Glory in Death - J. D. Robb [105]
“Mrs. Kirski, this is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I remember you. Is there any news?”
“There’s nothing I can tell you right now. I’m sorry.” Damn it, she had to give the woman something. “We’re pursuing some new information. We’re hopeful, Mrs. Kirski.”
“We said good-bye to Louise today.” She struggled to smile. “It was a comfort to see how many people cared for her. So many of her friends from school, and there were flowers, messages from everyone she worked with in New York.”
“She won’t be forgotten, Mrs. Kirski. Could you tell me if Nadine Furst attended the memorial today?”
“We expected her.” The swollen eyes looked lost a moment. “I’d spoken with her at her office only a few days ago to give her the date and time of the services. She said she would be here, but something must have come up.”
“She didn’t make it.” A sour feeling spread in Eve’s stomach. “You haven’t heard from her?”
“No, not for a few days. She’s a very busy woman, I know. She has to get on with her life, of course. What else can she do?”
Eve could offer no comfort without adding worry. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Kirski. If you have any questions or need to speak with me, please call. Anytime.”
“You’re very kind. Nadine said you wouldn’t stop until you’d found the man who did this to my girl. You won’t stop, will you, Lieutenant Dallas?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.” She broke transmission, let her head fall back, closed her eyes. “I’m not kind. I didn’t call her to say I was sorry, but because she might have given me an answer.”
“But you were sorry.” Roarke closed his hand gently over hers. “And you were kind.”
“I can count the people who mean something to me without coming close to double digits. The same with the people I mean something to. If he’d have come after me, like the bastard was supposed to, I would have dealt with him. And if I hadn’t—”
“Shut up.” His hand vised over hers with a force that had her muffling a yelp, and his eyes were fierce and angry. “Just shut up.”
Absently, she nursed her hand as he raced along the street. “You’re right, I’m doing it wrong. I’m taking it in, and that doesn’t help anything. Too much emotion on the case,” she murmured, remembering the chief’s warning. “I started out today thinking clean, and that’s what I’ve got to keep doing. Next step is to find Nadine.”
She called Dispatch and ordered an all points on the woman and her vehicle.
Calmer, with the twist of her earlier words unraveling in his gut, he slowed, glanced at her. “How many homicide victims have you stood for in your illustrious career, Lieutenant?”
“Stood for? That’s an odd way of putting it.” She moved her shoulders, trying to focus her mind on a man in a long, dark coat with a shiny new car. “I don’t know. Hundreds. Murder never goes out of style.”
“Then I’d say you’re well past the double digits, on both sides. You need to eat.”
She was too hungry to argue with him.
“The trouble with the cross-check is Metcalf’s diary,” Feeney explained. “It’s full of cutesy little codes and symbols. And she changes them, so we can’t work a pattern. We’ve got names like Sweet Face, Hot Buns, Dumb Ass. We got initials, we got stars, hearts, little smiley faces or scowly faces. It’ll take time, and lots of it, to cross it with the copy of Nadine’s or the prosecutor’s.”
“So what you’re telling me is you can’t do it.”
“I didn’t say can’t.” He looked insulted.
“Okay, sorry. I know you’re busting your computer chips on this, but I don’t know how much time we’ve got. He’s got to go for somebody else. Until we find Nadine . . .”
“You think he