“It’s a wonderful story. Love, survival, triumph, and redemption. I brought the book today. I think hearing me read it would be comforting for her.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“You think she’s already gone. That’s what they think here, though they’re very kind, and they’re working very hard. They think she’s gone. But I know she’s not.”
“It’s not for me to say, Mrs. Cox.”
“Do you believe in miracles . . . I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“I’m Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Do you believe in miracles, Lieutenant Dallas?”
“I’ve never thought much about it.”
“I believe in them.”
Eve crossed to the bed and looked down. Marlene’s face was colorless. Her chest moved gently up and down to the rhythm of the machine that breathed for her in constant, whooshing notes. She saw death all over her.
“Mrs. Cox, he would have raped her. He would have been brutal. He would have done his best to keep her conscious during it so she’d have felt the pain and the fear and the helplessness. He would have reveled in that, and he would have taken some time to torture her. There were . . . instruments in the van he would have used on her.”
“You want me to know that because she fought, she escaped that. She stopped him from doing those terrible things to her, and that’
s a kind of miracle.” Her breath shuddered as she fought back a sob. “Well, where there can be one, there can be another. As soon as she can open the curtain she’ll tell you who it was. They told us she probably wouldn’t live through the morning. It’s past noon now. Can you tell me, if you believe she’s done, why you came in today?”
Eve started to speak, then shook her head and looked back at Marlene. “I was going to tell you it’s routine. But the fact is, Mrs. Cox, she belongs to me, too, now. That’s the way it is for me.”
When her communicator signaled, she excused herself and stepped out into the corridor.
“Peabody,” she said the minute she ended transmission, “with me.”
“Have we got something?”
“I had a man watching Renquist’s place. The nanny just took a cab to the Metropolitan Museum, without the kid. I’ve been looking for an opening to talk to her solo.”
Sophia was doing a slow walk through French impressionism. Eve spoke briefly to the shadow, dismissed her, then wandered in the au pair’s direction.
“Sophia DiCarlo.” Eve held up her badge and watched the woman jolt and go pale.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then you shouldn’t look so guilty. Let’s sit down.”
“I haven’t broken the law.”
“Then don’t start now by refusing to speak to a police officer.” It was hardly a criminal offense, but she could see Sophia didn’t know that.
“Mrs. Renquist said I wasn’t to speak to you. How did you find me here? I could lose my job. It’s a good job. I do a good job with Rose.”
“I’m sure you do, and Mrs. Renquist doesn’t have to know you spoke with me.”
To ensure some cooperation, Eve took her arm and drew her to a bench in the center of the room. “Why do you think Mrs. Renquist doesn’t want you to talk to me?”
“People gossip. If the family and the staff are questioned by the police, people will gossip. Her husband is a very important man, very important. People like to gossip about important men.”
She wrung her hands as she spoke. It wasn’t often Eve saw someone actually wring their hands. Nerves, and something closer to fear, shimmered around the woman like warning lights.
“Sophia, I checked with INS. You’re legal. Why are you afraid to talk to the police?”