He was a big man who moved well, who still managed to move like a cop despite his years behind a desk. Command lined his dark, wide face and, she thought, had added the gray to his close-cropped hair.
She stepped in behind him, closed the door.
“Can you spare me some of that coffee?”
“Yes, sir.” She programmed it for him. “I have a meeting with Doctor Mira shortly to consult her on the Minnock investigation.”
“So I read in your report. You’ve come from the victim’s lawyer.”
“Yes, sir. Another college friend. She’s been very cooperative. I have the terms of his estate, will, partnership. It seems very straightforward.”
He nodded again, sat in her visitor’s chair. Eve stayed on her feet.
“The circumstances are… bizarre is the word that comes to mind,” he began, and sipped coffee like a man sipping a very fine wine. “And those circumstances are leaking to the media. Too many people knowing too much, and with the circumstances, very juicy fodder.”
She glanced at her ’link, and the rapidly blinking light indicating numerous messages. “I don’t believe we should issue anything but the standard media release at this time. Beyond bizarre there are a number of lines and angles to deal with. We can’t deny the beheading, but I believe it’s necessary to keep as much of the rest as possible under wraps for now.”
“Agreed. If the public gets the idea that this happened as a result of a game, we’d have panic. Every mother’s son and daughter in the city has a gaming system of some sort.”
“I’m concentrating on identifying the weapon, or rather have Peabody and McNab on that. I’m sending them to a games convention in East Washington today.”
“You’ve made two arrests. We’ll use that for now to keep things quiet. I’ve spoken with Captain Feeney. You’ll have as much from EDD as you need-including civilian consultants.” He paused, sipped again.
“Roarke disclosed he knew the victim, and that his own company has a similar game under development.”
“Yes, sir. I conducted a level three on those employees connected to that R &D. I found nothing.”
“Keep it documented, Dallas, and be sure Roarke has clear documentation of when and how this game of his has been developed.”
“Yes, sir.”
He finished his coffee, set it aside. “I’m not here to tell you how to do your job,” he said and rose. “But only to proceed cautiously, and clearly, where the personal overlaps.”
“Understood, Commander. I can ask Roarke to turn over the documentation, so that it’s in our files.”
“He’s already done so, through Feeney.” Now Whitney inclined his head. “He is consulting primarily with EDD, correct, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, that would be proper procedure.”
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
Alone, she stewed for a moment. It might have been proper procedure for Roarke to give Feeney the documentation, but he might have told her he’d done it. Of course, he would have told her if she’d asked. Or he probably assumed she’d known he would, or… screw it.
She couldn’t stand here trying to decipher the workings of Roarke’s brain when on this point she couldn’t quite decipher her own.
She gave it up and walked out to keep her appointment with Mira.
9
There was a certain ritual involved in Eve’s consults with Mira. Mira would offer-and Eve would feel obliged to accept-a fancy cup of flowery tea. They both knew Eve preferred coffee, just as they both knew the tea represented Mira’s calming influence, a break from the pressure. At least for that initial few moments.
As Eve sat in one of Mira’s blue scoop chairs she noted, as usual, the office was efficient and female, like the woman who ruled it. Apparently it didn’t bother Mira in the least to discuss the criminal mind, and the horrors inflicted on victims while photos of her family looked on.
Maybe she chose calming colors in her decor and her wardrobe to counteract those horrors, and scattered those photos around to ground herself to her own reality.
It occurred to her that she herself placed no photographs in her office-not at Central, not at home. Maybe, she considered, they’d be a distraction from the work, or maybe she’d just find it disconcerting to be “watched” while she worked. Or…
Didn’t matter, didn’t apply. Such analyses and suppositions were Mira’s territory. Eve needed the mind of the killer, needed to live inside it awhile-and her own sparse, uncluttered style suited her.
She considered her work outfit, one she’d chosen by simply grabbing what seemed easiest. Summer jacket, sleeveless tank, light-weight pants, boots. Work and weather related, period.
But Mira went for a breezy suit, sort of like a peppermint-white with tiny flecks of candy pink. The flecks matched the shiny shoes with the skinny heels that set off Mira’s very nice legs. She wore her glossy brown hair in flattering waves around her soft and pretty face, and added a little bit of glitter and shine in earrings, necklace, a fancy girl’s wrist unit.
Nothing overdone, Eve thought-at least not that her sense of style could discern. Everything just so, just right. And, yeah, she admitted, calming.
“You’re quiet,” Mira remarked as she handed Eve the ritual fancy cup of flowery tea.
“Sorry. I was thinking about wardrobe.”
Mira’s eyes, blue and as soft and pretty as the rest of her, widened in both humor and surprise. “Really?”
“As it applies to profession, or activity or personality. I don’t know.” See, she told herself, thinking about personal choices, personal style, was distracting.
“Peabody and McNab are heading to DC-a little undercover job at a game con,” she continued. “She’s all about needing to go home, shed what she thinks makes her look like a cop for what she thinks will make her look like a game buff. I figure she’s still pretty much going to look like Peabody because whatever she puts on came out of her closet, right, and she has it there because she put it there.”
“True. But there are different aspects to all of us, and often our choice of outfit for a particular occasion or duty reflects that aspect. You wouldn’t wear what you’re wearing now to accompany Roarke to a formal charity function, for instance, nor what you’d worn there here at work.”
“I would if I was running late for the charity deal-or if I got tagged while I was at the deal to a scene.” Eve shrugged. “But I get you. It’d be easier if we could wear whatever we want wherever we want.”
“And this from a woman who greatly respects rules. Society and fashion have them as well. Added to that what we wear can put us in the mood for what we have to do.”
She thought of the costume the game had programmed for her. She had to admit it had put her in the mood to fight, and made the sword feel familiar and right in her hand.
“The victim’s wardrobe didn’t have a lot of variety. He had some formal stuff and more traditional business attire mixed in, but primarily he went casual. Jeans, cargos, khakis, tees, and sweaters. And a lot of that-the shirts-was logoed and printed with game and vid stuff. He lived in his work.”
“You understand that.”
“The not just what he did but who he was, yeah. Everything I’ve got says he freaking loved it. He had toys and souvies all through his place. Games and game systems everywhere.”
“He must have been a happy man, to be able to do what he loved, and what he excelled at, every day. To make his living doing what made him the happiest. And with longtime friends.”
“Happy, normal, nice-these are the kinds of words I’m getting in statements from people who knew him.”
“Yes, it fits. He had a good life, and what appears to me to be a very normal and healthy one. He had a relationship, one that mattered, kept contact with his family, maintained his friendships, had enough ambition to work to see his company succeed and grow, but not so much as to exclude those relationships and friendships.”