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“Multiple homicide—home invasion. An entire family, save the nine-year-old daughter. Sleepover friend murdered through mistaken ID. Kid’s a witness. I’ve got her stashed at my place.”
“Yours?”
“Fill you in later, but that’s how it stands. I’m heading over to notify next of kin on the daughter’s friend.”
“God’s pity.”
“I know you’ve probably got a full slate, but I’m going to need to interview this kid today. I’m going to need a shrink—sorry.”
“No problem.”
“I’m going to need a psychiatrist on hand, one who’s got experience with children and police procedure.”
“What time do you want me?”
“Thanks.” And relief rolled in where the weight had rolled off. “I’d prefer you, but if you’re squeezed I’ll take your best recommendation.”
“I’ll make room.”
“Ah.” Eve checked her wrist unit, tried to gauge the timing. “Can we make it noon? I’ve got a lot to push through before then.”
“Noon.” Mira began to make notes in a mini memo book. “What’s her condition?”
“She wasn’t injured.”
“Emotional condition.”
“Ah, she’s fair, I guess.”
“Is she able to communicate?”
“Yeah. I’m going to need an eval for Child Protection Services. I’m going to need a lot of things for the red tape brigade. I’m on borrowed time here since I went over the rep’s head. Have to notify the supervisor there. Soon.”
“Then I’ll let you get to it, and see you at noon.”
“EDD’s on scene,” Peabody said when Eve ended transmission. “Their team’s going through security and checking ’links and data centers on site. They’ll transport the units to Central.”
“Okay. Next of kin on the other vics?”
“Grant Swisher’s parents divorced. Father’s whereabouts currently unknown. Mother remarried—third time—and living on Vegas II. Works as a blackjack dealer. Keelie Swisher’s parents are deceased—back when she was six. Foster care and state schools.”
And that, Eve knew, was just tons of fun. “When we’ve talked to the Dysons, contact Grant Swisher’s next of kin and inform. She may have legal guardianship of the kid, and we’ll need to deal with that. You got an addy on Swisher’s law firm?”
“Swisher and Rangle, on West Sixty-first.”
“Close to the hotel. We’ll hit there after the Dysons. See how it goes and tap in another pass at the scene if it fits.”
This, as hard as it was, she knew how to do. Shattering the lives of those left behind was a job she did all too often. Roarke had, as promised, cleared the way. Since she was expected, she avoided the usual wrangle with the doorman, the time-consuming conversation with desk clerks and hotel security.
She almost missed it.
But she and Peabody were efficiently escorted to the elevators and given the Dysons’ room number.
“Only child, right?”
“Yeah, just Linnie. He’s a lawyer, too, corporate. She’s a pediatrician. Reside about two blocks south of the Swishers. Daughters go to the same school, same class.”
“You’ve been busy,” Eve commented as they rode up to the forty-second floor.
