With some relief she saw no casket—either closed or open—no clear-sided box currently in vogue that displayed the body. The photographs were enough to bring her into the room.
She saw Morris through the crowd standing with a man in his late twenties. Coltraine’s brother, Eve realized. The resemblance was too strong for anything else.
Peabody broke away from a group and moved to Eve’s side. “It’s a big turnout. That’s a good thing, if there can be a good thing. It feels weird being in blues again, but you were right about that.” She tugged her stiff jacket more perfectly into place. “It’s more respectful.”
“Not all her squad thought so.” Eve’s gaze tracked over. Coltraine’s lieutenant and Detective O’Brian wore the blue, but the others in her squad elected to remain in soft clothes.
“A lot of the cops stopped in from the field, or came in before they had to head out again. There’s not always time to change.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s hard seeing Morris like this. Seeing him hurt.”
“Watch the cops instead,” Eve suggested. “Watch her squad. Make sure you speak to every one of them. I want impressions. I’ll be doing the same.”
But for now, Eve thought, she had to take the hard, and speak to Morris.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EVE BRUSHED BY O’BRIAN FIRST, DELIBERATELY, then stopped. “Detective.”
“Lieutenant.” He met her eyes, then looked away to the roses and candles. “Morris did right here. It’s the right way. For her, for us. It’s the right way.”
“The cop way?”
He smiled, just a little. “Some of that. But the rest? It shows who she was. You can see her here.”
“It’s hard for you, losing one of your squad.”
“I see her desk every day. Somebody else’ll be sitting there before much longer, and you’ll get used to it. But it’s hard not seeing her there. Harder knowing why. My wife just came in. Excuse me.”
He moved off, working his way toward a woman who stood just inside the doors. She held out a hand, and O’Brian took it.
Eve turned away. She waited until a group of people speaking to Morris stepped off. Then went to him.
“Dallas.” Now it was Morris who held out a hand, and she who took it.
“You did right here,” she said, echoing O’Brian.
Morris’s fingers tightened on hers briefly. “It’s all I could do. Lieutenant Dallas, this is July Coltraine, Ammy’s brother.”
Concentration narrowed in July’s gaze. “You’re the one in charge of . . .”
“Yes. I’m very sorry for your loss, for your family’s loss.”
“Li says there’s no one better. Can you tell me . . . Is there anything you can tell me?”
“All I can tell you now is your sister has all my attention, and that of every officer assigned.”
Shock and grief dulled eyes the same deep blue as his sister’s. Eve saw his chest move as he struggled to breathe his way to composure. “Thank you. I’m taking her home tonight. We felt, my family and I, we felt someone should be here for this memorial, and to bring her home. So many people here. So many came. It matters. It means a great deal.”
“She was a good cop.”
“She wanted to help people.”
“She did. She helped a lot of people.”
“It’s not the time to ask, not the place, but I’m taking her home tonight. When my parents—I need to tell them. I need that. You’re going to find who took her away?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Excuse me.”
Morris took Eve’s hand again as July hurried off. “Thank you. For the dress blues, for what you said to him.”
“I told him the truth as I know it. She was a good cop, everything I find confirms that. And I will find who killed her.”
“I know you will. It helps me get from moment to moment.”
He wore a simple and elegant black suit, with a black cord winding through his long, meticulous braid. And she thought his face looked thinner than it had even the day before. As if some of the flesh had been carved away.
It worried her.
“Her brother was right,” she told him. “It matters that so many people are here.” She glanced over, spotted Bollimer, and the owner of the Chinese restaurant where Coltraine had ordered her last meal. “She mattered to a lot of people.”
“I know. They’ll cremate her tomorrow, and hold a memorial in a few days. I’ll go to Atlanta for that, where there will be more people she mattered to. I know, in the odd way of these things, I’ll find some comfort. But knowing you’ll find who killed her gets me from moment to moment. Will you speak to me later, tell me what you know?”
“Yes.”
Morris squeezed her hand again, then his gaze shifted over her shoulder. Eve turned to see Mira and her husband.
Mira moved naturally, simply put her arms around Morris and held him. When he dropped his head on Mira’s shoulder, Eve looked away.
Dennis Mira rubbed Eve’s arm, and made her throat burn. “When death strikes home,” he said in his quiet way, “it’s harder, I think, for those who face it every day.”
“I guess maybe it is.”
Something about him, Eve thought—his gangly frame in his oddly formal black suit—was as comforting as she imagined Mira’s hug would be. “It’s the knowing how it works, and what it leaves behind.”
He studied one of the photographs. “She was very lovely, very young.” And looked at Eve. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in uniform before. Have I?” His eyes took on that vague, distracted look that appealed to her. “In any case, you look formidable.”
“I guess I am.”
He smiled at her, then stepped up to Morris. Eve slipped away.
She took Clifton next, winding her way toward the detective where he stood with a group of cops. She caught a snippet of conversation, centering around baseball.
Meant nothing, Eve admitted. People talked about all matter of things at memorials.
“Detective.”
It took him a half a beat, Eve noted. The uniform threw him, she thought. “Lieutenant.” He shifted away from the others. “Any word?”
“We’ve got a couple of leads. We’re on them. Any thoughts of your own?”
“I told you what I know, and from what I hear you should be watching your back.”
“Should I?”
“Heard the killer sent you her badge and weapon, then tried to take you out. Smells like a cop killer who targets female officers.”
“Well. You’d be safe then.”
She watched temper kindle in his eyes. “I didn’t pick up a badge to be safe.”
“No? Did you pick it up so you could tune up suspects?”
“I get the job done.”
“You’ve got some interesting rips in your jacket, Detective.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just making conversation.”
“You homicide cops. You come in after it’s over. We’re the ones out in it every day, trying to keep assholes from killing each other.”
“Gee, I guess if you did a better job, I’d be out of one.”
He edged in on her with a little tough guy move—quick roll of the shoulders, curl of the lip. “Look, bitch, you don’t have a clue what a real cop does.”
“Oh? Then why don’t you educate me?”
The lip curl went to a sneer.
“Dak.” Cleo Grady strode up. “Newman’s looking for you. He got a bang on the Jane Street case.”
Clifton gave Eve the hard eye for another few seconds. “School’s out. I’ve got to go do some real cop work.”
“Good luck with that,” Eve said pleasantly, then turned to Cleo. “Was that true, or a way to keep your squadmate from taking a shot at a superior officer?”
“It’s true, the other part’s just good luck. We’re all wound a little tight these days, Lieutenant.”