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At Rachel’s age Eve had already graduated from the Academy, had already donned a cop’s uniform. Had already seen death. Had already caused it.
And she hadn’t been a virgin, not since she’d been six. Seven? How old had she been the first time her father had raped her?
What difference did it make? Her light had sure as hell never been pure.
That’s what had drawn him to her. What he?
?d wanted from her. Her simplicity, her innocence. He’d killed her for them.
She looked over as McNab came in, carting the bulky unit from the data club.
She couldn’t stop herself from checking the rhythm of his walk. The previous month he’d taken a direct hit with a police issue, and it had taken several worry-filled days until the feeling had started to come back in his left side.
He wasn’t quite back to prancing again, Eve noted. But there was no limp, no drag in the step. And the stringy muscles in both arms were bulging satisfactorily at the effort of carrying the unit.
“Sorry, Lieutenant.” He puffed a bit, and his cheeks were already red from hauling the weight. “Just take me a minute to set up.”
“You’re not late yet.” She watched him as he worked.
He wore summer-weight pants in grass green with a skin top that had green-and-white stripes. The vest over it was hot pink, like his gel sandals.
Rachel had been wearing jeans and a blue shirt. Slip-on canvas shoes. Two little pinprick studs, silver, in each ear.
Victim and cop, she thought, might have come from different planets.
So why did a conservative young girl frequent a data club? She wasn’t a geek or a freak, a nerd or a cruiser. What was the draw?
“You hit the data clubs on your off-time, McNab?”
“Nah, not so much. Boredom city. I did some when I was a kid, and fresh into the city. Figured I’d find action, and skirts who’d be impressed with my magical skills with the comps.”
“And you found them? Action and skirts?”
“Sure.” He sent her a quick and wicked grin. “All pre–She-Body era.”
“What was she doing there, McNab?”
“Huh? Peabody?”
“Rachel.” She scooted the picture down the table toward where he was working. “What was she looking for in that club?”
He angled his head to study the picture. “It’s a big draw for students, especially under drinking age. You can go in and play grownup. Nonalcoholic drinks with snappy names, hot music. You got the comps so you can do homework, break, take a spin on the dance floor, talk about classes, flirt. Whatever. It’s like, I don’t know, a bridge between being a kid and being an adult. That’s why you don’t see many over-thirties in those places.”
“Okay. I get that.” She stood, heading for coffee as Peabody hurried in a few steps ahead of Feeney.
“Looks like the gang’s all here.” Feeney dropped down at the table. “How about a hit of that shit, kid?”
Eve got a second mug. Kid, she thought. Feeney was the only one who ever—had ever—called her that. Odd that she’d just noticed it.
If she’d had a bridge, Eve realized, it had been Feeney.
She set the mug down in front of him. “Okay, this is what I’ve got.”
Once they were briefed, she gestured to McNab. “Over to you, hotshot.”
“The transmission was sent from this unit to Nadine Furst’s station at 75. We have the time stamp on Nadine’s machine, and the correlating stamp on this. When reviewing the security disc for the time in question, we see . . . a lot of flashing lights, bodies, and mass. On-screen,” he ordered.
“This unit is—wait.” He dug in several of his many pockets until it came up with a laser pointer. “Here.” He circled a section of the screen. “It’s blocked by people moving around, back and forth, crowding in. But here, yeah, pause disc. Here you get a glimpse of the operator. Split screen, display enhanced image. Didn’t take much, just bumping out the light show, magnifying.”
