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He hadn’t asked for ID, but Eve took out her badge. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas. I’m primary investigator in the matter of Bart Minnock’s murder.”
“Yes. Jackie explained when he called up. And I recognize you. Both of you. We heard of Bart’s death this afternoon, and my wife and I took leave immediately. We didn’t want our sons to hear of it before we could speak with them, prepare them. Ah, here is our tea. Min, this is Lieutenant Dallas and Roarke.”
The woman who rolled in the tray was tiny and hadn’t seen seventy for a number of years. She bowed slightly, then spoke in a quiet voice in a language Eve didn’t understand. Then she laid a hand on Sing’s shoulder in a gesture that spoke clearly of a long and deep connection.
“I’ll pour, Min.” He reached up, gave the hand on his shoulder a light squeeze. “Go, put your feet up awhile.” He added something in their native language.
The woman kissed the top of his head, then left them.
“Min was my nanny when I was a boy. Now she helps take care of our boys.” He poured pale gold tea into handleless cups. “My wife is upstairs with the children. We can speak freely.”
“It would be helpful to speak to your wife, and your sons.”
“Yes, they’ll come down shortly. I thought, if you needed to give any details . . . I hope you can spare the children some of it. They’re very young, and they were very fond of Bart.”
She wished briefly for Peabody. Peabody was better than she was with kids. Well, anybody was, she decided, and considered Roarke.
“We’ll be as sensitive as possible with your children, Dr. Sing.”
“They understand death, as well as a child can. Their parents are doctors, after all. But it’s difficult for them, for any of us to understand how their friend could be upstairs one day, and gone the next. Can you tell me if there are plans for any sort of service? I think attending would be helpful for them.”
“I don’t have that information at this time, but I’ll see that you get the details when I do.”
“Thank you. I understand you’re very busy. I’ll get my family.”
When he left the room, Eve shifted to Roarke. “I think you should talk to the kids.”
“Funny. I don’t.”
“They’re boys. They’d probably relate better to you.”
Face placid, body at ease, he sampled the tea. “Coward.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right. Besides, I’m primary. I get to call the shots.”
He smiled at her. “I’m just a civilian.”
“Since when?” she retorted.
“Try the tea. It’s very nice.”
“I’ll show you what you can do with the tea.” But she postponed the demonstration as she watched the Sing family come in.
The woman had the dark skin, the ice-edged cheekbones, and regal bearing of an African princess. She must have topped out at six feet, and she carried it on a lush and admirable body. She and her husband flanked the boys, a hand on each shoulder indicating a united front.
Eve didn’t know much about kids, but she was pretty sure she was looking at two of the most beautiful examples of the species. They had their father’s black, almond-shaped eyes, their mother’s cheekbones, and skin of an indescribable tone that somehow blended their parents to golden, glowing perfection.
The boys held hands, a gesture that gave her heart one hard wrench. Beside her, she heard Roarke sigh, and understood.
Such youth, such beauty should never have to face the senseless violence of murder.
“My wife, Susan, and our sons, Steven and Michael.”
“Lieutenant. Sir. You’re here to help Bart.” Susan stroked a hand gently up and down Steven’s back.
“Yes. Thank you for your time.” Eve braced herself, looked at the children. “I’m very sorry you lost your friend.”
“The police find the bad people,” the younger boy, Michael, said. “And arrest them. Then they go to jail.”
