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“Why are you primary on Alice’s case? A traffic accident. Why the hell is a homicide lieutenant handling a traffic fatality?”
“Feeney—”
“She was my goddaughter. You didn’t even call me. I heard it on the goddamn news.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Sit down, Feeney.”
He jerked away when she touched his arm. “I don’t need to sit down. I want answers, Dallas. I want some fucking answers.”
“Peabody,” Eve murmured, and waited until her aide had gone out and closed the door. “I am sorry, Feeney, I didn’t know you were her godfather. I spoke to her mother and her brother, and simply assumed they would let the rest of the family know.”
“Brenda’s under sedation,” Feeney tossed out. “What the hell do you expect? She lost her father and her daughter within days of each other. Jamie’s only sixteen. By the time he called a doctor and saw to his mother, got a hold of Sally, I’d already heard it on-screen. Jesus, Jesus, she was just a kid.”
He turned away, pulled at his hair. “I used to give her piggyback rides, sneak her candy.”
This was what it was like to lose someone you loved, she thought. And was grateful she loved so few. “Please sit down, Feeney. You shouldn’t have come in today.”
“I said I don’t need to sit down.” His voice leveled as he turned back to study her. “I want an answer, Dallas. Why are you on Alice’s accident?”
She couldn’t afford to hesitate, couldn’t afford not to lie. “Peabody was a witness,” she began, grateful she could give him that much. “She was on a free evening, and she’d been to a club. She saw the accident. It shook her, Feeney, and she called me. It was knee-jerk, I guess. I couldn’t be sure what had happened, so I told her to relay to Dispatch, to secure the scene, and I responded. Since I had, and I had all the data, I notified next of kin. I figured it would be easier on the family if I handled it.” She moved her shoulders, bitterly ashamed at using old friends. “I thought it was the least I could do, for Frank.”
He never took his eyes off her face. “Is that all of it?”
“What else is there? Listen, I just got the tox report. She wasn’t using, Feeney. She wasn’t drunk. Maybe she was still upset about Frank, or something else. I don’t know. Could be she didn’t even see the damn cab. It was a lousy night, fog, rain.”
“The bastard was speeding, wasn’t he?”
“No.” She couldn’t give him anyone to blame, couldn’t offer even that prickly comfort. “He was within the limit. His record’s clean, and so was the on-site drug and alcohol. Feeney, she bolted out in front of him, and there was nothing he could do. I want you to understand that. I talked with the driver myself, and I investigated the scene. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s.”
It had to be someone’s, he thought. He couldn’t lose two people back to back for no reason. “I want to talk to Peabody.”
“Give her a little time, will you?” Layers of guilt added onto the burden she already carried. “It really wrecked her. I’d really like to keep her focused on something else until she settles with it.”
He drew a deep breath, shuddered it out. Beneath his tearing grief was gratitude that someone he trusted would care for his godchild. “You’ll close it then, personally? And give me all the data?”
“I’ll close it, Feeney. I promise you.”
He nodded, rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay. I’m sorry I jumped you.”
“It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm, squeezed lightly. “Go home, Feeney. You don’t want to be here today.”
“I guess I will.” He put a hand on the door. “She was a sweetheart, Dallas,” he said quietly. “My God, I don’t want to go to another funeral.”
When he left, Eve sank into her chair. Misery and guilt and anger twisted around her throat like barbs. She rose again, grabbed her bag. She was, she told herself, in the perfect mood to meet Selina Cross.
“How do you want to p
lay it?” Peabody asked as they pulled up in front of an elegant old building downtown.
“Straight. I want her to know Alice talked to me, and that I suspect her of harassment, dealing, and conspiracy to murder. If she’s got any brains, she’ll know I don’t have anything solid. But I’ll give her something to think about.”
Eve stepped out of the car, ran her gaze over the building with its carved glass windows and grinning gargoyles. “She lives here, she’s not hurting financially. We’re going to have to find out just where she gets her money. I want everything on record, Peabody, and keep your eyes open. I want your impressions.”
“I’ll give you one right now.” Peabody clamped her recorder onto her uniform jacket, but kept her eyes on the topmost window of the building, a wide, round glass intricately carved. “That’s another inverted pentagram. Satanic symbol. And those gargoyles don’t look friendly.” She smiled wanly. “You ask me, they look hungry.”
“Impressions, Peabody. Try to keep the fantasies down to a minimum.” Eve approached the security screen.
“Please state your name and your business.”
