“Just trying to get you pumped for the interview. You know what I’d like, Dallas, since you’re in the mood for exposure? A one-on-one, an in-depth interview with the woman behind the badge. The life and loves of Eve Dallas, NYPSD. The personal side of the public servant.”
Eve couldn’t stop it. She scowled. “Don’t push your luck, Nadine.”
“Pushing my luck’s what I do best.” Nadine dropped down into a chair, shifted it. “How’s the angle, Pete?”
The operator held his palm-sized remote up to his face. “Yo.”
“Pete’s a man of few words,” Nadine commented. “Just how I like them. Want to fix your hair?”
Eve caught herself before she tunneled her fingers through it. She hated being on camera, hated it a lot. “No.”
“Suit yourself.” Nadine took a small, mirrored compact out of her oversized bag, patted something under her eyes, checked her teeth for lipstick smears. “Okay.” She dropped the compact back in her bag, crossed her legs smoothly with the faintest whisper of silk against silk, and turned toward camera. “Roll.”
“Rolling.”
Her face changed. Eve found it interesting to watch. The minute the red light glowed, her features became glossier, more intense. Her voice, which had been brisk and light, slowed and deepened, demanding attention.
“This is Nadine Furst, reporting direct from Lieutenant Eve Dallas’s office in the Homicide Division of Cop Central. This exclusive interview centers on the violent and as yet unsolved murders of Prosecutor Cicely Towers and award-winning actor Yvonne Metcalf. Lieutenant, are these murders linked?”
“The evidence indicates that probability. We can confirm from the medical examiner’s report that both victims were killed by the same weapon, and by the same hand.”
“There’s no doubt of that?”
“None. Both women were killed by a thin, smooth-edged blade, nine inches in length, tapered from point to hilt. The point was honed to a V. In both cases, the victims were frontally attacked with one swipe of the weapon across the throat from right to left, and at a slight angle.”
Eve picked up a signature pen from her desk, causing Nadine to jerk and blink when she slashed it a fraction of an inch from Nadine’s throat. “Like that.”
“I see.”
“This would have severed the jugular, causing instant and dramatic blood loss, disabling the victim immediately, preventing her from calling for help or defending herself in any way. Death would have occurred within seconds.”
“In other words, the killer needed very little time. A frontal attack, Lieutenant. Doesn’t that indicate that the victims knew their attacker?”
“Not necessarily, but there is other evidence that leads to the conclusion that the victims knew their attacker, or were expecting to meet someone. The absence of any defense wounds for example. If I came at you . . .” Eve thrust out with the pen again, and Nadine threw a hand in front of her throat. “You see, it’s automatic defense.”
“That’s interesting,” Nadine said and had to school her face before it scowled. “We have the details on the murders themselves, but not on the motive behind them, or the killer. What is it that connects Prosecutor Towers to Yvonne Metcalf?”
“We’re investigating several lines of inquiry.”
“Prosecutor Towers was killed three weeks ago, Lieutenant, yet you have no suspects?”
“We have no evidence to support an arrest at this time.”
“Then you do have suspects?”
“The investigation is proceeding with all possible speed.”
“And motive?”
“People kill people, Ms. Furst, for all manner of reasons. They’ve done so since we crawled out of the muck.”
“Biblically speaking,” Nadine put in, “murder is the oldest crime.”
“You could say it has a long tradition. We may be able to filter out certain undesirable tendencies through genetics, chemical treatments, beta scans, we deter with penal colonies and the absence of freedom. But human nature remains human nature.”
“Those basic motives for violence that science is unable to filter: love, hate, greed, envy, anger.”
“They separate us from the droids, don’t they?”