Noah stood. “Did Olivia and Kane search that apartment next to Martha Brisbane’s?”
“They did. It was filled with bags of garbage. Some was Martha’s mail.”
“Because he made her clean the house.” Noah frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“Don’t know. I made sure Carleton knew, so he could incorporate it into his profile.”
“Were there any papers, documents showing her Shadowland movements?”
“So far no. Olivia and Kane have gone through about half of it. Micki had the carpet vacuumed and all surfaces dusted for prints, but if we find Kobrecki’s prints, they’ll just say he was doing maintenance. Micki will have a prelim report tomorrow morning.”
The thought of Micki reminded Noah he needed to ask if anyone had found Eve’s keys. One thought of Eve spurred another. “Eve had some screen name possibilities for that dancing avatar. She thought you might be able to use them in a warrant.”
“I already know his name. He’s Romeo62.”
Noah looked at Abbott’s screen. “What happened to your other guy?”
“Ditched him. Meet Lola.” Lola was a statuesque raven-haired stunner. “I’m trying to get Romeo to talk to me, ask him to meet me. My guy avatar was a definite liability.”
“Better for you to go undercover than Eve.” Who wanted to catch this guy for all the right-and wrong-reasons. Either way, Noah wanted her off the playing field.
“I thought so, too. If Girard’s innocent, we need to continue the Romeo lead. Work things out with Jack. I won’t have you working against each other. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tuesday, February 23, 8:45 p.m.
“Miss Wilson?” For the second time that evening Eve found herself summoned. A man stood at the bar, looking out of place in a suit. He was an infrequent customer, but she didn’t know his name and for the life of her, could not remember his drink.
She smiled her bartender smile. “Yes, how can I help you?”
“It’s more how I can help you. I’m Dr. Carleton Pierce. I’m a psychologist.”
Apprehension tickled the back of her neck. “Nice to meet you,” she said as he put a piece of paper on the bar. Immediately she recognized her own name. “My thesis abstract.”
“I work with Noah Webster. Today I heard an interesting story about a confidential informant. Web was adamant on keeping this person’s name secret. He’s worried I’ll turn him… or her… in. I wanted you to know that I don’t plan to.”
Eve’s exhale was controlled, her frown confused. “I’m sorry. I’m not following you.”
He smiled gently. “I’m really here to help you. It took me five minutes to locate your abstract in the university’s online library. Using Shadowland as a training tool has amazing therapeutic potential. But your study has attracted the attention of a dangerous man. I was there, yesterday, at your friend’s house. I was shaken. I still am.”
A chill raced down Eve’s back as she thought of Christy, hanging from that rope. Her eyes… “You’ll have to talk to Detective Webster, sir. He has all the information.”
“Because you gave it to him,” Pierce said kindly. “That was very brave, Eve. You could be facing disciplinary action for breaking double-blind, but I think I can stop that. I know Dr. Donner’s boss, Dean Jacoby. We’re old friends. I can smooth the way.”
She studied his face. “Why?” she asked baldly.
“You’ll need others throughout your career, Eve. We all do. Colleagues, experts. Mentors. You found yourself in an untenable situation and you did the right thing. I’d hate to see you penalized. You have a great career ahead of you. It would be a travesty for you to lose it all before you even begin.”
He took a business card from the pocket of his expensive suit and slid it across the bar. She stared at the card for a moment before putting it in her pocket. Then she met his eyes, remembering her manners. “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”
He nodded once. “Good,” he said and turned to put on his coat and gloves.
“Dr. Pierce, does Detective Webster know you came?”
“No. But as I said, it took less than five minutes to connect the study with you. You will be found out, but I think you knew that before you came forward.”
“Yes, I did,” she murmured and in his eyes she saw respect.
“Call me when you’re ready for me to talk to the dean. But I wouldn’t wait too long.”
She toyed with the business card in her pocket as he walked away, then sucked in a breath when Sal appeared at her elbow. “Who was that?” Sal asked, frowning.
“Psychologist,” Eve answered. “Works with the Hat Squad. Interested in my thesis.”
“I see,” Sal said stiffly and Eve looked up at him. He looked angry and… hurt.
He’d eavesdropped. No surprise there. “Go ahead. What did you hear?”
“ ‘Disciplinary action.’ And last night you were with the Hats. What’s going on?”
Eve dropped her voice. “Sal, somehow my thesis project is being used to hurt people. I can’t tell you any more than that. I’m sorry.”
“All right,” he said in begrudging acceptance. “So what about disciplinary action?”
“The way I got information was… against the rules.”
He met her eyes and once more she felt the scrutiny of another. But this was different. This was Sal. “Would you do it again?” he asked quietly.
“In a heartbeat,” she said without hesitation. “Less than a heartbeat.”
“Good enough for me,” he said, then his eyes went sly. “So what about the kiss?”
Eve looked up at the ceiling, flustered. “Oh for God’s sake.”
“I knew it,” Sal said smugly, rubbing his hands together. “I won the pool.”
Eve stared at him. “There was a fucking pool?”
“Well, not a fucking pool.” Sal snickered. “Just a kissing pool.”
I should have known. She controlled the anger that rose, knowing it came from humiliation. “Well, I hope you won a bundle,” she said quietly and he sobered quickly.
“Only a beer,” he said. “Eve, what’s wrong?”
Everything. A business card she was afraid to use, directions to a dinner she was afraid to attend. A good man who wanted her when he shouldn’t. A man she wanted, but couldn’t have, who’d end up hurt when this was over. A career on life support before it began. And over it all, three dead women, a dangerous man, and the real possibility he could strike again. That he was hunting fish in the very barrel she’d stocked.
A sudden urge to weep grabbed at her throat and she took an unsteady step back. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just need a break. Can you mind the bar?”
Without waiting for his answer, she went back to his office, hearing his heavy sigh. “Goddammit,” he muttered, which Eve thought summed it up pretty well.
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday, February 23, 9:00 p.m.
The worst of Jack’s anger had calmed by the time Noah got to the morgue. Ian had posted photographs of Samantha Altman’s decomposed body on his board.
“Anything?” Noah asked, scanning the photos.
“Same MO,” Jack said quietly. “Ket in her system, puncture wound on her neck.”
“And dirt,” Ian said, “in her mouth.”
“What?” Noah leaned forward to get a better look at the photos. “Where?”
“You can see it in between her back molars,” Ian said. “When the funeral home delivered the body, I asked them if they remembered anything different about this body.”
“And?” Jack asked.
“Samantha had a viewing, and it’s standard practice for them to put cotton in the deceased’s cheeks to keep them from hollowing. The funeral director told me when the cosmetologist was adjusting the cotton in Samantha’s cheeks, she saw dirt. She thought this was strange, but knew it was a suicide. They see all kinds of weirdness with suicides, just like we do. Some people eat dirt. We find it in their stomach contents.”
“Did you find dirt in Samantha’s stomach?” Noah asked.
“No, but I did find it other places. When I heard about dirt in her cheeks, I went back to all the samples Janice had taken in the first autopsy. I’d already submitted the blood samples she’d stored and they came back with the ketamine. Janice had scraped under the nails, just in case. Samantha had a lot of dirt under her nails, like she’d been digging in a garden. It’s potting soil.” Ian’s eyes narrowed as he watched their faces. “It makes sense to you,” he said grimly. “Tell me.”