Fantasy in Death

15

While Peabody put the teams together via ’link, Eve con tacted the commander with an update.

“Are you looking at all three partners, acting in concert?”

“No, sir. I don’t believe they could’ve pulled it off, nor do I believe all three of them could or would have turned against the victim and toward murder. It’s possible, and it’s possible two of them conspired as Mira’s profile indicates a strong probability for two killers. But…”

How to explain?

“It doesn’t fit for two of them in a conspiracy. It’s too off-balance. If half the whole goes bad, how can the other half not notice? I believe they’ve all been under a lot of pressure to complete the project, and that caused some friction in the group. But to plan a murder like this takes time and thought, and goes deeper than friction between friends and partners. It may have been the excuse, the catalyst for one to act, but it was always under there.”

“Which one?”

She hesitated. “I’ll be better able to answer that after we see what the searches turn up. Having their personal space searched also adds pressure. I want to see the reactions.”

“Turn up the heat and see if one of them boils over?”

“Something like that, sir.”

When she completed her update, Eve glanced over to see Peabody staring at her with cool, narrowed eyes. “What?”

“You know.”

“Many things.”

“You know which one.”

Eve shook her head. “I lean toward one.”

“Which one?”

“You tell me.”

“That’s not fair.” The cool look edged into a pout. “We’re partners. You’re supposed to tell me.”

“You’re a detective. You’re supposed to figure it out.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay, I get the whole half of the whole, off-balance, how could two of them turn on their old pal. But I think it had to be two. Not just because of Mira’s profile, which plays out for me, but because logistically it’s more solid. One to slip out and do the job, the other to hang back and cover.”

“You’re right. It’s more solid.”

“And you still think it’s just one of them?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re a tight circle-square, whatever. A closely knit and tied group. One of them veers off on this. That individual could disguise the resentment, envy, hate, ambition. Whatever of those served as driving force or excuse. Bad mood, overwork, distracted. Now make the individual a pair, which first means the spearhead in this has to take on a partner, has to trust.”

Off-balance, she thought again. Too much weight-or hate-on one side of the whole.

“Now you have two people trying to hide murderous intent,” Eve continued, “and by and large people aren’t that good at strapping down their more passionate feelings. And after the deed’s done, both those people have to project shock and grief, not only to us but to the last remaining member of the group.”

“If all three of them conspired?”

“Then Bart Minnock would have to have been completely oblivious to what was going on in his circle of close friends and partners. That’s not how I read him, certainly not how I read him after this last interview with the girlfriend. He had a sensitivity, a read on his people. And at the base, there’s just no motive, no sense in the three of them plotting to kill him. They’d be the majority. If they all wanted something from him, from the business, wanted a change or were just fucking sick of him, they vote him out or off, or push as a unit.”

The murder and the method equaled more than business, Eve thought. More than a bigger share of the pie.

“In the legal sense, the partnership agreement, they went with majority rule. And he didn’t have any more authority or power than any of the others. They gave him the authority and power, a tacit sort of deal. They let him run the show because he was best suited for it, and it was working.”

“Okay, you’re talking me into it,” Peabody said. “And one of them didn’t want him to run the show anymore, but that meant it was three against one, so, take him out and it’s no longer a problem.”

“That’s part of it. It has to be deeper, but the method of murder says raging ego to me, and serious loathing. The loathing may have built over time. Bart got the majority of the media attention, and he was the go-to guy at U-Play. He said no, or let’s go this way, they tended to go along.”

“Now there’s a void. And voids need to be filled.”

“That’s correct, Detective.”

“Given their backgrounds, skills, and personalities, any one of them could fill it.”

“I’m not convinced on the personalities.” She pulled into the lot. “For now, let’s go in and screw up their day.”

The warehouse was busier than the day before. Machines beeped and buzzed, shapes and colors filled screens. People went about their business with black bands around bare arms or the sleeves of colorful tees.

Eve spotted Cill riding up a level in one of the glass-walled elevators. The long fall of black hair had been tamed into a single neat braid. She wore a black suit, and black dress shoes with short, squat heels.

Respectful, Eve mused. Sensible-and unless she missed her guess, new.

Out of curiosity, Eve tapped one of the techs. “Where can I find Cill?”

“Um. Her office? She’s been in there all morning.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks.”

