“Your assistant’s starting to hate me,” Eve commented.
“No, she’s just very inflexible about schedules.” Mira programmed her habitual tea and gestured toward her blue scoop chairs.
She’d gone for red today. Not really red, Eve thought. There was probably a name for the color that looked like faded autumn leaves. She wore a trio of necklaces that were little gold balls strung together like pearls, and matched them with minute gold earrings.
The shoes, some sort of textured heels, were the exact color of the dress. Eve could never figure out how women managed that sort of synchronicity-or really, why they bothered.
But it looked good on Mira. Everything did. Her sable hair with its sunny highlights was drawn back today into some sort of twisty knot at the nape. She was letting it grow again.
However Mira dressed or groomed herself, Eve decided she’d always look perfect, and nothing like the standard image of a top profiler and police psychiatrist.
“I assume this has something to do with Reva Ewing’s Truth Test this afternoon, as you requested I handle the test personally.”
“It does. This conversation, any conversation with Ewing, and the results of the test are highest classification. My eyes, yours, and Commander Whitney’s only.”
Mira sipped her tea, pursed her lips. “And what warrants that classification?”
“Global espionage,” Eve said, and told her the rest.
“You believe her.” Mira rose for another cup of tea. “That she was duped, and is innocent of any involvement-deliberate involvement-in the murders and in the background that may have led to them.”
“I do. I expect you to confirm that.”
“And if the results contradict her, and your beliefs?”
“Then she’ll go back into a cage until I figure out why.”
Mira nodded. “She’s agreed to level three. That’s a very difficult process, as you know from personal experience.”
“I got through it, so will she.”
Mira nodded, her gaze on Eve’s face. “You like her.”
“Yeah, probably. But it won’t get in the way. Either way.”
“The murders were very violent, very brutal. One assumes that a government-even covert government-organization would be less so.”
“I don’t assume anything about spooks.”
Mira smiled a little. “You don’t like them.”
“No. The HSO has a file on my father.”
Mira’s smile faded. “I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“They had a field operative monitoring him, and the rooms where we were in Dallas.”
Mira set the cup aside. “They were aware of you? Of what was being done to you, and didn’t intervene?”
“They were aware, it’s in the file. Just like they were aware of what I did to get away. They cleaned up after me, and they let it ride. So no, I’m no fan of the HSO.”
“Whoever gave the order not to intervene when a child’s welfare-her very life-is at stake, should be locked away-like any abuser. This shocks me. After all I’ve seen, heard, all I know, this shocks me.”
“If they could do what they did in Dallas, they could do what was done to Reva Ewing. But this time, they’re not going to get away with it.”
“You’re going public with Ewing.”
“Damn right.”
Eve went back to Homicide, taking the glides rather than the elevator to give herself more time to think about her next steps. It still gave her a quick jolt to walk into the bullpen and see Peabody at a desk instead of a cube.
Since her partner was on the ‘link, Eve went straight into her own office. She locked the door, then climbed onto her desk to reach the ceiling panel, behind which she was currently secreting her personal stash of candy.
She needed a hit. Genuine chocolate, real coffee. All would be right with the world during the ten minutes she took for this personal, and well-deserved, indulgence.
But instead of her cache of candy, there was a single, empty wrapper.
“Son of a bitch!” She nearly snatched the wrapper down with the intention of tearing it into bits. But stopped herself. “We’ll just see about this, you vicious candy thief.”
She hopped down and got her spare field kit. Sealing up, she climbed back on the desk to remove the wrapper with tongs, then set it on a protective surface on her desk.
“You want to play. We’ll play.”
Moments later, the knock on her door earned a snarl.
“Dallas? Lieutenant? Your door’s locked.”
“I know the damn door’s locked. I locked it.”
“Oh. I have information on Carter Bissel.”
Eve rose, kicked the desk, unlocked the door. “Relock it,” she ordered, then sat back at her desk with her tools.
“Sure.” With a shrug, Peabody secured the door. “I contacted-what are you doing?”
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”
“Well, it looks as if you’re doing a fingerprint scan on a candy wrapper.”
“Then that’s probably what I’m doing. You contacted Carter Bissel?”
“No, I… Dallas, has a chocolate bar been entered into evidence on this investigation?”
“This is a personal matter. Sealed up,” she muttered. “Bastard sealed up. But that’s not the end of this. I’ve got other ways.”
“Sir, you also appear to have run a fingerprint scan on a ceiling tile.”
“Do you think I’m unaware of what I’m running, Detective? Do I look like I’m in a fugue state?”
“No, you look supremely pissed.”
“Again, your powers of observation are keen and accurate. Congratulations. Fuck it.” She balled the wrapper up, tossed it. “I’ll deal with this later. And I will deal. Carter Bissel. And where’s my coffee?”
“Uh, as you have declined the services of an aide-”
“Oh, bite me.” She shoved away from the desk, stomped to the AutoChef.
“I just wanted the opportunity to say that. But, you know, I don’t mind getting you coffee. You could even get it for me sometimes. Like now, for instance, since you’re right there.”
Eve heaved a huge sigh, and got a second cup.
“Thanks. Okay, Bissel, Carter. I tried the residence, but got no answer. Left a message on his ‘link. Then I tried the bar he’s listed as owning, and tagged his partner, Diesel Moore. Moore went into a rant and jive the minute I asked about Bissel. Says he wants to find him, too, and called him several uncomplimentary names. He claims Bissel left him high and dry nearly a month ago, and skimmed out of the till. Moore claims to be in dire financial straits. He waited, assuring himself Bissel would come back with an explanation, but that hasn’t happened. He filed charges yesterday.”
“You verify?”
“Yep. Local authorities are looking for Bissel, and have no record of him leaving the island. Could’ve taken a boat or a seaplane, island-hopped. They’re looking into it, but not very hard. He only skimmed a couple thousand, and part of that would be his due. Also, he has a history of taking off for short periods of time without warning or explanation.”
“They check his place?”
“Affirmative. It appears some of his clothes may be missing, and a few personal items, but there’s no sign of struggle, foul play, or, for that matter, evidence that he was planning a long trip.”
“A month ago, Felicity Kade made a trip to Jamaica. Just what did she and Carter Bissel have to talk about, I wonder?”
“Maybe she was looking to recruit him, too.”
“Or maybe she was looking for another goat. I think we should take another look at the crime scene.”
Her desk ‘link beeped, and she tossed the ceiling tile aside. “Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officer at 24 West Eighteenth Street. Unattended death. Single victim, female. Identification verified as McCoy, Chloe.
“Acknowledged. Responding. Dallas, out.”