Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“And they don’t kill off an entire family because they’re pissed off at somebody. No,” Eve agreed. “She was irritating, and he’s likely the same, but they’re not masterminds or cold-blooded kid killers.”

“You know what else? I don’t think whoever did this, or is behind it, made any noise. I mean, none of this, I’ll-sue-your-quack-ass business. I know we have to check those out, but that’s not going to be the hit.”

Eve kept her attention on the road as she drove. “Why?”

“Because he has to think ahead, right? Has to be controlled and organized. Whenever this happened—I mean whatever it was that made him target these people—he had to pull it out. Because he’d have been thinking payback. Someday, somehow. But you don’t leave a trail.”

Now Eve turned her head. “My pride in you bubbles in my heart. Unless it’s that soy dog you talked me into earlier.”

“Gosh, Dallas, a blush rises to my cheeks. Unless that, too, is the soy dog.” She thumped a fist on her chest, gave a small, somehow ladylike belch. “Guess it was the dog.”

“Now that we’ve established that, let’s have the next on the list.”

Peabody called up the list, the next name, the location, and the directions from the dash menu. Then leaned forward, stroking the dash and crooning. “Nice vehicle, pretty vehicle. Smart vehicle.” She slid her gaze toward Eve. “And who got the nice, pretty, smart vehicle for us?”

“You’ve already milked that one, Peabody.”

“Yeah but—Aww, and see, look at its little ’link beeping.”

Shaking her head, Eve answered the beep. “Dallas.”

“A little tit for tat coming your way,” Nadine said, “so don’t forget it. Scanner picked up a snatch-and-grab report. Female on Avenue B, tossed in the back of a van quick as a wink.”

“Unless she’s dead, she’s not my table. Sorry.”

“Cold, cruel, true. Thing is, one of the witnesses recognized her, and actually bothered to say so to the uniforms responding. Said she was a social worker named Meredith Newman. I get wind of that and I think, hey, isn’t that the name of—”

“The CPS drone on the Swisher case.”

“I’m heading down there, to do some interviews. Thought you’d want to know.”

“We’re on our way. Don’t talk to anybody on scene, Nadine. I need a shot first. You’re going to give me tit,” she added when Nadine’s mouth opened. “Don’t be stingy with it.”

She broke off, whipped around a corner, and headed south.

8

EVE SPOTTED THE CHANNEL 75 VAN PARKED IN a loading zone on Avenue B. She whipped by it, then double-parked beside the black-and-white already at the curb.

She spotted Nadine as well—it was hard not to when the perfectly streaked hair and the vivid royal blue of the reporter’s on-air suit sprang out like an exotic bloom against the faded forest of dingy shirts and smudgy concrete.

She was cozied up with a trio of the daily doorway lurkers but peeled off toward Eve.

“I never said I wouldn’t ask questions,” Nadine said immediately. “But I’ve kept it off record. For now. Your uniform’s inside with the woman who claims to have seen the grab and recognized the grabee. Hi, Peabody. How are you feeling?”

“Better and better, thanks.”

Eve sent a hard stare at the van. “Keep the cameras off.”

“Public street,” Nadine began. “Public—”

“Nadine, do you know why I often give you an inside track? Because it’s not just the story with you. You actually give more than a passing thought to the people in the story. And you wouldn’t, not even for ratings, sacrifice those people to get your pretty face on air.”

Nadine blew out a long breath. “Shit.”

“Keep the cameras off,” Eve repeated and strode toward the lingering lurkers. “What did you see?” she bega

n. “What do you know?”