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“Appointment.”
“Appointment,” Triveti repeated, “in one week. She is very great with child, you see?”
“Yes,” Eve told him.
“But she does not shop for the baby, not in Rome. I am talking to everyone in these places. Some, they know her from other times, but not from that day. She is not seen after she leaves the dottore. There is none of her at transportation—bus, train, shuttle. There is no use of her passport, and I find it in her apartment. There are no messages, no communications that take me to leads.”
“Nothing in the hospitals, the birthing centers, the morgues?”
“Nothing. I look for the father of the child, but no one knows. Not in Rome, not in Florence. In all our efforts, she is not found.”
Using Roarke, Eve took Triveti through the steps again, squeezed out a few more details. She requested a copy of his file, and agreed to reciprocate with hers.
After, she sat frowning at the notes she’d taken. “I need to write all this up.”
“Sleep first.”
“I told the LT in MPU that I’d copy her all reports and notes. I need to—”
“You think she’s sitting by her comp waiting for your report at…” he glanced at his wrist unit, “…four forty-eight on bloody Sunday morning.”
“No, but—”
“Don’t make me haul your ass up and drag you to bed. I’m tired, and I might rap your head against the wall on the way. I’d hate to damage the paint.”
“Ha-ha. Okay, okay. Just let me try Applebee one more time. Listen, listen, if she’s gone off to see him, I can go to bed with a clear head.”
“You know damn well she hasn’t. One more, and that’s the end of it.”
“You get bitchy when you’re tired.”
“I get bitchier yet when I watch you run yourself into the ground.”
She tried Aaron again, and again got voice mail. “Damn it.”
“Bed. Sleep. Or being in a bitchy frame of mind, I might hold you down and pour a tranq into you.”
“You and what army?” She got to her feet, and the ensuing head rush told her he was right. She needed to put the circuits on pause for a few hours.
Two hours, she thought, three tops. And she glanced back at Tandy’s picture on her board as she walked out with Roarke.
“It’s harder than homicides,” she stated.
“Is it?”
“They’re already gone. You’re there to find who took their life, to find out why if you can, to build a case that will give the dead justice. But this, you just don’t know. Is she alive, dead, hurt, trapped, or did she just say screw it and walk? If she’s alive and in trouble, you can’t know how much time you have to find her. And if you don’t, not in time, she may end up being yours again, as a homicide.”
“We’re going to find her.”
Eve glanced at the bedroom clock. Seventy-one hours missing, she thought.
15
EVE CAME OUT OF THE BLANK BLACK OF EXHAUSTED sleep into a bright flash of white. There were babies crying, women screaming, and though they seemed to be all around her, she was alone in the white box. She pushed at the walls, but they were strong as steel, and all she managed was to smear bloody handprints against the white.
Looking down, she saw that her hands were covered with fresh blood.
Whose blood? she wondered, and reached for her weapon. But in her harness was only a small knife, already gorey. She recognized it—of course she did. She’d used that very knife to hack her father to death once upon a time.
