She’d never felt any of this before she’d met him. Never felt this twisting, this aching, the shaky fear of losing.
And never felt the thrill or the comfort, the stunning happiness that laid so thickly over everything else.
She went straight to her office, programmed a full pot of coffee. Before Roarke, she’d often-most often-bury herself in work. No reason she couldn’t do the same now.
More, she had a duty to honor.
A man was dead. A man, by all current evidence, who’d been a nice guy, an ordinary sort of guy who had actually had something to give to society.
She had no evidence, no reason to believe he’d hurt anyone, had wished harm on anyone. Hadn’t performed salacious acts, used or trafficked in illegal substances.
Hadn’t stolen anything, extorted anyone. Hadn’t cheated on his wife.
Having lunch wasn’t cheating, she thought as she carted her coffee to her desk. Banging another woman like a steel drum a dozen years before marriage wasn’t cheating.
Roarke wouldn’t cheat on her. She could rest easy on that point.
But would he want to? That was the sticker.
And that had nothing to do with Craig Foster.
She sat, braced her elbows on the table, and rested her head in her hands. She just had to clear her mind, that was all. Clear it out. Should probably take a blocker for the goddamn stupid headache pounding inside her skull.
Annoyed, she yanked open the top drawer, knowing Roarke had left a case in there with the little blue pills inside. She hated taking pills, but she’d never be able to think unless she popped one.
She swallowed the blocker, chased it with coffee as Galahad jogged in to get a running start for the leap to her desk. He plopped his ass down and stared at her.
“I’ve got to work.” But it was an odd comfort to run her hand over his head and have him stretch under the stroke. “I’ve got to be able to work or I’ll go crazy.”
Shifting, she inserted the data discs she wanted to run first.
“Computer, cross-reference both employee and client list, disc A with student guardians, administration, faculty, and support staff lists, disc B. Report any matches.”
Acknowledged. Working…
“Secondary task, standard data run on all names on disc C, include criminal, financial, employment, marital, education.”
Acknowledged. Working…
Maybe something would pop on one of the parents or child care providers who’d been in the building that morning.
“Subsequent task, display data on faculty, administration, and support staff of Sarah Child Academy, in alpha order, on wall screen one.”
Acknowledged. Data displayed on wall screen one…Primary task complete. No matches…
“Yeah, that would’ve been too easy. Using the same lists, cross-reference search for family relations, former spouses or cohabs.”
Acknowledged. Working…Secondary task is now complete. Choice of display?
“Display on comp screen.” Sitting back with her coffee, she studied the data.
There was nothing hot. A couple of hand slaps here and there-the ever-popular illegals possession for personal use, a four-year-old shoplifting charge. No violent crimes, no cage time for any.
Before she began on the data on her wall screen, she closed her eyes and let her mind wind back through what she knew, what she wanted to know.
Poison in the hot chocolate. Thermos unattended and accessible at several points during the morning. Habitual.
“Wait.”
She sat up, eyes narrowed, then tried another angle. She contacted Lissette Foster. “Lieutenant Dallas,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I have a couple of questions. You made the hot chocolate yourself, every morning.”
“Yes, I told you. I made it for him.”
“You ever drink it?”
“No. Too many calories,” she said wearily. “I used some real chocolate along with the soy milk and the powdered mix. He didn’t know.”
“Sorry?”
“Chocolate’s so expensive. He didn’t know I bought it, added it in like my mother always did. He liked it so much, said no one made it like I did. It was the half ounce of real chocolate I mixed in every morning.”
“Anyone else know about that addition?”
“My mother. She taught me how to make it. I mentioned it at work, I’m sure. Sort of bragging about it. I think I might have told Mirri. It was just a little secret from Craig. He wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the money on him.”
“I noticed the mix in your kitchen, and the stash of liquid chocolate inside a box of Vital Fem.”
Now Lissette smiled, just a little. “He’d never poke around in my vitamins, so I kept the chocolate there.”
“We sent the mix and the liquid to the lab. Anyone else know where you kept them?”
“The mix, maybe. Not the chocolate. You think…”
“The lab will determine if any of the ingredients were tampered with. Was anyone in your apartment the weekend before your husband’s death?”
“No.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I don’t think so. I was out for a while on Saturday, shopping. But Craig was home. He didn’t mention it.”
“Does anyone have a key, a spare? Your code.”
“Mirri does, for emergencies. But-”
“Okay. Your building doesn’t have security cameras or a doorman.”
“We couldn’t afford one that ran to those. It’s a nice neighborhood. We never had any trouble.”
“All right, Mrs. Foster. I appreciate the time.”
So here’s a what-if, Eve mused. What if person or persons unknown accessed the Foster apartment, knowing the habits. Poisoned the powder. Maybe Craig had a visitor he hadn’t told his wife about.
Or…Maybe it didn’t have to be the day before, she thought. Maybe he’d lucked out a few times, hadn’t gotten any of-or not enough of the poison.
She pulled up her lab report, read off the contents of the go-cup. There was no real chocolate listed.
So the killer hadn’t known about Lissette’s secret recipe.
Considering, she rose and walked to her murder board. She studied her victim, the shots of the scene. Tapped her fingers on her thigh as she studied the thermos.
Nothing special about it, she decided. Just your average go-cup, jumbo size. About fifty bucks. Solid black, with the vic’s first name scripted in silver across the body. Looked new.
Used it every day, every working day for over a year. Why did it look brand-new?
Maybe it was new. She’d already speculated on that one, and now she was stepping over her own feet. Damn it.
“Faster,” she murmured. “Simpler. For fifty bucks, you could switch the good stuff with the bad in three seconds. You don’t have to pour out the original chocolate, pour in the killing drink. You just take the whole damn thing, shove the good in your briefcase or pack, leave the bad.”
Smarter, she thought. Not as messy.
She pulled out the sweeper’s report, already knowing she wouldn’t have missed such a vital listing if a second engraved thermos had been found in the building.
“Computer, run probabilities on the following options as pertains to case number HP-33091-D. Poison was added to vic’s go-cup on the morning of his death. Option next, vic’s go-cup was switched with an identical one containing the poison, again on the morning of his death. Which option has the highest probability?”
Acknowledged. Working…
Eve added more coffee to her mug, paced around the board. Sat back at her desk.
Probabilities on both options have no viable difference with current data…
“Big help.” And it would matter, she decided. It would matter just how.
With the absence of the real chocolate in the poisoned drink, the theory of the mix being tampered with inside the Foster apartment was out of the running.
Adding it on the spot was easier, more efficient. Still a risk factor involved.
But just replacing the whole shot, now that was smart, most efficient, most foolproof.