• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

She was surprised he answered himself, and guilty when she caught the flicker of annoyance in his eyes at the interruption.

“Sorry, I can get back to you later.”

“No, I’m between—but just. Is there a problem?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Just a gut thing, and I thought I should let you know the kid might be around a little longer than I expected.”

“I told you she’s welcome as long as . . .” He glanced away from the screen, and she saw him raise a hand. “Give me a minute here, Caro.”

“Look, this can wait.”

“Finish it out. Why do you think she won’t be with the Dysons in the next day or so?”

“They’re in bad shape, and my timing didn’t help. Mostly, it’s a gut feeling. I’m thinking about contacting the—what is she—the grandmother?—when I find a minute. And there’s a stepsister, his side, somewhere. Just a backup. Maybe a temporary deal until the Dysons are . . . better equipped or whatever.”

“That’s fine, but meanwhile she’s all right where she is.” He frowned. “You’re thinking it might be considerable time before they’re able to take her. Weeks?”

“Maybe. Family member should take the interim. I could bring CPS in, but I don’t want to. Not if I can avoid it. Maybe I didn’t read the Dysons right, but I figured you should know the kid might be around longer than we thought.”

“We’ll deal with it.”

“Okay. Sorry to hold you up.”

“No problem. I’ll see you at home.”

But when he clicked off, he continued to frown. He thought of the child in his home, and the dead ones. He had half a dozen people waiting for a meeting, and decided they could wait a few moments. What good was power if you didn’t flex its muscles now and again?

He called up Eve’s file on the Swishers from her home unit, and scanned the names of the family connections.

They started knocking on doors, working their way east then west from the Swisher home. A lot of doors remained unopened, people in the workforce. But those that did open shed no light.

Saw nothing. Terrible thing. Tragedy. Heard nothing. That poor family. Know nothing.

“What are you seeing, Peabody?”

“A lot of shock, dismay—the underlying relief it wasn’t them. And a good dose of fear.”

“All that. And what are these people telling us about the victims?”

“Nice family, friendly. Well-behaved children.”

“Not our usual run, is it? It’s like stepping into another dimension where people bake cookies and pass them out to strangers on the street.”

“I could use a cookie.”

Eve walked up to the next building, listed in her notes as a multi-family. “Then there’s the neighborhood. Families, double incomes primarily. People like that are going to be beddy-bye at two in the morning, weekday.”

She took another moment to look up and down the street. Even in the middle of the day, the traffic was pretty light. At two in the morning, she imagined the street was quiet as a grave.

“Maybe you catch a break and somebody’s got insomnia and looks out the window at just the right time. Or decided to take a little stroll. But they’re going to tell the cops, if they spotted anything. A family gets wiped out on your block, you’re scared. You want to feel safe, you tell the cops if you saw anything off.”

She rang the bell. There was a scratching sound from the intercom as someone inside cleared their throat.

“Who are you?”

“NYPSD.” Eve held her badge to the security peep. “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Ma’am, you’re looking at my badge.”

“I could have a badge, too, and I’m not the police.”

“Got me there. Can you see the badge number?”

“I’m not blind, am I?”

“As I’m standing out here, that’s impossible to verify. But you can verify my ID if you contact Cop Central and give them my badge number.”

“Maybe you stole the badge from the real police. People get murdered in their own beds.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s why we’re here. We’d like to speak with you about the Swishers.”

“How do I know you’re not the ones who killed them?”

“Excuse me?”

Eve, her face a study in frustration, turned to look at the