“That’s something else to find out.”
In her office, Eve hit routine. Coffee, updating board and book. Then she sat, boots on desk, coffee in hand, for some thinking time.
The evidence, and every instinct, said both murders came through the Bangers, with Lyle Pickering as the primary target. The method, the setup on Pickering read as an attempt to mask murder with accidental overdose. An addict surrendering to old habits.
That method also read personal grudge. Easier to jump him on the street one night after a late shift, if taking him out was the only goal.
The why of taking him out, Eve mused. Gang pride? He’d cut himself off from his “family,” even started the process of removing his gang tat.
Not enough, she thought. Enough for a beatdown, possibly, but not enough to kill. Or to spend so much valuable product in the cover-up attempt.
But more than enough, she considered, if someone in the gang discovered Pickering’s connection to Strong.
And yet, wouldn’t that rate a beatdown, a serious beatdown, followed by an execution? Not a relatively tame OD?
He’d betrayed that family, worked with the enemy. And for that, death—but in this case a relatively painless one.
Because the cover-up rated as high, or possibly higher, than the crime?
She pushed up, paced as she rolled, rolled, rolled it around.
Then she broke her own rule—really, it would only take a minute—and tagged Mira on her personal ’link.
“Eve.”
She led with “I’m sorry. This isn’t personal, but I figured if you were in a session or a consult you wouldn’t answer.”
“I’m actually about to leave for the day—early. Dentist appointment. Routine, she says, hopefully, as always.”
Instinctively, Eve ran her tongue over her own teeth. “Yeah, good luck. It’s about the gang-related murders. I sent you the reports, and realize you probably haven’t read them yet.”
“I did glance at them. You hadn’t flagged them for me as urgent, but after meeting Rochelle, I wanted to see what I could do. Why don’t I come to you? I have a little time before I have to leave for the appointment.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“It’ll take my mind off the dentist chair. Five minutes.”
Eve used it to make herself a kind of chart, working the connections, victims, suspects, players, witnesses.
A lot of links there, she decided, and added the chart to her board.
She turned at the sound of Mira’s heels.
Maybe Peabody had it right about spring, she mused. Mira had certainly dressed for it, going for sunny yellow in one of her sleek suits. And the heels made her think of Peabody’s meadow with flowers blooming from toe to spike. She carried a light topcoat in pale, pale blue over her arm.
“Thanks for the time.”
“It’s not a problem.” Mira laid the coat on the visitor’s chair. “I liked Rochelle quite a bit. I’m so sorry she’s going through this.”
As she spoke, she walked to the board, studied it. “Have you told her he was Detective Strong’s CI?”
“Not yet. If that was the motive, or part of the motive, I’d like to keep it quiet for now.”
“Do you think he told someone, other than his sponsor?”
“I think the chances are low. I still have to give his journal a thorough read, but we didn’t find any mentions there. If he didn’t write it in his personal journal, didn’t tell his sister, it’s hard to see him talking about it. That doesn’t mean somebody didn’t find out, or suspect.”
Mira’s eyes, softly blue, studied Eve’s chart. “If they did, that sort of betrayal would almost certainly equal a death sentence.”