She glanced at Peabody, then jerked a head toward the stairs. “Most of these people are in their own bubble, or in a bubble with whoever they’re working with. They don’t pop it unless they’re told to or need something. The alibis aren’t going to hold.”

They didn’t find Cill in her office, but in the break room where she sat alone, rubbing her left temple and staring into a power drink. Her head snapped up, and her knuckles whitened on the tube.

“You’re back. Does that mean-”

“No. Not yet.”

Her body slumped. “I don’t know why it matters so much. When you find out who killed Bart, he’ll still be dead. I don’t know why it matters.”

“Don’t you want to know who killed him?”

“Yeah. Yes. But… right now, it just doesn’t seem to matter. Sorry.” She waved a hand. “I’m just bottomed, I guess. Do you have more questions?”

“Actually, we’re here to notify you that we’ve obtained search warrants for your residence, and those of Benny and Var. They’ll be carried out this morning.”

“I don’t understand. You’re going to search my apartment?”

“That’s correct.”

“But why? For what?”

Eve watched her face change, those sharp green eyes fire, her cheeks flush with furious color. “You think I did this to Bart? To Bart? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be ace-high at what you do, and you think I killed Bart?”

“No one’s accusing you. It’s necessary to explore all avenues.”

“That’s just bullshit. You’re getting nowhere so you start hassling us. You waste time with us while whoever killed him gets away with it.” Tears sparkled in her eyes for a moment, but the heat of temper burned them off.

“I thought it didn’t matter, finding Bart’s killer.”

“Don’t you even say his name to me.” Her voice spiked up; her fists clenched. “I don’t want you pawing through my things.”

“We have a warrant to search, and that warrant will be executed. It’s your right to be present during the search, and to have legal counsel or representation present.”

“You’re a stone bitch. I loved him. He was my family. We-Jesus God-we’re having his memorial service this afternoon. His parents are coming. I’ve been dealing with all the details, and now you come at us with this? You think I can just leave and go watch you get your rocks off poking into my private space?”

“Your presence is a right, not an obligation.”

“What’s going on?” Var rushed in with Benny right behind him. “Cilly, we could hear you on Mars. What’s going on?”

“Contact Felicity. We need to contact her right now. This excuse for a cop thinks we killed Bart.”

“What? Come on. No, she doesn’t.”

Var reached her first, squeezed her arm. Once again, Benny followed.

They flanked her. The three points of the triangle, Eve thought.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant?” Var asked.

“She’s going to search our apartments. This morning.”

“What for?” Benny stared at Eve as his arm went around Cill’s shaking shoulders.

“Is that legal?” Var looked from Eve to Peabody and back again. “I mean, don’t you have to ask or get a warrant? Something?”

“We have warrants. As a courtesy, I’m notifying you that these searches will take place this morning. None of you is being accused. We’re simply pursuing all avenues in the investigation.”

“You could’ve just asked.” Benny drew Cill closer, angled his long, skinny frame toward her. “We’d tell you anything you want to know. We have. It’s not right what you’re doing. It’s not right that you’d upset Cill like this, today of all days.”

“It’s Bart’s memorial.” Var pressed his lips together. “Couldn’t you just wait, one day? One day. His parents will be here. If they hear about this it’s only going to make it harder on them. God, isn’t it hard enough?” He turned away, stepped over to brace his hands on the counter. “We’re trying to do what’s right for Bart. What he’d want.”

“Yeah,” Eve said, “me, too.”

“He wouldn’t want you upsetting Cill,” Benny cut in. “He wouldn’t want you making us feel like suspects.”

“I’m not responsible for how you feel,” Eve said, deliberately harsh. “I’m responsible for the investigation. It’s within your rights to be present during the search, and to have a legal representative present.”

“I want Felicity,” Cill insisted.

“I’ll take care of it. I will,” Benny told her. “Don’t worry. We can’t all go, all be there.” He glanced over to Var. “We can’t all leave, especially today. You can go, Cill, if you’d feel better.”

“I can’t. I still have things to do for the memorial. I haven’t put it all together yet.”

“I can take care of that.”

“No.” She tipped her head to Benny’s chest briefly. “I need to stay and finish it.”

“You go, Benny.” Var turned back, sighed. “One of us should. Cill and I can handle things here. It’s just what they do, the police, I guess. Just what they have to do.”

