"Yes, sir."
Satisfied, he leaned back again. "You walk out of here, the media's going to be all over you like lice."
"I can handle the media."
"I'm sure you can." He blew out a breath. "So can I. I've got a fucking press conference. Clear out."
There was only one place to go, and that was back to the beginning. Eve stood on the sidewalk outside the Five Moons and stared down. Playing the route back in her mind, she strode to the subway entrance.
It was raining, she remembered. I'd have a hand on my umbrella, my purse over my shoulder with a good grip on that, too. Bad neighborhood. I'm pissed. I walk fast, but I keep an eye shifting for anybody who wants my purse as much as I do.
She walked into the Five Moons, ignoring the quick glances and the bland face of the droid behind the bar as she tried to read Cicely Towers's thoughts.
Disgusting place. Dirty. I'm not going to drink, not even going to sit down. God knows what I'd pick up on my suit. Check the watch. Where the hell is he? Let's get this over with. Why the hell did I meet him here? Stupid, stupid. Should have used my office, my turf.
Why didn't I?
Because it's private, Eve thought, closing her eyes. It's personal. Too many people there, too many questions. Not city business. Her business.
Why not her apartment?
Didn't want him there. Too angry – upset – eager – to argue when he named the time and place.
No, it's just angry, impatient, Eve decided, remembering the droid's statement. She'd checked her watch again and again, she'd frowned, she'd given up, and walked out.
Eve followed the route, remembering the umbrella, the purse. Quick steps, heels clicking. Someone there. She stops. Does she see him, recognize him? Has to, it's face to face. Maybe she speaks to him: "You're late. "
He does it quick. It's a bad neighborhood. Not much cruising traffic, but you can never tell. Security lights are dinky, always are around here. Nobody complains much because it's safer to score in the dark.
But someone might come out of the bar, or the club across the street. One swipe and she's down. Her blood's all over him. The fucking blood's got to be all over him.
He takes her umbrella. An impulse, or maybe for a shield. Walks away, fast. Not to the subway. He's covered with blood. Even around here, somebody would notice.
She covered two blocks in either direction, then covered them again, questioning anyone who was loitering on the street. Most of the responses were shrugs, angry eyes. Cops weren't popular on the West End.
She watched a street hawker, who she suspected was pushing more than fashion beads and feathers, skim around the corner on motor skates. She scowled after him.
"You been round here before."
Eve glanced over. The woman was so white she was next to invisible. Her face was like bleached putty, her hair cropped so close it showed her bone-white scalp, and her eyes were colorless down to the pinprick pupil.
Funky junkie, Eve thought. They popped the white tablet that kept the mind misted and pigments bleached.
"Yeah, I've been around."
"Cop." The junkie jerked forward, stiff jointed, like a droid coming up on maintenance. A sign she was low on a fix. "Seen you talking with Crack a while ago. He's some dude."
"Yeah, he's some dude. Were you around the night that woman got whacked down the street?"
"Fancy lady, rich, fancy lady. Caught it on the screen in detox."
Eve bit back an oath, stopped, and backtracked. "If you were in detox, how'd you see me talking to Crack?"
"Went in that day. Maybe the next day. Time's relative, right?"
"Maybe you saw the rich, fancy lady before you caught her on the screen. "
"Nope." The albino sucked her finger. "Didn't."
Eve scanned the building behind the junkie, gauged the view. "Is this where you live?"
"I live here, I live there. Got me a crash flop upstairs."
"You were there the night the lady got slashed?"
"Probably. Got a credit problem." She flashed tiny, round teeth in a smile. And her breath was awesome. "Not much fun on the street when you ain't got a credit."
"It was raining," Eve prompted.
"Oh yeah. I like the rain." Her muscles continued to jerk, but her eyes went dreamy. "I watch it out the window."
"Did you see anything else out the window?"
"People come, people go," she said in a singsong voice. "Sometimes you can hear the music from down the street. But not that night. Rain's too loud. People running to get out of it. Like they'd melt or something."
"You saw someone running in the rain."
The colorless eyes sharpened. "Maybe. What's it worth?"
Eve dug into her pocket. She had enough loose credit tokens for a quick, small score. The junkie's eyes rolled and her hand jerked out.
"What did you see?" Eve said slowly, snatching the credits out of reach.
"A guy pissing in the alley over there." She shrugged, her eyes focused on the credits. "Maybe jerking off. Hard to tell."
"Did he have anything with him? Was he carrying anything?"
"Just his dick." She laughed uproariously at that and nearly tumbled. Her eyes were beginning to water heavily. "He just walked away in the rain. Hardly anybody out that night. Guy got in a car."
"Same guy?"
"Nah, another guy, had it parked over there." She gestured vaguely. "Not from 'round here."
"Why?"
"Car had a shine to it. Nobody got a car with a shine to it 'round here. If they got a car. Now Crack, he's got one, and that pissant Reeve down the hall from me. But they don't shine."
"Tell me about the guy who got in the car."
"Got in the car, drove away."
"What time was it?"
"Hey, I look like a clock. Ticktock." She snorted another laugh. "It was nighttime. Nighttime's the best. My eyes hurt in daytime," she whined. "Lost my sunshields."
Eve dragged a pair of eye protectors out of her pocket. She never remembered to wear the damn things, anyway. She shoved them at the albino, who hooked them on.
"Cheap. Cop issue. Shit."
"What was he wearing? The guy who got in the car."
"Hell, I don't know." The junkie toyed with the sunglasses. Her eyes didn't burn quite so much behind the treated lenses. "A coat maybe. Dark coat, flapped around. Yeah, it flapped around when he was closing the umbrella."
Eve felt a jolt, like a punch in the stomach. "He had an umbrella?"
"Hey, it was raining. Some people don't like getting wet. Pretty," she said, dreaming again. "Bright."
"What color was it?"
"Bright," she repeated. "You going to give me those credits?"
"Yeah, you're going to get them." But Eve took her arm, led her to the broken steps of the building, and sat her down. "But let's talk about this a little more first."
"The uniforms missed her." Eve paced her office while Feeney lolled in her chair. "She went into detox the day after the first murder. I checked it. She got out a week ago."
"You got an albino addict," Feeney put in.
"She saw him, Feeney. She saw him get in a car, she saw the umbrella."
"You know what a funky junkie's vision's like, Dallas. In the dark, in the rain, from across the street?"
"She gave me the umbrella. Goddamn it, nobody knew about the umbrella."
"And the color was, I quote, bright." He held up both hands before Eve could snap at him. "I'm just trying to save you some grief. You got an idea of putting the Angelinis in a lineup for a funky junkie, their lawyers are going to whip your little ass, kid."
She had thought of it. And she, too, had rejected it. "She wouldn't hold up on direct ID. I'm not stupid. But it was a man, she's damn sure of that. He drove away. He had the umbrella. He was wearing a long coat, dark."
"Which jibes with David Angelini's statement."
"It was a new car. I juggled that out of her. Shiny, bright."
"Back with bright."
"So, they don't see colors well," she snarled. "The guy was alone, and the car was a small, personal vehicle. The driver's side door opened up, not to the side, and he had to swivel down to get in."