In Death 16 - Portrait in Death

passed for her bridal shower there.
     
     
"Shit. Gonna need coffee if I gonna be talking to some skinny-assed cop this time of day. Roarke, can't you keep this white girl busy enough so she leave me be?"
     
     
She stepped inside. The place didn't surprise her, nothing about Crack did. It was spacious and tidy, tastefully decorated in what she supposed was African art, the masks, the bright colors, the lush fabrics.
     
     
As a testament to his preference for the night, the wide windows were covered with long thick drapes that blocked out the morning in shades of crimson and sapphire.
     
     
"Guess you be wanting coffee, too," he began, but Eve laid a hand on his arm before he could move toward what she assumed was the kitchen.
     
     
"Not now. We need to sit down. I want you to sit down."
     
     
The first hints of irritation snapped into his voice. "What the hell's this about that I can't have me a hit of coffee when you get me out of bed before the crack of noon?"
     
     
"It's bad. It's bad, Crack. Let's sit down."
     
     
"Somebody hit my place? Sumbitch, somebody mess with the D&D? I locked up myself a couple hours ago. What the hell?"
     
     
"No. It's about your sister. It's about Alicia."
     
     
"Alicia? Get out." He snorted, waved one of his platter-sized hands in dismissal, but she saw the leap of fear in his eyes. "That girl's not in any trouble. That girl's good as gold. You messing with my baby girl, Dallas, you gonna mess with Crack."
     
     
No other way to do it, Eve thought. No other way. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but your sister's dead. She was killed some time early this morning."
     
     
"That is bullshit!" He erupted, grabbing her by the arms, hauling her to her toes. Even as Roarke stepped forward, Eve shook her head to hold him back. "That's a goddamn lie. She's in medical school. She's going to be a doctor. She's in class right now. What's wrong with you, coming in here telling me lies about my baby?"
     
     
"I wish it was a lie." She spoke quietly. "I wish to God it was a lie. I'm so sorry, Wilson." She said his given name, gently. "I'm so sorry for your loss, sorry to be the one to tell you. She's gone."
     
     
"I'm going to call her right now. Right now, and get her out of class." The jive vanished from his speech. "I'm going to get her out of class so you can see this is a lie. What you did, is you made a mistake. You made a mistake about this."
     
     
She let him go, resisted the urge to rub her throbbing arms where his fingers had dug into flesh. She waited while he barked into his 'link, waited while a musical female voice cheerfully told him she wasn't able to take the call, to leave a message.
     
     
"She's just busy in class." His voice, so big, so sure, was beginning to shake. "We'll just go down to the college, get her out of class. You'll see."
     
     
"I rechecked the ID personally," Eve told him. "I rechecked it when I saw your name. Get dressed now, and I'll take you to her."
     
     
"It won't be her. It won't be my baby."
     
     
Roarke stepped forward. "I'll give you a hand. Bedroom through here?" He led Crack along as if the big man were a small child.
     
     
Eve took a deep breath when the bedroom door shut.
     
     
Then another as she called the morgue.
     
     
"This is Dallas. I'm bringing next of kin in to Dilbert, Alicia. I want her presented as cleanly as possible. I want her draped, and I want the viewing room cleared. No civilians or personnel in the area when I come in."
     
     
She clicked off. She could give him that, she thought. It was little enough.
     
     
***
     
     
He didn't speak on the way to the morgue, but hulked in the back of the car with his arms folded over his chest and dark sunshades wrapped around the top half of his face.
     
     
But she felt him there-the blasts of cold that was his fear, the pumping heat that was his hope.
     
     
He kept his face averted from hers, on the drive, on the walk down the chilly white corridors of the morgue. It was her fault now, she understood that. Her fault because there was no one else to blame for his terrible fear, his terrible hope.
     
     
She took him into a private viewing room where she and Roarke could flank him.
     
     
"If you'll watch the monitor," Eve began.
     
     
"I ain't watching no monitor. I don't believe nothing I see on no screen."
     
     
"All right." She'd expected this, prepared for this. The glass in front of them was still dark, the privacy screen engaged. She