“So, what, it’s not personal?” Cill snapped, then immediately closed her eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Var.”

“It’s okay.” Weariness more than anger reflected on his pleasant face. “We’re all upset. Let’s just get it over with. Benny, maybe you could check at each of our places.”

“I can do that. I can do that, sure. I’ll go to your place first,” he told Cill. “I’ll be there when they start. Don’t worry about it.”

“My place is a mess.”

He smiled at her. “What else is new?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” She reached out, took Var’s hand so they were once again united.

“It’s just what they have to do,” Var said. “But I’ll get in touch with Felicity. You’re right, Cill, she should know.”

“Okay, that’s the plan.” Cill lifted her chin. “If that’s all, Lieutenant, we’d like you to go. We don’t want you here.”

“Your attorney can contact me directly if she wants to see a copy of the warrants.” She started out, giving a quick shake of her head in case Peabody spoke before they were clear of the building.

“Impressions?” Eve asked when they were in the vehicle.

“Well, Cill’s got a temper. A lot of heat there.”

“Passionate, territorial.”

“Yeah. Benny’s protective. He was pissed, too, but he pulled it back, tried to smooth it over with Cill.”

“He’s stuck on her.”

“Oh yeah, he is.” Peabody nodded. “Which makes him-since there’s no sign there’s anything going on there-controlled, maybe repressed. Var seemed rocked back on his heels initially, but he recovered. Pretty seriously pissed, too. He had to take a minute to pull himself together. Insulted. They all were. A lot of people react that way to search warrants. Each of them took a role. Nobody stepped forward and said okay, you do this, you do that, I’ll take care of the other thing. Nobody’s established a clear leadership role yet.”

“It’s subtle, but it’s there.” Eve shrugged. “Then again, maybe I’m looking for it, projecting it.”

“Something else. Insulted and pissed, yeah, but none of them seemed especially worried about what we might find.”

“Tracks covered. Detail-oriented. But people never cover their tracks as well as they think. We’re not going to walk in and find the murder weapon in the closet, or an e-diary of the plot. But I think it’s going to be interesting, whatever we do find. We’ll start at Cill’s.”

She pulled up at the nondescript three-story building. “You know, they all live within easy walking distance of work and each other. Bart, he goes for a little jazz. Doorman, penthouse, multilevel. Not so fancy inside, but the foundation is. Cill goes for the loft. A little more bohemian. Not as many people living inside the building.”

“Good building security though,” Peabody pointed out.

“Yeah. I bet she had a hand in that. Who’s on this one?”

“I put Jenkinson and Reineke-they’re pretty clear after closing a case this morning. I’ve got McNab with them. I’ll check on their ETA.”

“Do that,” Eve said as her own ’link signaled. She lifted her brows as she scanned the readout. “That was quick,” she commented. “It’s the lawyer. Dallas,” she said.

She did the dance, then signaled for Peabody to go ahead inside when the team arrived. Before she’d finished with the lawyer, Benny came down the sidewalk at a steady jog.

Changed his shoes, she noted. He’d been wearing dress shoes with his memorial suit, as had his partners. Now he bolted up the short steps to the entrance in black-and-white running shoes that showed some wear.

She slid her ’link back in her pocket as he keyed himself in.

He’d never even noticed her, she mused. Too focused on the mission at hand.

She went in, and up an elevator designed to resemble an old cage type. But its guts were fully 2060. She ordered Cill’s third-floor loft, and obeyed the computer’s request for her name, her business, then a badge scan.

The team had already begun their work when she stepped into a wide and open living area. Benny stood, hands in his pockets. Fists, she corrected. Seriously pissed.

“She’s very private with outsiders,” he said to Eve. “This has really spun her out. She’s already down, and now this.”

“We all do what we have to do. A lot of space,” she added, glancing around at the bright, cheerful colors, the framed comp art, the triple screens, the cushy chairs.

“So what? It’s not a crime to like space.”

“Never said it was. You’ll want to chill, Benny. It’s going to be a long day.”

She wandered through, glanced at the kitchen, which appeared to actually be used to cook. A few dishes scattered the counter, the sink.

Eve opened the fridge, noted some brews, some soft drinks-heavy on the power type-water, milk that had expired the day before, some sort of lettuce that seemed to be wilting.

