Divided in Death

“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 ru

“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 pla

“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.”

Chapter 10

She’d gone with pills, and had dressed in a frothy pink nightgown, done her face and hair carefully, then draped herself on the bed among a mountain of pretty pillows and a stuffed purple bear.

She smelled of something very young, very floral, and might have been mistaken for sleeping if her eyes hadn’t been wide and staring, and already clouded with death.

The note lay on the bed beside her, just at her fingertips, with a single line written in dramatic, loopy script on cheap, reconstituted pink paper.

There is no light, there is no life without him.

The empty pill bottle sat on the nightstand, beside a glass of tepid water and a single pink rosebud, shed of all thorns.

Eve studied the room and decided the rose fit with the frilly pink-and-white curtains, the framed posters of fantasy landscapes and meadows. The room was tidy, if overly female, but for a scatter of used tissues lying like snow over the floor by the bed, the remains of a melted pint of Sinful Chocolate frozen dessert, and a half bottle of white wine.

“What does it look like?” Eve asked Peabody.

“It looks like she had herself a major pity party. Wine and ice cream for comfort, lots of tears. Probably used the wine to help herself gear up for the pills. She was young, stupid, and theatrical. The combo led her to self-termination over a sleazeball.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like. Where’d she get the pills?”

With a sealed hand, Peabody picked up the bottle to examine the unmarked green plastic. “It’s not a prescription bottle. Black market.”

“She strike you as the type who’d have black market co

“No.” And the question had Peabody frowning, studying scene and body more closely. “No, but you get fringe dealers working colleges and art circles. She moved in both.”