In Death 20 - Survivor in Death

separately. The kid was polite, and distracted enough, Eve thought, by both Mavis and a child near her own age, to enjoy herself.
    It was a strange group. But from the sound of conversation, Eve seemed to be the only one who thought so.
    She slipped away long enough to check on Peabody’s progress with the real estate angle, and thought it showed strength of character to leave the comfort of cop work to head back down to social hour.
    Elizabeth Barrister waylaid her in the foyer. “She’s a beautiful child.”
    “She’s got spine.”
    “She must, and she’ll need it as time goes on. Grief comes in waves. Just when you think you’ve weathered one, another swamps you again.”
    Elizabeth Barrister, Eve thought, knew plenty about grief. “It’s a lot to take on, from your position.”
    Elizabeth shook her head as she glanced toward the parlor. “We made mistakes, Richard and I. So many. Too many. And we’ve accepted that our daughter paid for them.”
    “Senator DeBlass was responsible.”
    “From your position,” Elizabeth agreed. “But she was our child, and we made mistakes. We’ve been given another chance with Kevin. He’s lit up our lives.”
    There was no question of that, Eve noted, when just saying his name lit Elizabeth’s face.
    “We’d give Nixie a home, if she wants it. Give her a chance to heal. We’d be good for her, I think. Kevin certainly would. They’re already making friends. She’s been telling him about the game room, which is, apparently, the ult. I wonder if I could take them in for a while.”
    “Sure. I’ll show you where it is.”
    Eve remembered Kevin as a scrawny kid of about six with ragged clothes and a bony cat in tow. He’d filled out, cleaned up, grown a couple of inches, and showed a gap-toothed grin as he clutched a pudgy Galahad in his arms.
    “He’s fat,” Kevin said cheerfully. “But he’s soft.”
    “Yeah, well...” Galahad aimed his dual-colored eyes at Eve in a way that promised payback for the indignity. “You don’t have to carry him.”
    “I like to. I have a cat named Dopey, and now I have a puppy, too, named Butch. I go to school and I eat like a horse.”
    Behind them, Elizabeth laughed. “He certainly does.”
    “If I had a horse.” The way Kevin slid his eyes slyly in his mother’s direction told Eve he knew where the butter was best slathered. “I would ride him like a cowboy.”
    “One step at a time, little man. Let’s see how you handle Butch. Do you like horses, Nixie?”
    “I got to pet one that pulls a carriage around the park. It was nice.”
    At his first sight of the nirvana of Roarke’s game room, Kevin let out a shout, dumped Galahad on the floor, and raced to the closest arcade game.
    “I’ll take it from here,” Elizabeth told Eve. “I’ve become an expert in this arena.”
    With considerable relief, Eve left her to it. And took the opportunity to head back upstairs.
    This time, Webster was leaning over Peabody’s shoulder.
    “Stop crowding my partner,” Eve snapped.
    Webster straightened, but held his ground. “I have to head downtown shortly, give my report.”
    “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. What’ve you got?” she asked Peabody.
    “Looks like you hit on something with the properties. I’ve got what you call a townstone on the Moss’s block. Purchased three months after the custody resolution in the name of the Triangle Group. No financing, so they plunked down the whole--considerable--shot. No income until six weeks after Moss’s death. Got rentals coming in after that. Tenants are clean and unconnected as far as I can tell. Triangle Group also owns, since March 2054, a two-family building two blocks south of the hospital where Brenegan was murdered. Tenants in and out, every six months like clockwork. I think we might find some of the names from Cassandra or Doomsday in here.”
    “Kirkendall, Clinton, Isenberry. Triangle Group. Cute. We tie them to it.”
    “It’s a tangle, Dallas.”
    She paced away, paced back. Webster was a solid cop, she knew. But he was still IAB. Overtime was racking up, and nothing made the review board, the brass, the nut crunchers bitch like unauthorized OF.
    But there were ways around it.
    “You’re past shift,” she said to Peabody. “You and the rest of the team. Clock out.”
    “But we’ve got--”
    “You’re off the clock.” She smiled thinly at Webster as she spoke. “What you do with your own time, in your own home,