While the building housing Open Doors sat only blocks from Greenleaf’s apartment, the neighborhood crossed the line into the edge of shabby. Low- rent tat parlors and bars dominated street level with, for the most part, flops overhead.
A dingy twenty-four/seven squatted on the corner. Eve watched a pack of teenage boys stroll out, slurping on fizzies and looking for something to do. Eve predicted what they looked for began and ended with trouble.
But at the moment, that wasn’t her problem.
Open Doors stood mid-block, squeezed between one of those tat parlors and a bar named, accurately Eve assumed, the Dirty Glass.
The building, one tossed up on the cheap post-Urbans, hadn’t been built to last. Somehow it had, and she could see patches of repair on the exterior. It bore no sign to indicate what went on inside.
Probably smart, she thought, to keep it low-key.
“They’ve tried to make it pretty,” Peabody observed, then shrugged at Eve’s raised brows. “They painted the door that nice blue, even painted the riot bars the blue. They’ve got those window boxes on the windows of a couple of upper floors—where nobody can steal them. Those look like fresh patches on the prefab, so somebody’s trying to maintain the building.”
Peabody scanned up. “I didn’t see how much of it Open Doors has.” “All of it.”
“Seriously? It’s … eight floors.”
“Let’s see what they’re doing inside that. High-end security—one of Roarke’s systems. Smart—and pricey.”
She pressed the buzzer.
A human voice—female, not computerized—answered.
“Good afternoon. How can we help?”
Eve held her badge up for the cam. “NYPSD, Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. We need to speak with Serene Brenner.”
“Um. I’m supposed to scan your ID, but—I can’t remember how. Bibi! Sorry! I need some help! It’s cops, and I can’t remember how to do the scan thing.”
Eve heard another female voice—older, patient. “Okay. You see how the officer is holding up her badge? You capture that—that’s right. Now click for scan and verify. That’s the way! See how it verified her badge number, her name and rank?”
“Yeah, yeah. So she’s all good. There are two of them.”
“I see that. And now see the second officer holding up her badge? Do the same thing.”
“I got it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You did good. Now you can buzz them in.” “I remember that!”
The buzzer sounded; locks clicked and thumped.
Inside, a kind of lobby—buffed clean and smelling lightly of whatever little flowers stood in a jar-type vase on the counter—had fake wood floors and bright white walls.
On the walls hung paintings—street scenes, still lifes—some showing genuine talent. A dark-skinned woman, early twenties with perfect rows of braids, sat behind a waist-high counter biting her full bottom lip.
The older woman, one looking behind her at sixty, stood next to the younger, had one narrow hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl wore a white collared shirt, the woman a round-necked floral one.
“Greet our guests, Shonda.”
“Um. Welcome to Open Doors. How can we help?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody to speak with Serene Brenner.” “Don’t say um,” Bibi murmured. “Take a breath instead.”
Full of obvious nerves, Shonda did so. “Ms. Brenner’s in a session.” She glanced at Bibi for approval.
“That’s right. You can check the schedule on-screen, see when she’ll be finished so you can tell our guests.”
Eve could see the next um forming before Shonda caught herself, took a breath. “Ms. Brenner should be available shortly. Would you like to wait?”
“Yeah, we can wait.”
“Excuse me a minute.” Shonda gestured Bibi down so she could whisper in her ear.
“That’s okay. That’s fine. Now, do you remember how to give Serene a tap so she knows she has visitors waiting?”
“I got that. I got that.”
As she worked, the door buzzed. A woman came in, sliding her swipe back in her pocket. Mid-thirties, very thin, and tired eyes that made Eve and Peabody as cops instantly.
“Welcome back, Tonya. How’d it go today?”
Tonya flicked those tired eyes toward Bibi. “Good enough.” She held up a takeaway bag. “Boss let me bring home some potato salad. I’m going to put it back in the kitchen.”
“Did you make it?”
The woman flushed a little, nodded.
“You label that, ’cause I want a sample. Now, Shonda, since Serene’s nearly finished, I’m going to take our guests up to her office. You know how to give me a tap if you need help?”
“Sure. I’m supposed to log Tonya in, right?” “That’s exactly right.”
“How long have you been training on the desk?” Peabody asked Shonda. “It’s my second day. I’m sorry I—”
“You’re doing really well,” Peabody interrupted.
