In Death 10 - Witness in Death

Lousy timing all around. Thanks for listening."
    "Don't mention it." Eve signaled for Peabody. "Nadine, take that literally."

CHAPTER FIVE
    The calendar claimed spring was just around the corner, but it was taking a slow walk. Eve drove home in a thin, spitting sleet that was nearly as nasty as her mood.
    Press conferences annoyed her.
    The only good thing about it, as far as she was concerned, was that it was over. Between that and a day spent in interviews that gave her no more than a murky picture of people and events, she was edgy and dissatisfied.
    The fact was, she shouldn't be going home. There was more field work that could be, should be done. But she'd cut Peabody loose, much to her aide's undisguised delight.
    She'd take an hour, she told herself. Maybe two. Do some pacing, juggle her thoughts into some sort of order. She chugged and dodged through bad-tempered traffic and tried to block out the irritatingly chirpy sky blimp shouting about the new spring fashions on sale at Bloomingdale's.
    She got caught at a light, and in a stinking stream of smoke from a glide-cart currently on fire and being sprayed with gel foam by its unhappy operator. Since the flames seemed reasonably under control, she left him to it and tagged Feeney via her car 'link.
    "Progress?"
    "Some. I got you backgrounds and current locations, financial data, and criminal records on cast and crew, including permanent theater personnel."
    Eve's voice calmed. "All?"
    "Yeah." Feeney rubbed his chin. "Well, I can't take full credit. Told you we were backed up here. Roarke passed it on."
    Her agitation returned. "Roarke?"
    "He got in touch early this afternoon, figured I'd be doing the search. He had all the data anyway. Saved me some time here."
    "Always helpful," she muttered.
    "I shot it to your office unit."
    "Fine, great."
    Feeney kept rubbing his chin. Eve began to suspect the gesture was to hide a grin. "I started McNab on running patterns, probabilities, percentages. It's a long list, so it's not going to be quick. But I figure we should have simple eliminations by tomorrow, with a most-likely list to shuffle in with your interview results. How's it going?"
    "Slow." She inched her way across the intersection, spied a break in traffic, and went for it. The chorus of horns exceeded noise pollution levels and made her smile thinly. "We managed to make the murder weapon. Standard kitchen knife. It came right out of the sub-level kitchen at the theater."
    "Open access?"
    "To cast and crew, not to the public. I had a uniform pick up the security discs. We'll see what we see. Look, I'm going to run some probability scans myself, see if they jibe with yours. I should have some profile from Mira tomorrow. Let's see if we can whittle this down from a few thousand suspects. How far's McNab gotten?"
    "He got a ways before I sprang him for the day."
    "You let him go?"
    "He had a date," Feeney said and grinned.
    Eve winced. "Shut up, Feeney," she ordered and broke transmission.
    She brooded, because it made her feel better, then shot through the gates of home. Even in miserable weather, it was magnificent. Maybe more magnificent, she thought, in that gloom and gray.
    The sprawling lawns were faded from winter, the naked trees shimmering with wet. Atmosphere, she supposed Roarke would say. It was all about atmosphere, and it showcased the glorious stone-and-glass structure with its towers, its turrets, its sweep of terraces and balconies that he had claimed as his own.
    It belonged on a cliff somewhere, she mused, with the sea boiling and pounding below. The city, with its crowds and noise and sneaky despair couldn't beat its way through those tall iron gates to the oasis he'd built out of canniness, ruthlessness, sheer will, and the driving need to bury the miseries of his childhood.
    Every time she saw it, her mind was of two conflicting parts. One told her she didn't belong there. The other told her she belonged nowhere else.
    She left the car at the base of the front steps, knowing Summerset would send it lumbering into the garage on principle. The pea-green city issue offended his sensibilities, she supposed, nearly as much as she did herself.
    She jogged up the steps in her scarred boots and walked inside to the warmth, the beauty, and all the style money could buy and power could maintain.
    Summerset was waiting for her, his thin face dour, his mouth in a flattened line. "Lieutenant. You surprise me. You've arrived home in a timely