In Death 13 - Seduction in Death

I have some more sources on the illegals angle, and I've asked Feeney to use his contacts within the department in that area. Neither drug is common. When I find the supplier, I may need room to deal."
    "We'll work that out when you find the supplier. But I can tell you there won't be much room. Politically, these illegals are a hot button. We go soft on a supplier, we'll have feminist's organizations, social balance, and moral watchdog groups taking numbers to kick us in the teeth."
    "And if dealing with the supplier saves lives?"
    "For a lot of these people, that won't matter. They deal in principles, not individuals. Work the angles, Lieutenant, do the checklist and get this bastard before we have more dead. And a public relations nightmare."
    Eve didn't give a rat's skinny ass about public relations. Since this wasn't a well-kept secret, it was no surprise that Nadine expressed some suspicion at being offered inside data.
    "What kind of happy bullshit is this, Dallas?"
    Eve had waited, deliberately, until she was home rather than at Central to contact Nadine. It seemed to her that made the exchange friendly rather than official.
    "I'm doing you a favor."
    Nadine, already polished for an on-air segment, lifted one perfectly arched brow, let her coral-slicked mouth curve. "You, Lieutenant Locked Lips, are going to, of your own free will and out of a sense of camaraderie, give me data on an ongoing investigation."
    "That's right."
    "Just a minute." Nadine's face disappeared from the 'link screen for ten seconds. "Just wanted to check with the meteorologist. It appears, despite indications to the contrary, hell has not frozen over."
    "Pardon me while I fall into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. You want the data or not?"
    "Yeah, I want it."
    "A top police source confirms that the investigations of the Bryna Bankhead and the Grace Lutz cases are linked."
    "Hold on." Everything about Nadine sharpened as she leaped into full reporter mode. "There's been no confirmation to this point as to whether the Bankhead death was accidental, self-termination, or homicide."
    "It's homicide. Confirmed."
    "My information is that the Lutz murder was sexual homicide." Nadine's voice was brisk now. All business. "Is that the case in the Bankhead homicide? Did the victims know each other, and are we dealing with one suspect?"
    "Don't interview me, Nadine. This isn't a one-on-one. Both victims were young, single women who, on the night of their deaths, met with an individual they had corresponded with via e-mail and online chat rooms."
    "What kind of chat rooms? Where did they meet?"
    "Shut up, Nadine. Evidence indicates that both victims were given an illegal substance, possibly without their knowledge, during the evening."
    "A date rape drug?"
    "You're quick. Your source neither denies nor confirms that information. Take the freebie, Nadine, and run with it. That's all you get for now."
    "I can get out of here in ninety minutes. I'll meet you wherever you want."
    "Not tonight. I'll let you know where or when."
    "Wait!" If it had been possible, Nadine would have burst through the 'link screen. "Give me something on the suspect. Do you have a description, a name?"
    "All avenues of investigation are being vigorously pursued. Blah, blah, blah." Eve broke transmission on Nadine's curse.
    Satisfied, she walked into the kitchen, ordered coffee. Then just stood by the window, looking out at the gathering dark.
    He was out there now. Somewhere. Did he already have another date? Was he, even now, making himself into some hopeful woman's fantasy?
    Tomorrow, the next day, would there be other friends, more family she would have to shatter?
    The Lutzes would never fully recover. They'd go on with their lives, and after a while they wouldn't think of it every minute of every day. They'd laugh again, work, shop, breathe in and out. But there would always be a hole. Just a little hollow inside their lives.
    They'd been a family. A unit. She'd sensed that unification in the house. In the comfort and clutter of it. In the flowers outside the door, and the easy give of the sofa.
    Now rather than parents, they were survivors. Those who survived lived forever with that echo of what was gone sounding inside their heads.
    They'd kept her room, Eve thought now while her coffee sat in the AutoChef going cold. When she'd gone through it, looking for something, anything to add to the sum of Grace Lutz, she'd seen the stages of a life, from child to young girl to