“Yeah?” Shonda beamed like a spotlight. “Thanks. If I learn everything and get good at it, I can get a job on the outside.” She bit her lip again, sent Bibi a sidelong look. “I mean in the city.”
“Good luck.”
“Do you mind if we take the stairs?” Bibi asked. “Both elevators are acting up. We have someone working on them right now, but I don’t trust them.”
“Stairs are fine,” Eve told her, and followed her into the stairwell.
“That was kind of you,” Bibi said to Peabody. “Shonda needs to build her confidence.”
“I remember what it was like to start training, and be terrified you’d screw everything up.”
“I think the trainer bears some responsibility if that happens. She was extra nervous because you’re police. So was Tonya. I’m sure you know that.”
“We’re not here to hassle your…”
“We call them clients, Lieutenant. It lets them know we’re providing them with a service. It takes awhile to lose the instinct to run at the sight of a cop.”
“How long did it take you?”
Now Bibi let out a laugh. “Oh, there are still times.” They came out on the second floor.
“We have counseling rooms, some classrooms, some offices on this level. Downstairs, as you saw, the reception/check-in, a common area for gathering, the kitchen and communal dining hall. We have a sorting area on the second floor. For donations. Clothes, shoes, toiletries. In any case, I’m sure Serene will give you a tour if you want one.
“She should be finishing up.” Bibi gestured to a closed door on three. “A group session. Her office is at the end of the hall.”
Before they started down the hall, Eve glanced up. “Do I hear singing?” “Old building, no soundproofing. But it’s nice, actually. More
classrooms on the next level. That’s our Songbirds. We have some good, strong voices, and some with hopes of making a living using theirs. We put on shows, here at Open Doors, at homeless shelters, rehab centers, convalescent centers, and so on.
“The fourth floor centers on the arts, vocal and instrumental music—we have some donated instruments—arts and crafts, while here, it’s counseling and some staff rooms. Rudimentary education on five. A lot of clients come to us barely literate, and many without enough English to get a decent- paying job. So reading, language, math skills.”
“How long have you worked here?”
Bibi paused outside another closed door. “I did twelve years inside—two stretches. They took my boy away, and were right to. I was an addict, doing more product than selling, selling my body to make up the difference, putting my boy through that. Stealing when I could. When I got out the first time, I went right back to it. Just one hit to smooth things over, right? I went back inside and, when I got out again, I knew I couldn’t go back in. I knew I’d die if I went back.”
She opened the door to an office smaller than Eve’s at Central, one with an old metal desk covered with disc files, a comp system that looked like somebody had cobbled it together the previous century, a single plastic visitor’s chair.
A narrow counter held an old coffee maker—no AutoChef—and a small water bubbler.
“My parole officer told me about Open Doors. They were just really getting off the ground, but she thought it might work for me. I came here. I’d hit bottom, had nowhere else to go. I figured I’d put in a little time, just get my feet back under me again. That was twenty-six years ago. Open Doors saved my life, I absolutely know that as fact. I was twenty-two the first time I went in, and thirty-six when I buzzed in the first time downstairs. My son was just three when they took him from the woman I was. Took awhile for him to forgive me, and awhile for me to deserve that forgiveness. He’s a good man despite what I did to and didn’t do for him. I’ve got two grandbabies, a family, a life, and a purpose. I wouldn’t have any of that without Open Doors.”
Bibi glanced back at the sound of a door opening, of voices, footsteps. “Looks like Serene’s finished. If you’d wait a minute, I’ll go tell her you’re at her office.”
She took a step away, hesitated. “Back in the bad old days, one of my best customers was a cop.”
“Got a name?”
Bibi’s eyebrows winged up. “It was over forty years ago.” “Got a name?” Eve repeated.
“Well. Well. Let me think about that. I’ll get Serene.” “I wonder what their success rate is.”
“There’s one.” Eve’s chin pointed after Bibi. “I’d say the one on the desk downstairs has a better than decent shot.”
She watched the woman walking toward them. She recognized Brenner from her mug shot, her ID shots. Mixed raced, dark brown hair pulled back in a tail, a thin face with wide, hooded hazel eyes and a blank expression as she approached.
“Lieutenant, Detective, I’m Serene Brenner. What can I do for you?” “Why don’t we take it in your office?”
“All right. I’ve got a one-on-one session in twenty minutes.”
“We’ll try to keep it brief.”
“I can offer you terrible coffee or water,” she said, then gave Eve a long look as Eve closed the door behind them.
