“When did you see her last?”
“This morning. Early this morning. She came in to bring me a couple of muffins. We went out last night, a group of us. Ari went home before midnight, because she had to be at work at six this morning. And she figured—correctly—I’d be hungover.”
He lowered to the arm of the couch. The area reflected the debris of a man who’d spent the bulk of the day nursing a long night. Soy chips, soft-drink tubes, a bottle of blockers, a blanket, a couple of pillows were scattered around.
“I only made it as far as the couch,” he continued. “So I heard her come in, groaned at her. She razzed me a little, and said she’d see me later. If I wasn’t dead, she’d pick up a few things on her way home and fix me some dinner. Has something happened to her? They wouldn’t tell me anything on the ’link.”
“You’re tight? You and Ariel?”
“Yeah. Not, you know, that way. We’re friends. We hang.”
“Could she be out with someone she’s more than friendly with?”
“There’s a couple of guys—casual, nothing serious. I checked with them, hell, with every damn body. Plus, she’d have told me.” His voice shook a little, telling Eve he was struggling with that control. “If she says she’s going to come back and fix dinner, that’s what she does. I was starting to worry before you guys called.”
“What time did she get off work today?”
“Ah…give me a minute. Four? Yeah, I think four. It’s her long Sunday, so it’s four. Usually she heads straight back. Short Sundays she might do some shopping, or some of us would meet up for lunch or something.”
“We’d like to look in her apartment.”
“Okay, sure. She wouldn’t mind. I’ll get the key. We’ve got keys to each other’s places.”
“Did she say anything about having an appointment today? About meeting someone?”
“No. Or, God, I don’t know. I had my head buried
under the pillow and was praying for a quick, merciful death when she popped in this morning. I didn’t pay attention.” He dug a set of keys out of a drawer. “I don’t understand why she’s not answering her pocket ’link. I don’t understand why you’re asking all these questions.”
“Let’s take a look at her place,” Eve suggested. “Go from there.”
It smelled of cookies, Eve realized. Though the kitchen was small, it was organized and equipped by someone who knew what they were doing.
“Some women buy earrings or shoes,” Erik said. “Ari, she buys ingredients and baking tools. There’s a specialty shop in the meatpacking district called Baker’s Dozen? She’ll have an orgasm just walking in there.”
“Is there anything missing that would normally be here if she was just going to work?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t think so. Should I look around?”
“Why don’t you?”
While he did, Eve studied the little computer on a table just outside the kitchen. Couldn’t touch it, she thought, not until there was an official report.
Bending the line of probable cause.
“He might be on there,” Roarke murmured. “Something to do with this might be on there.”
“And she could walk in the door in the next thirty seconds, and I’d have invaded her privacy, illegally.”
“Bollocks to that.” He started to move past Eve to open the computer himself.
“Wait, damn it. Just wait.”
“Her shoes.” Erik stepped out of the bedroom, his face radiating both confusion and concern.
“What about them?”
“Her good black shoes aren’t here. She wears skids to work. She walks. It’s eight blocks, two of them crosstown, and she’s on her feet all day. Her work skids aren’t here, either. She’d take a change if she was going somewhere after. She’d take other shoes.”