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“To what?”
“To evil.” At her raised eyebrows, Pachai flushed, shrugged.
Eve heard a low beep. Justin lifted the beaker again, slid it into a container, sealed it, set another gauge.
Only then did he step back, look over.
“Sorry.” There was an absent charm in his smile, in his movements as he crossed to them. “The timing’s crucial. You’re the police?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD.”
“Dallas. Of course, you’re Roarke’s wife.” His smile warmed as he extended a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. How is Roarke? I haven’t seen him in . . . it’s probably been a year. More.”
“He’s good. This isn’t a social call, Dr. Rosenthall.”
“Justin. No, of course not. Sorry. How can I help you?”
“You know Jennifer Darnell, Coby Vix, Wilson Bickford.”
“Yes.” His smile faded. “Are they in trouble? I can assure you they’ve been working very hard against their addictions. It’s a hard road, and there will be stumbles, but—”
“They were murdered early this morning.”
Behind her, Pachai let out a strangled gasp as Justin just stared at her. “What? Sorry, what?”
“They were murdered between two and two-forty this morning in the building where they were squatting.”
“Dead? Murdered? All?”
“How?” Pachai took Eve’s arm, then quickly released it. His eyes were liquid onyx swimming under inky lashes. They only shimmered more intensely when Justin laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Pach, let’s sit down.”
“No. No. I’m sorry, but how can they be murdered? I saw them only yesterday.”
“When?”
“Pach,” Justin repeated, gently. “Music off,” he ordered. The redhead called out a protest when Mavis stopped wailing.
“Not now, Marti.” Justin rubbed his temple. “There’s no mistake?”
“No. When did you see them last?” she asked Pachai.
His lips trembled, and tears continued to swarm those heavy-lidded eyes. “Before Jen and Coby went to work, after Wil got off. We had coffee. We have coffee almost every day.”
“You were friends?”
“Yes. We—I—I don’t understand.”
“No, neither do I,” Justin said. “What happened?”
The lab rat with the stubby ponytail had turned and, like the redhead, watched.
“Early this morning Wilson Bickford was stabbed to death, Coby Vix was bludgeoned to death, and Jennifer Darnell was strangled.”
Pachai began to weep, and the harsh sobs bore him down to the floor, where he covered his face with his hands.
Justin turned ashen. At her station the redhead sat very still, staring at Eve as if she’d spoken in an ancient foreign language. The other man slumped back in his chair, shuddered, then closed his eyes, lowered his head.