“We’re good, thanks.”
“I’m having terrible coffee. Our budget doesn’t stretch to what you’re used to anyway. I know who you are. You were already Captain Feeney’s pet when I went inside.”
Eve thought that made the second time in one day someone called her a pet. “Pet?”
“No offense. I think you’d already made detective before the cage door locked behind me. Come on, you bastard,” she said to the coffee machine. “One more time. I’ve been out for two years, so I know your rep. There it is, one more cup of sludge.”
She took it, leaned back against her desk. “And since I do, I have to figure you’re here to talk to me about Captain Greenleaf.”
“Then we can cut through it. Your whereabouts last night?” “Media didn’t give a TOD.”
Eve didn’t hesitate. “Twenty hundred hours.”
“Well, shit.” Fear snapped into her eyes before she closed them. “I was out about that time. I live and work in the building. Sometimes you need to get out. I took a walk.”
“Alone?”
“That was the point of the walk. Alone. Finished my last session, did some paperwork, had some dinner downstairs. We’ve got clients in training for food services. The food’s hit-and-miss, but we get plenty of hits. It had to be about seven-thirty when I went out. We have cams on the doors, so you can review that.”
Brenner took a long hit of coffee. “It had to be about that time. I’m going to tell you, without expecting you to believe me, I don’t know where the captain lived.”
“About three and a half blocks from here. Easy walk.”
“I repeat, well, shit. Of course, close to Central. Makes sense.”
It came into her eyes, first the fear again, then a kind of resignation. “Hell of a time for me to take a walk. There’s a park a few blocks south.
More of a playground, really, with benches for parents or nannies if you’ve got one. I headed there, bought what’s actually pretty decent lemonade from
a cart, sat on a bench, let the day fall away. I do that a couple nights a week in good weather. Especially on a hard day.”
She swallowed some coffee. “It was a hard day. One of our clients got busted. Shoplifting, for fuck’s sake, and she had illegals on her. Stupid, stupid. I’d worked hard with her, and thought we’d made good progress. I was wrong, and I needed to let the day fall away.”
“What time did you get back?”
“Before dark. Maybe about eight-thirty, I guess. I’d had enough alone. Bibi lives here, so does Kit. We’ve got an excuse for a staff room on three, separate from the common areas.”
She shrugged, but kept staring into her coffee.
“Sometimes the clients don’t want you around, sometimes we don’t want to be around the clients. The three of us sat in there, bitching to each other about Aster—the busted client—then Kit said fuck this, went down, made popcorn, got tubes of Coke from our stash—we have a stash—and we watched some screen. A comedy. We needed to laugh. I’d say we all turned in about ten-thirty. I felt better. Then this morning, I heard about Greenleaf, and knew you’d work your way to me.
“Dirty deeds leave a stain no matter how much you wash it out. And I did dirty deeds. No excuse.”
Could be bullshitting me, Eve thought, just like I bullshitted her on the time.
“You threatened him, and his family.”
“Did I?” Brenner shook her head, looked up to the ceiling. “Yeah, I probably did. Probably meant it at the time. I was scared, and I was pissed. A lot easier to be pissed than scared. Not my fault, right? Never my fault, because circumstances. So, obviously, his fault. I’m sure I threatened him. Probably offered to blow him, too, if he looked the other way. And I would have.”
Now she set the coffee aside. “I fucked up, Lieutenant, Detective. I fucked up and I found out. I wanted to be a cop. I really wanted to be a cop, and I threw it away because I couldn’t stop gambling—and losing—and finding ways to justify what I did to pay off the losses and gambling some more.”
She shook her head. “I fucked it all up. One of the things I found out inside? Mine wasn’t the toughest. Women lost kids—I didn’t have kids. Or
they ended up inside because they’d done desperate things just to survive. I had a job I wanted and worked and trained to get. A decent place to live. And I tossed it all aside, and I hurt people, stained the badge I’d wanted so much.”
She looked up again as thumping sounded above. “Dance class,” she murmured.
She walked over for a tube of water as the thumping—reasonably rhythmic—continued.
