Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

She leaned down, brushed his lips with hers. “See you, ace.”

She was revved to work, ready to do what she knew how to do. While Baxter and Trueheart plowed through some drone work, Feeney, his EDD team—along with their civilian expert—pushed on the security angle, she and Peabody would continue the interview process.

It was likely, she thought, that the killers had been hired, and were even now out of the city. Even off planet. But once she found the root, she’d work her way up the stem, then break off those branches.

And that root was buried somewhere in the lives of an ordinary family.

“Ordinary family,” she said when Peabody walked in. “Mother, father, sister, brother. You know about that.”

“And good morning to you, too.” Peabody all but sang it. “It’s a lovely fall day. Just a bit brisk, with the trees in your beautiful, personal park just—what is it—burnished with that last stand of color. And you were saying?”

“Jesus, what happy bug jumped up your ass?”

“I started out my day with what you could call a bang.” She showed her teeth. “If you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t want to know. Really don’t.” Eve pressed the heel of her hand against her left eye as it twitched. “Why do you do that? Why do you insist on making me see you and McNab having sex?”

Peabody only flashed a wider grin. “Gives my day an extra bounce. Anyway, I saw Nixie for a minute downstairs. How’d she do last night?”

“Had a nightmare, took a soother. Would you also like to discuss fashion, or any current events while we’re chatting?”

“No happy bug up your ass,” Peabody grumbled. “So,” she said when Eve merely studied her with steely eyes, “you said something about families.”

“Oh, I see we’re read

y to work now.” Eve gestured to the board where, in addition to the on-scene pictures, she’d pinned photos of the family, alive and smiling for the camera. “Routines, families have routines. I had Nixie take me through the morning before the murder, so I’ve got a sense of theirs: breakfast together, hassling the kids, father walks them to school on his way to work, and so on.”

“Okay.”

“So, somebody surveilling them would get a good sense of their routine, too. Easy enough to snatch and grab one of them, if one of them is the problem. A little persuasion and you know if you’ve got a problem. Tells me the whole family was the problem. That’s one.”

She stepped back from the board. “Two, they have contact with a number of people during the course of this routine: clients, coworkers, neighbors, merchants, friends, teachers. Where do one or more of them cross with someone who not only wants them dead, but has the means?”

“Okay, from what we know, no one in the family felt threatened or worried. From that we can deduce, no dangerous type came up to one of them and said: ‘I’m going to kill you and your whole family for that.’ Or words to that effect. From the profile on this family, if they’d been scared, they’d have made a report. They were law abiders. Law abiders generally believe in the system, and that the system will find the way to protect you from harm.”

“Good. So while there may have been an argument or a disagreement, none of the adults in the household took it seriously enough to take those steps. Or it happened long enough ago they no longer felt threatened.”

“Oh. There might have been a previous threat, a previous report,” Peabody responded.

“Start looking.” She turned as Baxter and Trueheart came in.

Within the hour, she had her team on their respective assignments and was driving out of the gates. “Dysons first,” she told Peabody. “I want to handle that one, then we’ll do formal interviews with the neighbors.”

“I’m not finding any official complaints filed by any of the Swishers or the domestic. Not in the last two years.”

“Keep going. Somebody who could do this would have a lot of patience.”

The Dysons had a two-level apartment in a security-conscious building on the Upper West Side. Even before Eve swung toward the curb, she spotted a pair of media vans.

“Goddamn leaks,” she muttered, and slammed out, leaving Peabody to flip the on-duty light.

The doorman had called out reserves—a smart move, Eve thought—and had two burly types helping him hold off the reporters.

She flashed her badge, saw the relief on the doorman’s face. Not the usual reaction. “Officer.”

The minute he said it, the hungry horde swung on her. Questions shot out like laser blasts and were ignored.

“A media conference will be scheduled later today, at Central. The liaison will give you the details on that. Meanwhile, you will remove yourselves from this entrance or I’ll have the lot of you arrested for creating a public nuisance.”