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“Nothing that pops in any of the victims’ data or background,” she added. “We’re beginning further runs, and I will continue to interview the witness. Mira has agreed to supervise, and to counsel.”
“Nothing in your report indicates this as a spree killing or home terrorism.”
“No, sir. We’re running like crimes through IRCCA, but haven’t hit anything with these details.”
“I want your witness under supervision twenty-four/seven.”
“It’s done, sir.”
“Mira’s name will have considerable weight with CPS. I’ll add mine.” The chair creaked when he leaned back. “What about legal guardians?”
“Sir?”
“The minor. Who are her legal guardians?”
“The Dysons, Commander,” Peabody said when Eve hesitated. “The parents of the minor female who was killed.”
“Jesus. Well, they’re unlikely to give us any trouble over the situation, but you’d do better to get their permission, officially. Doesn’t the child have any family left?”
“Grandparent. One on the father’s side who lives off planet. Maternal grandparents are dead. No siblings on either side.”
“Kid can’t catch a break, can she?” Whitney muttered.
She caught one, Eve thought. She lived. “Detective Peabody? You spoke with the grandmother.”
“Yes, Lieutenant. I notified next of kin. At that time, I was told the paternal grandmother was not legal guardian in case of parental death or disability. And, to be frank, while shocked and upset, she made no statement to indicate she intended to come here and attempt custody of the minor.”
“All right then. Dallas, speak with the Dysons at the first opportunity, and tidy this up. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir.”
When they were walking back toward the elevator, Peabody shook her head. “I don’t think now’s the best time—for the Dysons. I’d let that slide another twenty-four anyway.”
The longer the better, Eve thought.
5
SECURITY AND STREETLIGHTS WERE POPPING ON by the time Eve headed back uptown from Central. Normally, the vicious traffic would have given her plenty of reason to snarl and bitch, but tonight she was grateful for the distraction, and the extra drive time.
It was gelling for her.
She could see the method, the type of killers. She could walk through the scene over and over in her mind and follow the steps. But she couldn’t find motive.
She sat in stalled traffic behind a flatulent maxibus and circled around the case again. Violence without passion. Murder without rage.
Where was the kick? The profit? The reason?
Going with instinct, she called up Roarke’s personal ’link on her dash unit.
“Lieutenant.”
“What’s your status?” she asked him.
“Healthy, wealthy, and wise. What’s yours?”
“Ha. Mean, crafty, and rude.”
His laugh filled her vehicle, and made her feel slightly less irritable. “Just the way I like you best.”