“I heard about this place inside, from my counselor, my rehab counselor. When I got out, I came here because I was afraid I’d start gambling again. I wanted to. Still want to, but I didn’t. And I haven’t. I trained to counsel others, and I’m good at it. Better at it than I was on the job. You can look at my record here, talk to Della—Della McRoy, the founder. This is hers. She’s the reason for Open Doors.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I didn’t go after Greenleaf. I can’t say I wouldn’t have years ago if I’d had the chance, because I convinced myself it was his fault. It had to be. I’ve long since accepted and acknowledged it was my fault. All of it. My choices, my actions. And I paid for those choices, those actions. I did my time.”
“We’ll need to see the security feed for last night.” “Sure. I can’t remember who’s on the desk right now.” “The trainee.”
“Right, right, Shonda. She won’t know how to do that yet, and you won’t want me doing it. Bibi can get that for you.”
“All right. And will she and this Kit verify your whereabouts and actions from twenty-one hundred until twenty-one-thirty?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Captain Greenleaf’s TOD was between twenty-one and twenty-one- thirty hours.”
Eve saw the shock that widened Brenner’s eyes, then the relief that filled them. “You bullshitted me. Smart.”
“Maybe. But we need to see the feed, and speak with the two people you were with at the time in question.”
“I’ll set it up.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll go set it up. Bibi can bring a copy of the feed in here, and you can use the office to interview her. I’ll find Kit.”
When she went out, Peabody looked at Eve. “You believe her.” “Do you?”
“Yes, and so do you.” “Why?”
“For one thing, she went pale—just lost her color when you gave her the earlier TOD, and her walk to the park rings true.”
“We’ll check on this Aster, make sure of that.”
“Right, but that’s going to check, and so is the hang out with her two coworkers, the vid, the whole thing. She didn’t get pissy or try to evade, didn’t say: Lawyer.”
“And all of that could just be strategy.”
“Could—and she’d have to have doctored the feed and convinced her two coworkers to cover for her—for murder. You don’t believe any of that.”
“I don’t believe any of that. But we check, and we verify.” And when they had, they moved on.
Another Chance and Darlie Tanaka didn’t have an eight-story building. She ran her organization out of an old—post-Urban again—warehouse. It didn’t have a cheerful blue door, but it boasted exterior walls covered in graffiti and street art oddly lacking in obscenities and sexual content.
Decent security, Eve noted. Not high-end, just decent. No palm plates, no cams, but good, solid locks—currently disengaged.
They walked into what struck Eve as a mash-up between a casual living room and friendly medical waiting area.
Tables, chairs, a small sofa—all on the shabby side—a kids’ play area with cubbies holding various toys.
People sat around talking, sipping from short, clear glasses.
A long, scarred table served as a reception desk, currently manned by a male too young to buy a legal brew. His orange hair flopped down over one eye as he pecked carefully at the keyboard of an ancient comp, and with the focus of someone defusing a bomb.
When she stepped up, he studied her with one vividly green eye. “Darlie Tanaka.”
“Okay.” He slid his rolly chair to the end of the table, shouted down a hallway. “Hey, Darlie. I’m sending a couple cops back to see you. Intercom’s busted,” he added to Eve.
“We didn’t identify ourselves as police.”
He snorted. “Come on, man.”
“How long have you worked here?” “On staff? Like six months.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be nineteen in November. I’m legal. What’re you hassling me for?” “Not. Just curious.”
“Darlie’s three down, on the left.”
With Peabody she walked down the hall. She judged it had once been an open area. To separate it into offices, storage, what looked like a small break room, they’d thrown up partitions, more or less like cube walls.
They found Darlie Tanaka in one of the makeshift offices, sitting at a desk that might just have come over on the ark. Notices, flyers, uplifting sayings, old posters of rockers (Avenue A featured) plastered the walls.
She held up a finger as she continued a conversation on her ’link.
“Just two large, Nicko. It’d make a huge difference right now. Everybody poops, right? If we don’t get the plumbing fixed, and fixed right this time, we’re going to be swimming in it.”
She sat, swiveling in her chair as she talked. Her streaky hair—white and gray—fell in wildly careless waves past the shoulders of a T-shirt that read:
ALWAYS ONE MORE FUCK TO GIVE.
She’d dyed her lips a bold red, had sharp dark eyes, and wore hoop earrings Eve thought she could put a fist through.
Those bold lips spread in a smile. “I knew you’d come through, Nicko. I dedicate my next poop to you. Cha.”
She clicked off, set down the ’link on a pile of folders.
“So, Dallas and Peabody. Have a seat. It’s begging day, which means I leave my pride at home. But you’re here about Martin. I spoke with Beth right before she and the family left to see him. My wife and I are going by Carlie’s when I can break away from here.”
