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“He’s at Roosevelt.” Eve got to her feet. “Your attorney, when you engage one, can reach me at Cop Central.”
“Very well.” Anja walked to the door, opened it. “Good day, Lieutenant.” She said it quietly, closed the door, engaged the locks.
Then, covering her face with her hands, she let herself weep.
• • •
“Impressions, Peabody.”
“She’s cool, sophisticated, sure of herself. She either believes Stiles is innocent or is determined to protect him. Her concern about him came off as genuine to me. She doesn’t have a lot of concern left over to spare for Carly.”
Eve frowned through the windscreen as she slipped behind the wheel of her vehicle. “Should she?”
“Well, it just seems to me there should be some, you know, emotional connection.”
“Why? She conceived, gestated, delivered. That’s nine months out of her life. Where’s the emotional connection in that?”
“Because the baby grew inside her. She felt it kick and move around, and…I don’t know, Dallas. I’ve never conceived, gestated, and delivered. I’m giving you my take, that’s all.”
Peabody shifted uneasily, feeling out of her depth. There was a darkness in the air, swirling around Eve. She didn’t know what to make of it. She cut her eyes toward Eve, then away again. Eve was still staring out of the glass, brooding. “If she’s giving it to us straight,” Peabody ventured. “She placed the baby, then walked away. I just don’t buy it could be as cut and dried, as easy as that. I thought you were leading toward her being in on the murder.”
“I haven’t discounted it.” But she’d let something slip because her own emotions had been rattled. “Go back in, find out when Carvell registered, if she pre-booked, and when she’s scheduled to leave.”
“Right.” With some relief, Peabody scurried out into the fresh air.
What sort of woman chooses to sleep with her own father?
Eve’s stomach had been in knots since that question had been tossed at her. What if there is no choice? What then? She let her head fall back. There was another question: What sort of man chooses to sleep with his own daughter?
That was one she had the answer to. She knew that kind of man, and he still whispered his candy breath in her ear.
“What are you doing, little girl?”
The breath exploded out of her lungs. She sucked it greedily back in.
What about the mother? she asked herself and wiped her damp palms on the thighs of her trousers. What made a mother? She didn’t believe it was the bulk of life stirring in the belly. Eve angled her head, looked up toward the windows where Anja Carvell sat with her pot of chocolate and her ghosts. No, she didn’t believe it was as simple as that.
There was more. There had to be more.
Most rational, decent human beings would instinctively protect an infant, a helpless child. But the need to protect another adult stemmed from duty. Or love.
She straightened in her seat as Peabody climbed back in. “She checks out. Called in yesterday, after six, requested a reservation. She got into the hotel some time just before eight. She’s scheduled to leave tomorrow, but arranged for an option to extend.”
“Mother, father, devoted friend,” Eve murmured. “Let’s move on to child.”
“Carly. We’re going to go right by a couple 24/7s crossing town. Maybe we could stop and get some hot chocolate.”
“That stuff they sell in those places is swill.”
“Yeah, but it’s chocolate swill.” Peabody tried a pitiful, pleading look. “You wouldn’t let her give us any of the good stuff.”
“Maybe you’d like some cookies, too. Or little frosted cakes.”
“That would be nice. Thanks for asking.”
“That was sarcasm, Peabody.”
“Yes, sir. I know. Responded in kind.”