Hasn’t been shopping for a while, she thought.

“Do you expect to find a clue in the damn fridge?” Benny demanded.

Eve closed it, turned so they were face-to-face. She read passion on his, as bold and bright as his red dreads. “This is going to be harder on you if you try to pick a fight with me. I don’t mind a fight, but you’re going to end up losing, and potentially being hauled down to Central for interfering with a legal search.”

She left him stewing to walk through the loft. Lots of space, she thought again, lots of comfort. No frills, but still subtly female. Plenty of toys, game systems.

At first glance the office appeared to belong to a disorganized teenager, but Eve saw the method under the clutter. She’d bet a month’s pay Cill could put her hands on exactly what she wanted. On the far side of the office from the workstation was a screen and several game systems.

She could work on something, then try it out right here. Do her testing, her tweaking.

No guest room, she noted. Not much on company.

In the single bedroom, the sheets on the unmade bed were a tangle, projecting restless nights.

“She just bought the suit and shoes she had on.” Peabody turned from the closet. “The bags are in here, with the receipt. Just yesterday. It’s kind of sad. She doesn’t have another black suit, or much black at all in here. So I guess she felt she needed to get something appropriate.”

“Good-sized closet for a woman who didn’t own a black suit until yesterday.”

“A lot of costumes-con-wear-and work clothes if you’re in e. Couple of formal things, a couple cocktail type things. But mostly it’s work and play.”

With a nod, Eve slid open a bedside drawer. She found what she thought of as basic female self-serve sex tools, a scatter of unused memo cubes, and an e-diary.

“She kept a journal.”

“That’s private.” Benny stood in the doorway, fury vibrating off his skin. “If she wrote something in there, it’s private.”

“There’s nothing private now. I don’t care about her personal thoughts, unless they pertain to the investigation. And you’re making me think I might find something here that does.”

“That’s off. That’s so off. You don’t know her. She’s never hurt anyone in her life.”

“Then she doesn’t have to worry. Detective, log this in, and see that it’s transported with the other electronics to Central.”

“Yes, sir.” Peabody took the diary, slipped out.

“You want to take me on, Benny?” Eve said quietly. “You’ve got the training, so it might be an interesting fight. Before you’re charged with assaulting a police officer, with obstruction of justice, with interfering with a legal search. Do you want to spend Bart’s memorial in a cage?”

“I’m never going to forget this. Never.” He spun around, walked away.

“Bet you won’t,” Eve murmured.

She left the bedroom, crossed the length of the loft to Cill’s holoroom. To satisfy herself, she tried the log. Was denied.

She went in search of McNab. “I want the data from the holo-log as soon as you can get it. I want to know when she last used it, and what she used it for.”

“No problem. This place.” He let out a low whistle. “These people know how to live.”

“Yeah. Until they don’t. Peabody,” she called out. “With me.”

She opted to walk, and though Benny’s building was only a half a block away, chose to cover the three blocks to Var’s.

“Who’s on this one?”

“I put Carmichael, Foster, Callendar on this one. It’s supposed to storm tonight. Do you think it’s going to storm?”

“How do I know? Do I look like a forecaster?”

“I’ve got these great shoes to wear to Nadine’s party, but if it rains and we get stuck getting a cab or have to walk to the subway, they’ll get screwed.” Peabody searched the sky for answers. “If it storms I need to wear these pretty mag boots, but they’re not new. Plus the shoes are so totally uptown.”

“Peabody? Your footwear is of absolutely no interest to me, and at the moment the source of mild annoyance.”

“Since it’s only mild, let me continue. I sprang for a new outfit, too. It seemed like a good excuse for one. Nadine’s book, fancy deal. And the Icove case was ours. I’m in the book and all that. I want to look complete. What are you wearing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“You have to.” To bring the point home, Peabody stabbed Eve’s arm with her finger. “You’re like the star of the book.”

“I am not the star of the book.” The idea was horrifying. “The case is the star of the book.”

“Who was in charge of the case?”

“I’m going to show you my current footwear, Peabody, up close when my boot connects with your nose.”

“It’s usually my ass, so that’s a nice change.” She stopped, tipped down her shaded glasses to study Var’s building. “Post-Urban. One of those temps that became permanent. It’s in good shape, though. Good security again. He’s on the top two floors, roof access. I bet it’s a nice view from up on the roof.”