“You were with Ms. Greenleaf and others on the night Captain Greenleaf was killed.”
“Yeah, our monthly meetup. We started as a book club. Jesus, has to be twenty, twenty-five years back. Then we admitted that was just an excuse to sit around, talk, drink a lot of wine. So we cut out the book club portion. Beth and I, original members. We go back. We’ve known each other longer than she knew Martin.”
“And you and the captain were friends?”
“We had our differences.” She smiled as she said it, even when grief showed in her eyes. “I’m an old activist and he was a cop down to the marrow, so we sure as hell didn’t always see eye-to-eye.
“And still … still. He supported what we do here. This desk?” She knocked a fist on it. “Was his father’s. His old man gave it to him when Martin got out of the Academy, and Martin gave it to me when I started up here. He helped us set up. Since he retired, he’d come in now and then, do some little repairs.
“I loved the son of a bitch.”
“How did you meet Ms. Greenleaf?”
“Gun ban rally. Back then, there wasn’t a rally, protest, march I’d walk away from. But this was a particular mission of mine. And hers. She was a teacher. Young, Jesus, we were both so young. She’d survived a school shooting. One of her coworkers and two of her students—twelve years old
—didn’t. So it was a particular mission of hers, too. She spoke—passionate, eloquent. And I admit I found her very attractive.”
“Did you have an intimate relationship?”
“Honey, I don’t hit on the straight, and she clearly was. But we hit it off, ended up going out for a drink after the rally. And that, as the line goes, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I stood up for her when she married Martin. She stood up for me when Flora and I got married.”
“You said you and Ms. Greenleaf were the original members of this group. How did the others come into it?”
“Oh, well, some have come and gone. Moved away, lost interest, got too busy. There’s Pru, for instance. Pru wasn’t there. She and her family spend the summer in Maine. I went to college with Pru. She married rich—nice guy, too. And it’s a benefit for me, as she and her guy helped us buy this building. She swings in, mostly when we get together in the spring and fall. They spend most of the winter in Belize. Anyway, I brought Pru in, and Beth brought Anja in. Anja’s a hoot and a holler. A pediatrician who ought to be a comic. Beth met her when Anja came in to give a presentation at Beth’s school. Then I brought Cass in. Cass is the daughter of the gallery owner where my wife shows her work. And of our current gang of girls, there’s Elva. Beth brought her in. She lives in Beth’s building.”
“You know all of them well then.”
“I’d say. Well, Anja, we’ve been friends for about thirty years. She makes me laugh, and our politics mesh. Not a requirement, but it doesn’t hurt. I know if there’s a protest or march I want to support, I can count on Anja. Cass? I’ve known her since she was a kid, and I love every inch of her. She’s here today, volunteering. She’s got two kids, and she’s doing the pro parent thing. This gives her a chance to work, and we have a small day care set up for kids. It’s good for everyone.”
“Is she available to speak with?”
“Sure. She’d be next floor up, working with some of the Chancers on interview skills. One of our purposes is to help people find work, and stick.”
“‘Chancers.’”
Darlie smiled. “It became a thing.”
“Peabody, why don’t you go talk to Ms. Bryer.” Peabody rose. “I really like your shirt, Ms. Tanaka.” “Thanks. Somebody’s got to give a fuck.”
When Peabody went out, Darlie’s ’link signaled. “I really need to take this. I’ll be quick. Pru! I was just thinking about you. Yeah, yeah. I wasn’t sure you’d heard.”
Tears swam into her eyes again. She snatched up some tissues to wipe at them.
“As bad as it gets. Flora and I are going over tonight. I will,” she said after a minute. “I’m talking to the police now.”
She let out a watery laugh, swiped at her damp eyes. “Yes, voluntarily. I will let you know, of course. It’ll mean a lot to her. No, babe, I really don’t, but— What?”
She sat back in her chair as if her limbs had gone weak. “I— Are you serious? Pru— Oh my God, oh my God. You’re my goddess. Jesus, I can’t tell you … Tell Sam … I don’t have the words right now. Yes. Jesus, yes. Can I tag you back when I’m done here and can be more coherent? I love you. I love you both. Give me an hour, okay? I’ll tag you back. I love you,” she said again.
