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She stepped out on six and saw someone had tried to add an illusion of cheer in this area. There was a section under a window with child-sized seating in primary colors and an offering of plastic toys. Across from it were two vid-game units currently under attack by a pair of bored, surly teenagers in rebel black.
She saw one of them gaze up and make her for a cop before his eyes traveled over Peabody’s uniform and dismissed them both.
She walked up to him, waited for his lazy glance to meet hers again. Then she leaned over. “Take the knife out of your boot, real slow, and give it to me and I won’t run you in for carrying a concealed.”
Since it was concealed, and very well in his opinion, he only sneered. “Fuck off.”
Eve’s hand slapped on the hilt under his pant’s leg seconds before his. “You want trouble with me, I’ll oblige. Otherwise, I’ll just take this and let you spend your mandatory hour bullshitting your social worker.”
She yanked the knife out of his boot, slid it into her own. “Nice blade. Decent balance.”
“Cost me seventy-five.”
“You got hosed, pal. It’s not that good.”
She turned her back on him and walked to the young, cheery-faced receptionist. They were always young and cheery-faced because they rarely lasted a year before running away with their idealism shattered behind them.
“I need to see Clarissa Price.” Eve laid her badge on the counter.
“Miss Price is in a family session. She should be finished in ten minutes.”
“We’ll wait.” Eve walked back and deliberately dropped into the seat beside Knife Boy.
It took him twenty seconds of pretending indifference to break. “How’d you spot the sticker?”
“That’d be telling.”
“Come on.”
She’d already spotted the bruises on his wrists—fresh—and when he shifted saw the old burn marks on his shoulder, only partially hidden by his tough-guy muscle shirt.
That was one thing her father hadn’t done to her, she thought. No burns, no scars. Wouldn’t want to diminish the value of the merchandise.
“When you made me you moved your right leg back, rotated your ankle to check if the blade was under and secure. You get busted for carrying, they toss you in Juvie. Ever been inside?” The way he shrugged told her he hadn’t. Yet. “I have. Whatever deal you’ve got it’s better than being inside. Couple of years, they’ll shove you out of the system, and your life’s your own. You go inside at this stage, they’ll keep tabs on you till you’re twenty-one.”
Since that was as close to advice or a lecture as she intended to give, she pushed up again and went out to hunt up a vending machine.
By the time she got bad coffee, the receptionist told her Miss Price had five minutes free before her next session.
It was a small office, but again the attempt had been made to brighten it. Art, obviously created by children, was framed to cover two of the walls. Files were neatly stacked on the desk and sat beside a little vase of fresh daisies. Behind them Clarissa looked as neat and competent as her ID photo.
“I’m sorry you had to wait,” she began. “I’m afraid Lauren didn’t get your name.”
“Dallas, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“We haven’t met on the job?”
“No, I’m Homicide.”
“Homicide. I see. What’s this about? One of my kids?”
“No, not directly. You worked with some minors who had associations with a playground dealer, Louis K. Cogburn, and an alleged pedophile, Chadwick Fitzhugh.”
“I worked with minors who were exploited by those individuals.”
“A couple of your case files also intersected with other known or alleged child predators. But at the moment, we’re interested in Cogburn, in Fitzhugh.”
“Who are dead,” Clarissa said flatly. “I heard the report on 75 this morning. Some para-organization is claiming responsibility.”
