“Dr. Dimatto.”

“Lieutenant Dallas?” Louise Dimatto angled her head, and the ruby clusters at her ears gleamed like glassy blood. “Do you come in, or do I come out?”

Eve jerked a thumb, held the car door wider. “Come on out.”

They’d met the previous winter, at the Canal Street Clinic where Louise fought against the tide to heal the homeless and the hopeless. She came from money, and her bloodline was blue, but Eve had good reason to know Louise didn’t quibble about getting her hands dirty.

She’d nearly died helping Eve fight an ugly war during that bitter winter.

Eve skimmed a look over Louise’s stoplight-red dress. “Making house calls?”

“A date. Some of us try to maintain a healthy social life.”

“How’d it go?”

“I took a cab home, so you be the judge.” She skimmed back her short, honeycomb hair with her fingers. “Why are so many men so boring?”

“You know, that’s a question that haunts me day and night.” When Louise laughed, Eve smiled in response. “It’s good to see you, all things considered.”

“I thought you might drop by the clinic, come see the improvements your donation helped implement.”

“I think it’s called blackmail in most circles.”

“Donation, blackmail. Let’s not split hairs. You’ve helped save a few lives, Dallas. That’s got to be nearly as satisfying to you as catching those who take them.”

“Lost one tonight.” She turned, looked back toward the body. “What do you know about her?”

“Nothing, really. I think she lives in the building, but she’s not looking her best at the moment, so I can’t be sure.” After a long breath, Louise rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, this is more in your line than mine. It’s my first experience nearly having a body fall in my arms. I’ve seen people die, and it’s not always gentle. But this was . . .”

“Okay. You want to sit back down? Want some coffee?”

“No. No. Let me just tell it.” She steadied herself, a subtle squaring of the shoulders, stiffening of the spine. “I ditched the date from tedium, grabbed a cab. We’d gone to dinner and a club uptown. I got here about one-thirty, I suppose.”

“You live in this building?”

“That’s right. Tenth floor. Apartment 1005. I paid the cab, got out on the curb. It’s a pretty night. I was thinking, It’s a beautiful night, and I just wasted it on that jerkoff. So I stood there for a couple minutes, on the sidewalk, wondering if I should go in and call it a night, or take a walk. I decided I’d go up, fix a nightcap, and sit out on my balcony. I turned, took another step toward the doors. I don’t know why I looked up—I didn’t hear anything. But I just looked up, and she was falling, with her hair spread out like wings. It couldn’t have been more than two or three seconds, I’d barely had time to register what I was seeing, and she hit.”

“You didn’t see where she fell from?”

“No. She was coming down, and fast. Jesus, Dallas.” Louise had to pause a moment, rub the image from her eyes. “She hit so hard, and with a really nasty sound I’m going to be hearing in my sleep for a long time. It couldn’t have been more than five or six feet from where I was standing.”

She drew another breath, made herself look over at the body. Now there was pity over the horror. “People think they’ve reached the end of their ropes. That there’s nothing left for them. But they’re wrong. There’s always more rope. There’s always something left.”

“You think she jumped?”

Louise looked back at Eve. “Yes, I assumed . . . I said I didn’t hear anything. She didn’t make a sound. No scream, no cry. Nothing but the flutter of her hair in the wind. I guess that’s why I looked up.” She thought now. “I did hear something after all. That flutter, like wings.”

“What did you do after she hit?”

“I checked her pulse. Knee-jerk,” Louise said with a shrug. “I knew she was dead, but I checked anyway. Then I took out my pocket-link and called nine-one-one. You think she was pushed? That’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t think anything yet.” Eve turned back toward the building. Some lights had been on when she’d arrived, and there were more now so that it looked like a vertical chessboard in silver and black. “Homicide gets tagged on leapers like this. It’s standard. Do yourself a favor. Go in, take a pill, zone out. Don’t talk to the press if they wheedle your name.”

“Good advice. Will you let me know when . . . when you know what happened to her?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Want a uniform to take you up?”

“No, thanks.” She took one last look at the body. “As bad as my night was, it was better than some.”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net