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“Li says there’s no one better. Can you tell me . . . Is there anything you can tell me?”
“All I can tell you now is your sister has all my attention, and that of every officer assigned.”
Shock and grief dulled eyes the same deep blue as his sister’s. Eve saw his chest move as he struggled to breathe his way to composure. “Thank you. I’m taking her home tonight. We felt, my family and I, we felt someone should be here for this memorial, and to bring her home. So many people here. So many came. It matters. It means a great deal.”
“She was a good cop.”
“She wanted to help people.”
“She did. She helped a lot of people.”
“It’s not the time to ask, not the place, but I’m taking her home tonight. When my parents—I need to tell them. I need that. You’re going to find who took her away?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Excuse me.”
Morris took Eve’s hand again as July hurried off. “Thank you. For the dress blues, for what you said to him.”
“I told him the truth as I know it. She was a good cop, everything I find confirms that. And I will find who killed her.”
“I know you will. It helps me get from moment to mome
nt.”
He wore a simple and elegant black suit, with a black cord winding through his long, meticulous braid. And she thought his face looked thinner than it had even the day before. As if some of the flesh had been carved away.
It worried her.
“Her brother was right,” she told him. “It matters that so many people are here.” She glanced over, spotted Bollimer, and the owner of the Chinese restaurant where Coltraine had ordered her last meal. “She mattered to a lot of people.”
“I know. They’ll cremate her tomorrow, and hold a memorial in a few days. I’ll go to Atlanta for that, where there will be more people she mattered to. I know, in the odd way of these things, I’ll find some comfort. But knowing you’ll find who killed her gets me from moment to moment. Will you speak to me later, tell me what you know?”
“Yes.”
Morris squeezed her hand again, then his gaze shifted over her shoulder. Eve turned to see Mira and her husband.
Mira moved naturally, simply put her arms around Morris and held him. When he dropped his head on Mira’s shoulder, Eve looked away.
Dennis Mira rubbed Eve’s arm, and made her throat burn. “When death strikes home,” he said in his quiet way, “it’s harder, I think, for those who face it every day.”
“I guess maybe it is.”
Something about him, Eve thought—his gangly frame in his oddly formal black suit—was as comforting as she imagined Mira’s hug would be. “It’s the knowing how it works, and what it leaves behind.”
He studied one of the photographs. “She was very lovely, very young.” And looked at Eve. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in uniform before. Have I?” His eyes took on that vague, distracted look that appealed to her. “In any case, you look formidable.”
“I guess I am.”
He smiled at her, then stepped up to Morris. Eve slipped away.
She took Clifton next, winding her way toward the detective where he stood with a group of cops. She caught a snippet of conversation, centering around baseball.
Meant nothing, Eve admitted. People talked about all matter of things at memorials.
“Detective.”
It took him a half a beat, Eve noted. The uniform threw him, she thought. “Lieutenant.” He shifted away from the others. “Any word?”
