Eve spotted the suit Nadine had been wearing on the night of Louise’s murder on the floor, kicked under a table where a vase of daisies wilted.
They were signs of pain, and they made her sorry. She walked to the closet and hit the button to open it. “Christ, how could you tell if she packed anything? She’s got enough clothes for a ten-woman model troupe.”
Still, she looked through them while Roarke moved to the bedside ’link and ran the record disc back to the beginning. Eve glanced over her shoulder, saw what he was up to. She only moved her shoulders.
“Might as well completely invade her privacy.”
Eve continued to search for some sign that Nadine had gone off on a trip while the calls and messages played back.
She listened with some amusement to some frank sexual byplay between Nadine and some man named Ralph. There were a lot of innuendos, overt suggestions, and laughter before the transmission ended with a promise to get together when he got into town.
Other calls breezed by: work-oriented, a call to a nearby restaurant for delivery. Ordinary, everyday calls. Then it changed.
Nadine was speaking to the Kirskis the day after the last murder. All of them were weeping. Maybe there was comfort in it, Eve thought as she walked toward the viewer. Maybe sharing tears and shock helped.
I don’t know if it matters right now, but the primary investigator, Dallas—Lieutenant Dallas—she won’t stop until she finds out who did this to Louise. She won’t stop.
“Oh, man.” Eve closed her eyes as the transmission ended. There was nothing more, just blank disc, and she opened her eyes again. “Where’s the call to the station?” she demanded. “Where’s the call? Morse said she called in and requested time off.”
“Could have done it from her car, from a portable. In person.”
“Let’s find out.” She whipped out her communicator. “Feeney. I need make, model, and ID number on Nadine Furst’s vehicle.”
It didn’t take long to access the data or to read the garage inventory and discover her car had been logged out the day before and hadn’t been returned.
“I don’t like it.” Eve fretted as she sat back in Roarke’s car. “She’d have left me a message. She’d have left word. I need to talk to some brass at the station, find out who took her call.” She started to key it into Roarke’s car ’link, then stopped. “One other thing.” Taking out her log, she requested a different number. “Kirski, Deborah and James, Portland, Maine.” The number beeped on, and she transferred it to the ’link. It was answered quickly by a pale-haired woman with exhausted eyes.
“Mrs. Kirski, this is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I remember you. Is there any news?”
“There’s nothing I can tell you right now. I’m sorry.” Damn it, she had to give the woman something. “We’re pursuing some new information. We’re hopeful, Mrs. Kirski.”
“We said good-bye to Louise today.” She struggled to smile. “It was a comfort to see how many people cared for her. So many of her friends from school, and there were flowers, messages from everyone she worked with in New York.”
“She won’t be forgotten, Mrs. Kirski. Could you tell me if Nadine Furst attended the memorial today?”
“We expected her.” The swollen eyes looked lost a moment. “I’d spoken with her at her office only a few days ago to give her the date and time of the services. She said she would be here, but something must have come up.”
“She didn’t make it.” A sour feeling spread in Eve’s stomach. “You haven’t heard from her?”
“No, not for a few days. She’s a very busy woman, I kno
w. She has to get on with her life, of course. What else can she do?”
Eve could offer no comfort without adding worry. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Kirski. If you have any questions or need to speak with me, please call. Anytime.”
“You’re very kind. Nadine said you wouldn’t stop until you’d found the man who did this to my girl. You won’t stop, will you, Lieutenant Dallas?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.” She broke transmission, let her head fall back, closed her eyes. “I’m not kind. I didn’t call her to say I was sorry, but because she might have given me an answer.”
“But you were sorry.” Roarke closed his hand gently over hers. “And you were kind.”
“I can count the people who mean something to me without coming close to double digits. The same with the people I mean something to. If he’d have come after me, like the bastard was supposed to, I would have dealt with him. And if I hadn’t—”
“Shut up.” His hand vised over hers with a force that had her muffling a yelp, and his eyes were fierce and angry. “Just shut up.”
Absently, she nursed her hand as he raced along the street. “You’re right, I’m doing it wrong. I’m taking it in, and that doesn’t help anything. Too much emotion on the case,” she murmured, remembering the chief’s warning. “I started out today thinking clean, and that’s what I’ve got to keep doing. Next step is to find Nadine.”