In Death 01 - Naked in Death

you want me to get you something? Call anyone for you?"
    "No. No." Samantha fumbled in her purse for a tissue. "My husband, my children. I'll have to tell them. My father. How can I tell them?"
    "Where is your father, Samantha?"
    "He lives -- he lives in Westchester. They divorced about two years ago. He kept the house because she wanted to move into the city. She wanted to write books. She wanted to be a writer."
    Eve turned to the filtered water unit on the counter, glugged out a glass, pressed it on Samantha. "Do you know how your mother made her living?"
    "Yes." Samantha pressed her lips together, crushed the damp tissue in her chilled fingers. "No one could talk her out of it. She used to laugh and say it was time she did something shocking, and what wonderful research it was for her books. My mother -- " Samantha broke off to drink. "She got married very young. A few years ago, she said she needed to move on, see what else there was. We couldn't talk her out of that, either. You could never talk her out of anything."
    She began to weep again, covering her face and sobbing silently. Eve took the barely touched glass, waited, let the first wave of grief and shock roll. "Was it a difficult divorce? Was your father angry?"
    "Baffled. Confused. Sad. He wanted her back, and always said this was just one of her phases. He -- " The question behind the question abruptly struck her. She lowered her hands. "He would never hurt her. Never, never, never. He loved her. Everyone did. You couldn't help it."
    "Okay." Eve would deal with that later. "You and your mother were close?"
    "Yes, very close."
    "Did she ever talk to you about her clients?"
    "Sometimes. It embarrassed me, but she'd find a way to make it all so outrageously funny. She could do that. Called herself Granny Sex, and you had to laugh."
    "Did she ever mention anyone who made her uneasy?"
    "No. She could handle people. It was part of her charm. She was only going to do this until she was published."
    "Did she ever mention the names Sharon DeBlass or Lola Starr?"
    "No." Samantha started to drag her hair back, then her hand froze in midair. "Starr, Lola Starr. I heard, on the news, I heard about her. She was murdered. Oh God. Oh God." She lowered her head and her hair fell in wings to shield her face.
    "I'm going to have an officer take you home, Samantha."
    "I can't leave. I can't leave her."
    "Yes, you can. I'm going to take care of her." Eve laid her hands over Samantha's. "I promise you, I'll take care of her for you. Come on now." Gently, she helped Samantha to her feet. She wrapped an arm around the distraught woman's waist as she led her to the door. She wanted her out before the team had finished in the bedroom. "Is your husband home?"
    "Yes. He's home with the children. We have two children. Two years, and six months. Tony's home with the children."
    "Good. What's your address?"
    The shock was settling in. Eve hoped the numbness she could read on Samantha's face would help as the woman recited an upscale address in Westchester.
    "Officer Banks."
    "Yes, lieutenant."
    "Take Mrs. Bennett home. I'll call for another officer for the door. Stay with the family as long as you're needed."
    "Yes, sir." With compassion, Banks guided Samantha toward the elevators. "This way, Mrs. Bennett," she murmured.
    Samantha leaned drunkenly on Banks. "You'll take care of her?"
    Eve met Samantha's ravaged eyes. "I promise."
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    An hour later, Eve walked into the station house with a cat under her arm.
    "Hey there, lieutenant, caught yourself a cat burglar." The desk sergeant snorted at his own humor.
    "You're a laugh riot, Riley. Commander still here?"
    "He's waiting for you. You're to go up as soon as you show." He leaned forward to scratch the purring cat. "Hooked yourself another homicide?"
    "Yeah."
    A kissing sound had her glancing over at a leering hunk in a spandex jumpsuit. The jumpsuit, and the blood trickling at the side of his mouth were approximately the same color. His accessories were a set of thin, black restraints that secured one arm to a nearby bench. He rubbed his crotch with his free hand and winked at her.
    "Hey, baby. Got something here for you."
    "Tell Commander Whitney I'm on my way," she told Riley as the desk sergeant rolled his eyes.
    Unable to resist, she swung by the bench, leaned close enough to smell sour vomit. "That was a charming invitation," she murmured, then