In Death 18 - Divided in Death

bed at the friend’s apartment. Dead. Already dead, Eve.”
    “And finding two dead bodies, she contacted your administrative assistant instead of the police.”
    “No.” He pushed the clothes he’d chosen into Eve’s hands. “She contacted her mother.”
    Eve stared at him, cursed softly, then began to dress. “I have to call this in.”
    “I’m asking you to wait, until you see for yourself, until you talk to Reva.” He laid his hands on hers, held them there until she looked back at him again. “Eve, I’m asking you, please, wait that long. You don’t have to call in what you haven’t seen with your own eyes. I know this woman. I’ve known her mother more than a dozen years, and trust her to the level I trust very few. They need your help. I need it.”
    She picked up her weapon harness, strapped it on. “Then let’s get there. Fast.”
    ———«»———«»———«»———
    It was a clear night with the heaviness that had dogged the summer of 2059 lightening toward the crispness of the coming fall. Traffic was light, and the short drive required little skill or concentration on Roarke’s part. He judged by his wife’s silence that she’d closed in. She asked no questions as she wanted no more information, nothing that would influence her from her own impressions of what she would see and hear and feel.
    Her narrow, angular face was set, the long golden-brown eyes cop-flat. Unreadable even to him. The wide mouth that had been hot and soft against his only a short time before was firm and tight-lipped.
    He parked on the street, in an illegal spot, and flicked the ON DUTY light in her vehicle before she could do so herself.
    She said nothing, but stepped onto the sidewalk and stood, tall and lanky, her shaggy brown hair still mussed from lovemaking.
    He crossed to her, gently combed his own fingers through her hair to order it, as well as he could. “Thank you for this.”
    “You don’t want to thank me yet. Prime digs,” she commented with a nod toward the brownstone. Before she could mount the steps, the door opened.
    There was Caro, her shiny white hair like a silvery halo around her head. Without that, Eve might not have recognized Roarke’s dignified and efficient admin in the pale woman wearing a smart red jacket over blue cotton pajamas.
    “Thank God. Thank God. Thank you for coming so quickly.” She reached out with a visibly trembling hand and gripped Roarke’s. “I didn’t know quite what to do.”
    “You did just right,” Roarke told her, and drew her in.
    Eve heard her stifle a sob, let go with a sigh. “Reva—she’s not well, not well at all. I have her in the living area. I didn’t go upstairs.”
    Caro eased away from Roarke, straightened her shoulders. “I didn’t think I should. I haven’t touched anything, Lieutenant, except a glass out of the kitchen. I got Reva a glass of water, but I only touched the glass, and the bottle. Oh, and the handle of the friggie. I—”
    “It’s all right. Why don’t you go sit with your daughter? Roarke, stay with them.”
    “You’ll be all right with Reva for a few minutes, won’t you?” he asked Caro. “I’ll go with the lieutenant.” Ignoring the flash of irritation over Eve’s face, he gave Caro’s shoulder a comforting rub. “I won’t be long.”
    “She said—Reva said it was horrible. And now she just sits there, and doesn’t say anything at all.”
    “Keep her quiet,” Eve advised. “Keep her down here.” She started upstairs. She glanced at the leather jacket, ripped to shreds and tossed into a heap on the floor. “Did she tell you which room?”
    “No. Just that Reva found them in the bed.”
    Eve glanced at the room on the right, another on the left. Then she scented the blood. She continued down the hall, stopped at the doorway.
    The two bodies were turned on their sides, facing each other. As if they were telling secrets. Blood stained the sheets, the pillows, the lacy cover that was tangled on the floor.
    It stained the hilt and blade of the knife jabbed viciously into the mattress.
    She saw a black bag near the door, a high-end stunner on the floor near the left side of the bed, a disordered pile of clothes heaped on a chair. Candles, still lit and wafting fragrance. Music still playing in soft, sexy notes.
    “This is no walk in the meadow,” she murmured. “Double homicide. I have to call it in.”
    “Will you stand as primary?”
    “I’ll stand,” she agreed. “But if