But that wasn't the whole reason she was dragging Peabody and McNab home with her. She wanted the company, the noise, the distraction. Something, anything, to keep her mind focused on the work so she'd stop worrying about Roarke for a while.
Where the hell was he now, and what was he doing?
Deliberately, she blocked that train of thought and tuned back in to the conversation.
"Crimson Rocket is totally juiced," McNab claimed. "They're completely iced."
"Oh please. They blow."
"You don't jive with rocking tunes, She-Body. Catch this."
He turned on his pocket player and had something screaming out. It sounded, to Eve's ear, like a train wreck. "Off!" she ordered. "Turn that shit off."
"You gotta give it a chance, Dallas. Open up to the energy and irony."
"Two seconds, and I'm opening up the window and throwing you and your energy out on the street."
Peabody's face settled into smug lines. "Told you they suck."
"You've got no musical taste."
"You don't."
"You don't."
Eve hunched her shoulders, trying to lift them over her ears. "What have I done?" she asked herself as she drove through the gates of home. "What have I done?"
They argued all the way up the drive, taking jabs at each other's musical preference with terms like Free-Ager pap, and retro-rock ripoff. She slammed on the brakes, all but leaped out of the car to escape it, but they were right behind her, bickering their way to the door.
"Go. Go back there." Eve stabbed a finger in the general direction of Summerset's quarters. "Take the insanity back there. Maybe his head will explode, and I'll have one less problem. Visit the patient, argue until your tongues turn black and fall out, have dinner, have monkey sex. Go away."
"But, sir, you wanted to work on the case," Peabody reminded her.
"I don't want to see either of you for an hour. One full hour. I must have gone mad," she mumbled as she started upstairs. "I went mad and didn't know it, and now I need a nice, quiet padded room."
"What's with her?" McNab wanted to know.
"Roarke's got some problems. It messes her up. Let's go back and see how Summerset's doing. Crimson Rocket still blows," she added.
"Man, how can I be in love with a woman who doesn't recognize true musical genius?" He gave her butt a squeeze. "Oh yeah, that's one reason." He leaned down to her ear. "Think we can fit Summerset, chow, and monkey sex into an hour?"
"Bet we can."
Eve went directly to her office, directly to the kitchen, directly to the AutoChef. "Coffee. Coffee will keep me sane." She ordered a pot, considered drinking it straight down where she stood, but restrained herself. Taking it and a mug to her desk she sat, poured. Took a long, long breath.
"Computer on." She sat back and sipped the first mug. Cleared her head. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, primary, case numbers H-23987 and H-23992 connected. Additional notes. Connection between victims Howard and Sulu is established through various witness statements. Both frequented Make The Scene data club, and had interaction there. Both were photographed by Hastings. Connection between Hastings and Browning, one of Howard's professors, one of the last people to see Howard alive, established. They know each other professionally and personally. Through her recommendation some of Browning's students have served as photographic assistants for Hastings, giving them access to his files, and the images of the victims removed from said files. Browning also had access when escorting classes to Hastings's studio for workshops."
She let that stand while she turned the known facts over in her head. "Browning's alibi is loose and verified by her spouse. Suspect has capability to manipulate security discs. EDD will study discs for any sign of tampering.
"It's not her," Eve said quietly. "Just doesn't fit, but you've got to do what you've got to do. Considering Angela Brightstar, Browning's spouse. Loose alibi also applies, giving her means and opportunity. Motive? Jealousy and/or artistic expression."
She picked up her coffee so she could pace and drink. "Computer, run probability. Given method of crimes and current profile, is perpetrator of the same age bracket as victims?"
WORKING… WITH KNOWN DATA, PROBABILITY PERPETRATOR AND VICTIMS SHARE AGE BRACKET-18 TO 22-IS THIRTY-TWO POINT TWO PERCENT.
"Yeah, that's my take. Not impossible we've got a kid working here, some twisted wunderkind with a lot of patience, but it feels more adult.
"Computer, run list noted in casefile of Hastings's assistants. Give me the age span."
WORKING… AGE SPAN IS 18 TO 32.
"Okay, display, wall screen, all names from age 25 up."
WORKING… DISPLAY ON.
She scanned them, saw two of the names Peabody had listed as bogus. "All right, Brady, Adams, Olsen, Luis Javert. Cross check those names with students sent to Hastings from Browning. Search for match with family names, street addresses. Also run combinations. Run combinations for match to photographic or imaging artists of any note."
WORKING… ESTIMATED TIME TO COMPLETE ALL TASKS IS TWENTY-THREE POINT FIVE MINUTES.
"Whatever. Switch display to map on file while working.
SWITCHING DISPLAY…
She moved forward, studying the routes and locations she'd already highlighted. Nothing matched the names she was running. In her mind, she ran those routes, trying to see what he'd seen.
"Where do you work?" she queried aloud. "Where do you store your vehicle? Who are you?Why are you?"
Light, she thought. Light equals energy, life. Light equals soul. There's no image without light. No life without light.
Something stirred in her brain. She tilted her head as if to bring it to the surface.
And her 'link beeped.
"Damn it." She crossed over to answer. "Dallas."
"There she is. Hello, darlin'."
"Roarke." Every other thought flew out of her head, slapped away by love and worry. "Where are you?"
"In Dublin's fair city." He grinned at her.
"Are you… Are youdrunk?"
"Well and truly pissed, that I am. We're well into the second bottle now. Or maybe it's the third. Who's counting?"
"Who's we?"
"Me and my old boyhood mate, Brian Kelly. He sends all his love and devotion."
"Right." They'd gotten plowed before, foolishly buzzed on wine while on holiday. But she'd never seen Roarke stupidly drunk. His beautiful eyes were blurry, and his wonderful voice so thick with Ireland and slurred from drink, she could barely understand him. "You're at the Penny Pig."
"We're not, no. I don't believe. No," he verified after glancing around. "Don't appear to be in the pub. This much whiskey deserves a more private setting. We're drunk in Bri's flat. Come quite some ways from the shanties, Bri has. Nice cozy flat here. That's him you hear singing now about Molly Malone."
"Uh-huh." So he was safe then, she thought, and wouldn't go stumbling out of the pub and in front of a maxibus. "I guess it's after midnight there. You should go lie down now, get some sleep."
"Not ready to sleep, don't want the dreams. You'd understand that, wouldn't you, my one true love?"
"Yeah, I would. Roarke-"
"Found out some things today that I don't want to think about quite yet. Drowning them for the night. Found out some things from one of my father's old mates. Bastard. Didn't kill him, you'll be pleased to know. But I wanted to."
"Don't go anywhere tonight. Promise me you'll stay in Brian's flat. Drink yourself unconscious, but don't go anywhere."
"Not going anywhere till tomorrow. Heading west tomorrow."
"West?" She got an image of cattle ranches and mountains and long, empty fields. "Where? What, Montana?"
He laughed until she thought he'd burst. "Christ, is it any wonder I'm besotted with you? West in Ireland, my darling, darling Eve. I'm bound for Clare tomorrow. Odds are they'll kill me the minute they see my face-his face. But it has to be done."
"Roarke, why don't you stay with Brian another day. Let things settle down some. Then… What the hell was that?" she demanded when she heard a violent crash.