Jennie, my dear,
Roarke wishes to convey his thanks for you agreeing to make this unexpected trip. We hope it hasn't caused you any great inconvenience. We trust your rooms are satisfactory. If you have any needs or desires that haven't been met, you have only to contact the concierge.
You're aware Roarke is concerned for your welfare. It's vital that he speak with you privately, and without the knowledge of the woman he chose to marry. He has information he wants to pass on to you as soon as possible. It's imperative that you meet him, and that you tell no one, not even those you trust, where you 're going. Please go to the corner of Fifth and Sixty-second at five p.m. A black sedan with New York plates and a uniformed driver will meet you. The driver will escort you and has full instructions.
Forgive the intrigue, Jennie. A man in Roarke's position must be discreet. We ask that you destroy this communication.
Yours, Summerset
"Clever boy," Eve murmured. "He gives her enough to be sure she goes along. He tells her to get rid of the copy of the fax, but he doesn't tell her to wipe the machine. He has to figure we'll check it, and he wants us to find this."
"It's still circumstantial." Peabody frowned at the communication. "Anybody can send a fax, put any name on it. He's blocked the return code."
"Yeah, on the hard copy, but I'll bet a year's pay that when we hand the unit over to McNab, he finesses the code, and that the code matches one of Roarke's fax lines. Bag it," she ordered, passing the sheet to Peabody. "Our boy drove the pickup car, waltzed her right into the room on the West Side. Then he took her down, physically or with drugs. The ME will tell us that part. Then he took his time setting it up. Everything he needs is in the car. Maybe he owns it, maybe he rented it. Slim chance he boosted it for the day, but we'll check on reports of stolen black sedans."
She paused, took a slow survey of the room again."Calling the sweepers in here's a waste of the taxpayers' money, but we'll go by the book. I'll call it in, and run the sedan for what it's worth. You take the minifax to McNab at my home office. I'll meet you there when I can."
"Where are you going?"
"To ask another favor," Eve said as she walked out.
It was waiting to rain, and the air was moist and cool, the wind freshening. A few stubborn mums continued to bloom, adding unexpected splashes of color and scent. There was a fountain where water bubbled over the petals and stems of copper and brass water lilies. Well across the rolling lawn and sheltered by tall trees stood the big stone house, glowing in the dimming afternoon sun.
Dr. Mira sighed. Such a place was built for peace and power, she thought. She wondered how often Eve settled for the first, how often she allowed herself to enjoy it.
"I've been expecting your call," she began, watching as Eve stared at the house. "I heard about the third murder."
"Her name was Jennie O'Leary. It sounds like a song, doesn't it?" Surprised that she'd said such a thing, Eve shook her head. "She and Roarke were friends. More than friends once."
"I see. And the other two victims, they were both from Ireland?"
"He knew them, all of them." She made herself turn.
Mira was tidy, as always, though the wind was fluttering her short, soft brown hair. Her suit was a deep green today, a change from the usual quiet colors she wore. Her eyes were patient and filled with compassion. And understanding.
Eve thought she looked every bit as efficient here, sitting on a stone bench under the denuded branches of an oak, as she did in her elegant office. She was the best criminal and behavioral psychologist New York, and possibly the country, had to offer.
"I appreciate you agreeing to meet me here."
"I remember the grounds from your wedding." Mira smiled. It was difficult to nudge Eve over that first hurdle and into trust. "It's a magnificent space. Carefully planned, lovingly tended."
"I don't get out here much, I guess." Feeling awkward, Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. "I forget to look out the windows when I'm working here."
"You're a focused individual, Eve. That's why you're an excellent cop. You don't come out here often, but I have no doubt you could describe the grounds exactly. You observe instinctively."
"Cop's eyes." Eve shrugged. "Curse or blessing, who knows?"
"You're troubled." Her feelings for Eve always went beyond the professional and tugged at Mira's heart. "Are you going to let me help?"
"It's not me. It's not about me."
But Mira thought it was, partly. The woman inside the cop was disturbed at facing the dead that Roarke had once been intimate with. "Then you're sleeping well? Undisturbed."
"Mostly." Eve turned away again. She didn't want to delve into that area. Mira was one of the few people who knew the details of her past, the memories that came swimming back unexpectedly, the nightmares that plagued and terrified. "Let's let that rest, okay?"
"All right."
"I'm worried about Roarke." She hadn't meant to say it, and regretted it instantly. "That's personal," she continued, turning around again. "I didn't ask you to meet me to discuss that."
Didn't you? Mira thought, but only nodded. "Why did you ask me to meet you?"
"I need a consult on the case. I need a profile. I need help." The discomfort of her position showed in anger in her eyes. "I didn't want to do this, in official surroundings because I'm going to ask you to skirt some of the rules. You're under no obligation to do so, and I'll understand perfectly if you not only refuse but decide to report this request."
Mira's expression, mild and interested, didn't alter by a blink. "Why don't you explain the situation to me, Eve, and let me make up my own mind?"
"The three murders are connected, and the probability that they're linked to a… series of events that took place several years ago is high. The motive is revenge. It's my opinion that Roarke is primary target and that Summerset is being used to get to him. There's circumstantial evidence attached to each murder that points to Summerset, and that evidence is piling up along with the bodies. If I believed he was responsible I'd close the cage door on him myself without a minute's regret, no matter what he means to Roarke. But it's a setup, cleverly planned and executed, and just obvious enough to be insulting to my intelligence."
"You'd like me to do a profile on the killer, and examine Summerset for violent tendencies, unofficially."
"No, I want those official. Black and white, by the book. I want to be able to turn them in to Whitney. I haven't given him a hell of a lot else."
"I'll be happy to do both. You've only to clear it with your commander, get me the data. I can shift it to priority for you."
"I'd appreciate it."
"And the rest?"
Eve's palms went damp. Impatient, she swiped them on the thighs of her slacks. "I have information that is vital to the investigation, and your profile, that I can't – no, that I won't – record in full. I'll only share this information with you under the scope of doctor-patient confidentiality. That protects you, doesn't it?"
Mira lifted her hands, folded her fingers. "Anything you tell me as a patient is privileged. I can't report it."
"And you're protected? Personally, professionally?" Eve insisted.
"I am, yes. How many people are you determined to protect here, Eve?"
"The ones who matter."
Mira smiled now, a full bloom. "Thank you." She held out a hand. "Sit, and tell me."
Eve hesitated, then took the hand Mira offered. "You… when I remembered what had happened to me in that room in Dallas. When I remembered my father coming in drunk, raping me again, hurting me again. When I remembered killing him that night, and I told you, you said it was pointless, even wrong, to punish the child. You said" – she had to clear her throat – "you said I'd killed a monster, and that I'd made myself into something worthwhile, something I had no right to destroy because of what I'd done before."