"I love technology." Eve did so and watched the 'link screen go to holding blue. "Audrey Morrell, Luxury Towers, New York City. Search number and contact."
Searching…Number is on public list. Contacting…
An efficient two beeps later, Audrey's face came on screen. There was a smear of bright yellow paint on her right cheek and a distracted look in her eyes. "Lieutenant Dallas, Ms. Morrell."
"Oh, yes, Lieutenant." Audrey lifted a hand dotted with cerulean blue to her hair. "What can I do for you?''
"Could you tell me where you were between five and seven a.m. this morning?"
"Here, here in my apartment. I didn't get up until just after seven o'clock. I've been in all morning working. Why?"
"Just routine. I'd like to set up a follow-up interview with you. Tomorrow morning, at your residence if that's convenient."
"Well, I, yes, I suppose so. At nine if it won't take more than an hour. I have a private lesson here at ten-thirty."
"Nine's fine. Thank you. Transmission concluded." Eve pulled up at the rear of a line of traffic waiting for the light. "Whoever called Summerset this morning had to know that he's got a thing for Artsy Audrey—as tough as it is to imagine that dried-up stick having a thing for anyone."
"I've been giving it some thought."
"And?"
"It can't be one person acting alone—not if we proceed with the belief that Summerset is innocent. It's not just the murders, but the setup. The killer has to know Summerset's routine, and he has to be certain he doesn't deviate from it. Someone's got to be staking him out, following him, while the killer acts. And the killer, according to profile, requires praise, attention, and rewards. Someone has to be giving them to him."
"That's good, Peabody."
Peabody said nothing for a moment, then sighed. "But you already knew all that."
"It doesn't matter. It's good. Half of detective work is following logic, and you followed it."
"What's the other half?"
"Following illogic." She pulled up in front of the Mermaid Club, noted the police seal on the door was blinking red and the security grilles on the windows were still down and locked.
"Street ghosts don't walk much in daylight," Peabody commented.
"The car will lure them out." Eve stepped onto the street, waited until Peabody stood on the sidewalk. "Engage all tampering deflectors and security measures."
The locks had barely slammed home when she caught the slight movement in the doorway just across from her. "I've got fifty credits for information," she said without bothering to raise her voice. Street ghosts heard everything they wanted to hear. "If I get it, my aide and I won't have to follow through on a tip we got that there are illegal substances in the building."
"It's twenty credits just to ask. Thirty more for an answer."
"Fair enough." She dug in her pocket, pulled a single twenty chip out.
The figure that came toward her was gray. Skin, hair, eyes all the same dust tone as the street sweeping coat he wore. His voice was whisper soft, and the fingers that plucked the credit from Eve's palm did so without touching flesh.
"Do you know Patrick Murray, the floor scraper?"
"Seen him, heard him, don't know him. Dead now though."
"No, he's not quite dead." Like you, she thought, he's in some half world. But Patrick still had a chance to come all the way back. "Did you see anybody go in the club after hours this morning?"
"Seen him." The ghost's gray lips split open over gray teeth in a horrid smile. "Heard him. Don't know him."
"What time?"
"There is no time. Just day, just night. One came when it was more night than day. One came when it was more day than night."
"Two?" Her eyes sharpened. "You saw two different people go in, at two different times."