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Mira drew in a breath, looked from Callaway to Audrey Hubbard to Menzini. “Then, he knows. How he found out, I can’t possibly say, but in my opinion, the knowledge didn’t repulse him, didn’t upset or concern. On the contrary, it freed him.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Okay. I can work with that.”
“He’s nothing like you.”
“Damn right he’s not.”
Mira turned away from the board, focused fully on Eve. “You’ve come to some level of … is it peace?”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve got a mass murderer to take down, and I don’t feel peaceful about it.”
No, she realized, she felt revved. She felt ready. She felt right.
“But I’m good. Quick version—I had a dream, about this, about Stella. You made a cameo appearance. I finished it off punching Stella in the face. That violent nature, I guess. It felt right, just. It felt almost finished. Pretty much done. And I look at him?”
She turned to the board, again to Callaway. “And I see, yeah, I could’ve gone another way. I didn’t. And I like where I am. Most of the time I like who I am. That’s got to be good enough.”
“It’s very good.”
“I punched her in the face,” Eve repeated. “Stella. What do you think about that?”
“I think congratulations are in order.”
The laugh surprised her. “Is that like brava?”
“Yes, in fact, I’ll say that. Brava.”
“Roarke nailed that one,” Eve murmured. “So, anyway, I’m going to put a lid on it by telling Peabody what went down in Dallas. I’ve avoided that, just wasn’t ready to spill it out. It’s not right to hold back from a partner, so I’ll get that over. And it’s done. As done as I can make it.”
“If you need me, I’m here.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have made it through this without you. It’s not easy for me to say that, or to know that. But it’s not as hard as it used to be.”
“That’s also good enough. I’ll leave you to work. When Agent Teasdale arranges for the Callaways to come in, as I have no doubt she will, I’d like to sit in. Or at least observe.”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
She went directly to her office, noted her blinking incoming for data and for messages. She found the bulk of the messages from reporters trying to skip through channels for the story. She forwarded them on to Kyung, with a brief update.
The incoming data reminded her just how many dead lay in Morris’s house, how much of them was even now being dissected, analyzed, studied in the lab.
Though she found nothing new, no game changer, she added the new data on each body processed to her murder book.
She checked on surveillance. Callaway was in his office. Unless he decided to cut loose in his own department, he was as secure as she could make him at the moment.
So she grabbed her coat, walked out to the bullpen.
“I’m not finding anything off on the financials,” Peabody told her. “The Callaways live within their means, have a small, but steady nest egg. No major income or outlay in the last year. And no purchases of weird chemicals. They’re organic farmers.”
“Let that go for now. I want to talk to Cattery’s wife, get a feel. If there’s time, we’ll do the same with Fisher, talk to her roommate.”
“I’m all about it.” Peabody popped right up. “I feel like I’m swimming in the data stream and getting nowhere. Hey, I talked to Mavis,” she added, pulling on her coat as they headed out. “She couldn’t reach you so she tagged me last night.”
“I talked to her this morning.”
“They’ve got Belle swimming.”
“I heard.”
