. “I served the killer?”
“It’s a line of investigation we’re following, and we’d like your help.”
“Why don’t I get you something to drink?” Peabody proposed in what Eve recognized as her calm-the-waters voice.