Inside, they rode up to ten.

“I bet you guys are taking a limo tonight,” Peabody said with some envy.

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“Easy not to care when you have a limo just by snapping your fingers.”

Eve sighed. She supposed it was. “Look, if I get you and McNab a limo will you stop whining, and say nothing more about your damn shoes or anything else about the damn party?”

Peabody let out a very uncoplike squeal and grabbed Eve in a hug before Eve could evade it. “Yes! Yes! Wow. Thanks, Dallas. Serious thanks. I can wear my new… I can stop having any concerns about the weather.”

Eve shoved her back, struggled to realign her dignity as they stepped out.

Var didn’t command the entire floor, but took the west side of it.

He went for more muted tones, she concluded. More masculine, and a style she found more restful than that of his other two partners. In furniture, he’d gone sleek leaning toward avant-garde, curved shapes, sharp angles.

Order, she mused, a certain style and clean to the point of shining. Unlike Cill he avoided clutter, but he shared her predilection for mega-e in comps, systems, screens, toys. A display held a collection of weapons-props, she noted, toys again. No reals.

She studied the contents of his fridge-all liquids. Wines, beers, soft and power drinks. He relied on the AutoChef for food and had that well-stocked. Like Bart’s, she mused, heavy on the pizza, burgers, tacos, sweets. Steaks, she noted, potato sides, big on fried.

Guy food.

“His place is neater than hers,” Peabody observed. “Seems more organized, and more stylish.”

“She has her own organizational style, but yes, tidier.”

She moved onto his office, where Callendar was already at work on the comps. She said, “Yo.”

“Nice setup.”

“Nice? Baby, it’s rocket. Like total command center. From the main comp, he can control all the systems, the screens, even the ones in other rooms. He can multitask, no problem, but he adds to those capabilities with the aux. Workstation’s equipped with built-in smart screen. Oh, he gets hungry? He can command the AutoChef here or in any of the rooms. Have one of the droids serve it up.”

“How many droids?”

“He’s got three, no human replicas, straight mechanical. I haven’t gotten there yet, but my guess is cleaning, serving, security, that kind of deal.”

“Get me everything there is to get.”

Callendar wiggled her shoulders. “Good thing I’d be happy staying here all day.”

Eve stepped out.

“You can see why they’re friends.” Peabody gestured toward the bedroom closet. “Lots of costumes, lots of work gear. He’s got better clothes than the woman, but basically it’s the same deal. And like hers, and the vic’s for that matter, this room like the rest of them is set up for lots of play. Not bedroom type play, game play. Not bedroom game play, but-”

“I get it, Peabody.”

The bed, a roomy platform with a padded headboard, was neatly made with a good all-weather duvet and a few plumped pillows.

“No sex toys,” she announced. “Memo cubes, unused, a couple of handheld games, over-the-counter sleep aid.”

“Bathroom kicks ass,” Peabody called out. “Bubble tub, multi-jet steam shower, sauna deck, music, screen and VR systems built in, drying tube, the works.”

“Check for meds and illegals.”

She toured the rest, the second bedroom outfitted for games, a small, well-outfitted home gym, and as she’d expected, a holo-room.

She gave Callendar the same instructions as she had McNab, called Peabody, then headed out to check the last space.

“Baxter, Trueheart, and Feeney,” Peabody told her before she asked. “Feeney wanted in.”

“He just wants to play with the toys. Impressions so far?”

“They live and work as they please, and they live their work. She’s busy, likes to have several things going at once, so she’s got clutter because she doesn’t necessarily finish one thing before going to the next. She does a little cooking and since she doesn’t have to, she must like it. No droids, which is kind of odd given what she does. I think it’s that privacy issue. When she’s in her personal space, she wants to be alone. He’s more streamlined, and pays more attention to style. The second bedroom’s set up for gaming, but he’s got a convertible sleep chair in there, just in case.”

“Okay. There’s our shadow.” Eve jutted her chin.

Across the street, Benny stood on the steps of his building, watching them come. As they approached, he jammed his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, then walked quickly in the direction of Var’s apartment.

“He’s mad, but he’s sad, too. At least I think so,” Peabody added.

“You can kill and be both.”

Benny had gone for a loft, too, with a space that occupied the rear of the building, on two levels.