When she clicked off, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” she said as they streamed. “I need a minute. I just … this strange, wonderful, smack-talking girl I met in college just told me she and her
amazing husband, with the full support of their stupendous family, is giving us a quarter million dollars.”
“That’s very generous.”
“She saved us. They saved us. Shit, shit.” She opened a drawer, pulled out more tissues. “This place is everything to me. This old building, in the last year, it’s just … Get old, fall apart, you know. If you can’t offer a safe place, you can’t help. You must know, with Dochas, with An Didean, what it takes financially.”
“I don’t. Roarke does.”
“And I praise him for his combination of deep pockets, his glorious generosity, and his vision. I meant to tell you, you can check my bona fides with any of the staff at Dochas. We often work with them. I’m sorry for losing it. The combination of knowing she and Sam are going to come back for the memorial—whenever it happens—then this gift, it wiped me out.”
She dried her eyes, breathed out. “So, I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“We hadn’t gotten to Elva Arnez. She’d be the most recent addition to your group, right?”
“Yeah, just a year, if that. Gotta bring in that young, fresh blood, keeps us on our toes. Certainly I don’t know Elva as well as the others, but we’ve gotten to know one another. I give her grief for being a fashion plate and selling ridiculously expensive clothes to women who don’t need more of them. She doesn’t mind it. And she’s donated clothes—damn good clothes the Chancers can use at interviews, at work. She even hired one of the women as a clerk about six months ago. Tawny’s still there, and doing very well.”
“I suppose it would be natural for Ms. Arnez and Ms. Greenleaf to be closer, living in the same building.”
“Beth jokes that Elva looks after her—or tries. Checks when she’s doing any marketing to see if Beth needs something. Always walks with her to and from our get-togethers, that sort of thing. It’s sweet, but Beth’s as self- sufficient as they come. Or was,” she said. “Martin’s death will shake that. She’ll be strong, but he was her true and abiding love. They were each other’s.”
“When’s the last time you were in Ms. Greenleaf’s bedroom?”
“Her bedroom?” Darlie looked blank. “That’s a strange one. I’m not sure about that, but— No, wait. Yes, I am, now that I think. Though I can’t think why it matters. It had to be April, because Beth goes on a spring cleaning war. I mean war. As if her place isn’t always spotless. But she goes to war, and part of the combat is cleaning out closets. She had clothes, shoes—hers and Martin’s. I went over to get them. Helped her box them up. It would’ve been April. Why?”
“Just details. Do you also work with Open Doors?”
“Yes, we do. It’s a wonderful and much-needed organization.” “So you know Serene Brenner?”
“Ah … I don’t think I do, but I work most directly with Della. Della and I also go back a few decades. Old activists. She founded Open Doors.”
When she heard Peabody’s clomp, Eve rose. “I appreciate your time, your cooperation.”
“I’ve learned to cooperate with the cops when I have to. In this case, absolutely anything I can do. I loved Martin, truly loved him.”
“Do you know of anyone who’d want to harm him?”
“I imagine there were scores, and many of them once held badges. But you know that. I don’t know specifics. Martin didn’t talk about his work with me, not in detail. But I’m glad it’s you, and your partner,” she added as Peabody stepped into the doorway, “who’re looking for who did this. I’ve enjoyed Nadine Furst’s books, very much.”
“Right.” Eve turned to go, turned back. “Do you also work with Sebastian?”
As her lips curved, Darlie tapped a crooked finger on them. “I believe I’m about to take the Fifth.”
“Figured. Thanks again.”
Peabody waited until they’d walked outside. “She couldn’t really add anything, Dallas. She cried a little—tried not to. She went over the night in question and all that. It all jibes. I asked her when she was last in the bedroom, and she said the week before Christmas. The Greenleafs had a party, and everybody put their coats on the bed in there.”
“They’re not in this. See if you can reach the last one—Anja Abbott—by ’link. Run her through it. If you get any buzz, we’ll follow up in person.”
“You got it.”
“Shit,” she said when she checked the time. “Look, what I’m going to do is drop you home—we’re close enough. Then I’ll go home and finally update Whitney by holo, start digging more on the dead and disgraced cop list.”
“Okay, but … We’re really close to the house, too. Maybe you could drop me there instead, and just take a quick look? Like, fifteen minutes? I’ll tag McNab and we’ll put in more time on the list, get you more names.”
Since Eve considered it a pretty good deal, she pulled out her ’link. “Let me tell Roarke what I’m doing. We’re already past end of shift.”
