“A second one.” Now Mira sat back, her quiet blue eyes going sharp. “We should talk, but for now I can only say the name’s familiar. I could ask Dennis.”
“That would be helpful. We’re heading to Columbia now. Duran teaches literature.”
“Then Dennis almost certainly knows him. I’ll get back to you.”
“Dallas,” Peabody repeated with enough urgency this time to have Eve look over.
“What?”
“Duran’s been at Columbia for seven years—eight this coming fall. But for nearly ten years prior, he taught language arts, literature, and creative writing at the Theresa A. Gold Academy.”
“Son of a bitch.” Eve rapped her fist against the wheel. “Son of a bitch! No way the universe just pulled that one out of its ass. Contact Rufty. If he can’t come to us, we’ll go to him. We need to talk about who might have had a hard-on for him, for Duran, or the school in general.”
“Neither of the vics worked at the academy. He’s going after spouses. I mean, Jesus.”
“You kill somebody, they’re dead. You kill what they love, they live. And live with that pain every day.”
“It fits, doesn’t it?” Peabody said and tried to ignore the manic way Eve wove in and out of traffic. “Cold-blooded, cruel, without passion. And if it does connect to the school, Duran hasn’t been associated with it for nearly eight years.”
“Didn’t somebody say how revenge tastes better when you eat it cold?”
“I think it’s like it’s a dish best served cold.”
“Well you don’t eat the dish. You eat what’s on it.”
Couldn’t argue with that, Peabody thought, but surreptitiously looked up the quote when Eve’s ’link signaled.
“Dallas.”
“I’ve just spoken with Dennis. Yes, he knows Jay Duran very well. I’ve met him and his wife. It’s just that I’ve met so many of Dennis’s colleagues through the years I couldn’t quite place him.”
“Thanks for checking. We’re nearly there.”
“Eve, I’m going to open up my schedule so we can discuss this as soon as you’re able. Just let my admin know, and we’ll work you in.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Eve navigated through the grand dignity of Columbia’s campus, found a visitor’s spot.
“Jeez, what a beautiful day.” Peabody lifted her face to the sky. “And you forget how abso-mag this campus is, right in the city. Look at the daffs, the tulips!”
With her scarf trailing behind her like a happy flag, the red tips of her hair glowing in the sunlight, Peabody strolled along College Walk. Eve refrained from pointing out that cheerful flag could be used to strangle her in hand-to-hand.
Students milled or sat on the ground, on benches in groups, obviously as optimistic about the day as Peabody.
Eve thought about the man inside the dignified, beautifully preserved building whose day she was about to destroy. Whose life she’d indelibly mar.
She went inside, more milling, and a kind of humming hush punctuated now and then by rushing feet. She badged in, signed in, and as habit, took the stairs.
“He’s on the second floor,” Eve began. “And try to lose the springtime glitter in your eyes before we…” She saw him the minute they reached the second floor.
“Mr. Mira.” And her heart, as it did whenever she saw him, went to mush.
He wore a tweedy jacket and a tie that had gone askew sometime during the morning. His eyes, green and kind, reflected sorrow.
“Eve.” He took her hand, patted it, then Peabody’s. “What a terrible thing. A tragic thing. I can’t begin…” He glanced back toward a door. “She was a lovely woman. I met her many times at faculty events. I’ve enjoyed browsing and shopping in the family bookstore. And Jay. I wonder if you’d allow me to go in, bring him out. I thought it might help him to have a friend, a colleague when you tell him. I could take you to his office, then bring him to you so he doesn’t … It’s more private.”
“All right. Do you know him well?”