Maybe it was new. She’d already speculated on that one, and now she was stepping over her own feet. Damn it.
“Faster,” she murmured. “Simpler. For fifty bucks, you could switch the good stuff with the bad in three seconds. You don’t have to pour out the original chocolate, pour in the killing drink. You just take the whole damn thing, shove the good in your briefcase or pack, leave the bad.”
Smarter, she thought. Not as messy.
She pulled out the sweeper’s report, already knowing she wouldn’t have missed such a vital listing if a second engraved thermos had been found in the building.
“Computer, run probabilities on the following options as pertains to case number HP-33091-D. Poison was added to vic’s go-cup on the morning of his death. Option next, vic’s go-cup was switched with an identical one containing the poison, again on the morning of his death. Which option has the highest probability?”
Acknowledged. Working…
Eve added more coffee to her mug, paced around the board. Sat back at her desk.
Probabilities on both options have no viable difference with current data…
“Big help.” And it would matter, she decided. It would matter just how.
With the absence of the real chocolate in the poisoned drink, the theory of the mix being tampered with inside the Foster apartment was out of the running.
Adding it on the spot was easier, more efficient. Still a risk factor involved.
But just replacing the whole shot, now that was smart, most efficient, most foolproof.
They’d do a more thorough search of the school the next day. But if she were to bet, she’d lay her money on the killer taking Craig’s cup as a souvenir. Or certainly disposing of it well off school grounds.
She called up the physical description of the cup, started a search for retailers in the city and online who sold that specific brand and model, with personalization option.
There were more than twenty retail stores in Manhattan alone offering that specific item, and three times that through online vendors.
But it was a break, she thought. Whether or not the cup itself played, she knew the drink had been made by the killer. Someone who didn’t know Lissette’s secret ingredient.
She was reaching for her coffee again when she saw Roarke in the doorway.
“Lieutenant.”
“Hey.”
They watched each other, warily, as he came into the room. “I’d hoped not to be this late.”
“Happens.”
Cross-referencing task complete. No matches found.
“Sometimes the world’s not as small as you want it to be,” she commented, and picked up her coffee.
“Long day for you.”
“Back at you.”
He sat on the corner of her desk, his gaze level with hers. “Are we at odds here, Eve?”
She hated, hated, that she just wanted to lay her head down on the desk and weep. “I don’t know what we are.”
He reached out, skimmed his fingertips over her hair. “You pushed some button on me this morning. Irritated the hell right out of me. Don’t you trust me, then?”
“Do you think I’d be sitting here if I didn’t?”
“That being the case, there should be no problem between us.”