“Anja Carvell,” Eve went on, ignoring the question. “She struck me as a strong, self-possessed, and very direct woman. But how did she switch the knives? I imagine she’d have found a way, and still it didn’t quite work. For one simple reason. She would have needed to hold the knife herself, to strike the blow for the child she’d given up to protect.”
“Yes, you’re right. I would have left it to no one else.”
“When I thought of you and her, I saw it. You changed your look, your voice, your attitude. But there are things you didn’t change, or couldn’t. There,” Eve said, gesturing. “You reach up as you’re doing now, toying with a necklace—or as Anja, with the top button of your dress—when you’re formulating what you’re going to say and how best to say it.”
“Such a small thing.”
“There are others. They add up. You can change the color, even the shape of your eyes, but not the look in them when your temper spikes or grief grabs you. You couldn’t hide the purpose in them, for that one moment, when you locked eyes with Richard onstage. That instant before you killed him. I only had to think of Anja and you to realize you were one person.”
“So you outwitted me.” Areena got to her feet. “You’ve solved the puzzle and upheld what you see as justice. Brava, Lieutenant. I imagine you’ll sleep the sleep of the righteous tonight.”
Eve kept her eyes locked on Areena’s. “Peabody, escort Ms. Mansfield to the black-and-white unit waiting outside.”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Mansfield?”
“Eve.” Roarke murmured it as their footsteps echoed offstage.
She shook her head, knowing she had to hold him off, hold herself together. “Feeney, do we have the full record?”
“Clear as a bell, Dallas, and fully admissible. She waived her rights.”
“We’re done here. Close it up.”
“Will do. Meet you at Central. Good job. Damn good job.”
“Yeah.” She squeezed her eyes shut as Roarke laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for the help. We got through it. No muss, no fuss.”
She resisted when he tried to turn her to face him. He simply stepped around her. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m fine. I have to go in, deal with this.”
“I’ll go with you.” He tightened his grip when she started to shake her head. “Eve, do you think I would leave you alone at such a time?”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She gave up, gave in, let him hold her. “I looked at her, I looked in her eyes and I wondered how I would have felt, what it would have been like to have someone care so much about me, someone who’d have done anything to save me from him. And then, looking at her, I trapped her using the thing she loved most.”
“No. You saved the thing she loved most. We both know that.”
“Did I? No, that’s Mira’s job.” She drew a deep breath. “I want to close this thing. I need to make it over.”
• • •
Paperwork could be a soothing routine. She used it, writing her report with the dispassionate and brutal efficiency required. She filed it, adding all the evidence gathered.
“Lieutenant?”
“Shift’s nearly over, Peabody. Go home.”
“I will. I wanted you to know Mansfield’s finished in booking. She’s asked to see you.”
“All right. Set it up, Interview One, if available. Then take off.”
“Happy to.”
Eve turned in her chair to where Roarke stood, looking at her miserable view. “Sorry. I have to do this. Why don’t you go home?”