Peabody gaped as they entered. “Wow. It’s Commander Black’s quarters.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Commander Black. Star Quest. This is a reproduction of his living quarters aboard the Intrepid.” Peabody ran her hand over the scrolled arm of a brown sofa. “It’s even got the burn marks from when Black had the blaster fight with Voltar. And look! That’s the old desk that was his great-grandfather’s, the first commander of the Intrepid.”

“He lives in a vid set?”

“Vid and game. And it’s a really frosty set. It’s got every detail. Plus some that aren’t.” She gestured to a pair of worn white socks, an open bag of soy chips, two empty brew bottles. “Still, tidier than the woman.”

Eve repeated the routine, going room by room, absorbing.

Yes, she thought, she could see why they were friends. Though individual preferences came through, the overall focused on the same. Fun, games, and fantasy.

Like Bart, he kept a replica droid. Male, she noted.

“Name’s Alfred,” Feeney told her. “Butler to Bruce Wayne, confidant of the Dark Knight.”

She spun around. “What? The Dark Knight.”

“Batman, kid. Even you’ve heard of Batman.”

“Yeah, yeah, vigilante with psychotic tendencies who dresses up in a weird bat costume. Rich playboy by day, right?” She turned, frowned at the droid. “Hmm.”

“The Dark Knight’s an icon.” Feeney’s jabbed finger matched his tone. Insult. “And he uses those so-called psycho tendencies for good. Anyway, old Alfred here’s been shut down the last couple days. His basic programming is to clean the place, serve meals, greet guests. I’ll fine-tooth his memory board, but at a quick once-over, I don’t see anything hinky.”

Eve opened the fridge. “He’s out of beer.”

“You thirsty?”

“He’s been drinking. Sitting out there in his fantasy commander’s quarters drinking his brews.”

“Wouldn’t mind doing the same myself. He was just here.”

“Yeah, I saw him leave.”

“He tried to slip something out.”

“What?”

“A photograph. Had it in the bedroom, drawer by the bed. Trueheart caught it. The boy’s got it. He’s upstairs.”

She went up to where Trueheart continued to work on the master bedroom. The bed was made-halfheartedly. Two more empty bottles stood empty on the nightstand.

“Lieutenant.” In his uniform, the young, studly, and shy Trueheart looked fresh as spring grass in the crowded, cluttered room.

Eve glanced toward a large object draped in a colorful throw.

“It’s Mongo,” Trueheart told her. “A parrot. The subject covered his cage so he wouldn’t get too excited.”

Curious, Eve crossed over, lifted the throw. Inside, an enormous bird with wild feathers cocked his head and eyed her.

“Hi! How you doing? Want to play? Let me out of here. Want to play?”

“Jesus,” Eve muttered.

“Ben-nee!” Mongo called.

Eve dropped the throw.

“Dammit,” Mongo said clearly and with what sounded like true bitterness.

She turned away to see Trueheart grinning. “He was doing a lot of that when I came up. It’s pretty chill. He even asked me my name. Benny said he’s about thirty-five years old, and…” Trueheart paused, cleared his throat. “I agreed it was best to cover the cage so as not to excite the bird or distract from the search. The subject requested I uncover it when we’re done, as the bird enjoys the light. Sir.”

“Right. Where’s the photo he tried to get by you?”

“Here, sir.” Trueheart opened the drawer, removed it. “I checked it. It’s just a standard digital, standard frame. He was more embarrassed than mad when I caught him.”

Cill looked out, half profile, face bright with laughter.

There were other photos around the room, around the loft, as in his office at U-Play. But those captured the group, or various parts of it. This was only Cill, and obviously his private memory, or fantasy.

“Do you want me to take it in, sir?”

“No.” She handed it back. “Leave it.”

She finished her tour, filed her impressions.

Unlike Cill, Benny wasn’t a loner. He kept a replica droid, and a pet. A talking pet. Things for company and conversation. Not as tidy as either Var or Bart. A brooder, she concluded, thinking of the empty beer bottles.

Before she left, she walked to the window. From the angle she could see Cill’s building, pick out her windows.

What was it like? she wondered. And what did it do to a man who could stand here and look out and see the woman he loved, night after night?

Both sad and mad, Peabody had said, and Eve thought, yes, that was just about right.