“See anything then?”
“No, nothing. I thought about running in and checking on Chloe, but figured she’d be . . .” Her voice wavered again. “I thought she’d be asleep—and I was cutting it close anyway, so I just went straight out, and to class.”
“I know this is a tough time for you, and appreciate you answering all the questions.” She started to rise, then sat again, as if just remembering something. “Oh, I noticed—when I reviewed the ’link transmissions—that she was wearing a necklace when she talked to you. A heart on a chain, I think. Pretty. She kept playing with it while she talked.”
“The locket? I think the artist gave it to her a couple months ago. She never took it off. She was really sentimental.”
She wasn’t wearing a locket,” Peabody said as they stepped back into Chloe’s apartment.
“Nope.”
“No locket found on premises.”
“Negative.”
“So, potentially, whoever killed her or induced her to kill herself took the locket.”
“It sure as hell’s missing. People put things in lockets, don’t they?”
“Sure, pictures, locks of hair, DNA samples.”
“If Bissel gave it to her, could be there was something more than romantic inside it—or about it.”
“Am I going to have to eat my shiny new badge?”
Eve shook her head. “Doesn’t mean she knew what she had. But I’m betting she died because of it, and whatever she might have had on her data unit.”
Peabody adjusted her thinking and looked around the living room. “She tidied up, or someone did. I can’t see why anyone who came in would wash the neighbor’s wineglass or pick up the place. If she did it, she had a reason. Expecting someone? That means she’d have gotten a call, but there’s no record of one on any ’link.”
“None that show. The data unit’s down. Could be somebody sent her an e-mail.”
“So we have the EDD whizzes look closer on data and on communication.”
“There you go.”
“The building’s got minimal security, but they should take a look at the run for last night through the 911 call.”
“I’ll arrange a pickup.”
“We can make all those contacts while fueling our bodies with nutrition. After all, you missed your candy fix.”
“Don’t remind me.” She didn’t have to look over to know there would be the beginnings of a pout on Peabody’s face. “Okay, we’ll eat. I want to juggle some things in my head anyway.”
Eve couldn’t have said why she picked the Blue Squirrel for anything resembling food, and a passing resemblance was as close as anything on the menu came to food. Maybe she needed to touch base with something from her old life—to indulge in a few memories of sitting at one of the sticky tables, half lit on a Zombie while Mavis bounced on stage and screeched out songs for the crowd.
Or maybe, she thought as she studied the soy burger on her plate, she had a death wish.
“I know better than to eat this,” she muttered, and took a bite anyway. “Nothing in this comes from the natural universe.”
“You’ve gotten spoiled.” Peabody plowed through a chicken wrap and side of veggie chips with apparent pleasure. “Meat from actual cows, real coffee, genuine chicken eggs, and all that.”
Eve scowled and bit into the burger again. Now she could say why she’d opted for the Squirrel. She’d wanted to prove to herself she wasn’t spoiled.
“Somebody helps themselves to the coffee from my office AutoChef whenever she damn well pleases.”
“Sure, it’s the first degree of separation rule.” Peabody wagged a veggie chip that was, remotely, carrot-colored. “I get spoiled by association. Or maybe it’s second degree, because the coffee comes from Roarke to you. So you’re first degree. But since you’re married—”
“Shut up and eat.”