In Death 23 - Born in Death

feet ten inches, a weight of one-sixty.
    On the surface, he looked steady, ordinary. A regular bloke, she mused.
    “Want to talk to you, Aaron.”
    She tried his home ’link again, bounced to voice mail and clicked off. After looking up the name of the investigator on the like crime in Rome, she began to wind her way through the maze of the Italian cops until she found one in his unit who not only spoke perfect English but agreed to contact Inspector Triveti, and ask him to get in touch.
    She updated her notes, then rose to add the printout of Aaron Applebee’s ID photo. When she turned toward the kitchen, Roarke stepped out of his office.
    “No more coffee,” he said, definitively.
    “Just one more hit. I’m waiting for a callback from Rome.”
    “Then order a cappuccino—decaf—and make it two.”
    She very nearly pouted. “Decaf’s got no punch.”
    “The depth of the shadows under your eyes makes it look like you’ve already been punched. What’s in Rome?”
    “A like crime, and a cop who I hope speaks English.” Since Roarke followed her into the kitchen, she couldn’t sneak real coffee. “I talked to Tandy’s stepsister.”
    She relayed the gist of the conversation as the AutoChef served up two frothy coffees. “How are you on Brit slang?”
    “Reasonably fluent.”
    “I could’ve used you as an interpreter. What’s ‘bog standard’?”
    “Boring, basically.”
    “I wasn’t far off. She had this Aaron’s full name—it’s Applebee. He works for the London Times, lives in Chelsea. Both parents married orcohabbed multiple times, but not currently with each other. Got a brood of half- and stepsibs.”
    “Which might put a man off the idea of marriage or family.”
    “Might. Reporters have a lot of sources. If he’d wanted to find Tandy, it seems he could and would have. Maybe he decided he wanted the kid, and they’re just off playing kissy-face. Or maybe he found out she was having it when he thought she wasn’t, and he came over pissed. Or he’s just at home, sleeping off a Saturday Night Special and not answering his ’link.”
    “Or, it’s still possible she just walked away. She’d done it before, leaving London.”
    “Yeah, there’s that.” And the probability run she’d done on that angle had given her a near fifty-fifty. “But I’m betting when she left London, she packed her things, all nice and neat. She gave her landlord and her employer notice. I already know she did none of those things here. No, she didn’t work all day, leave the shop, and decide somewhere between Madison and Fifth to just keep walking.”
    “No.” Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s shoulder and rubbed. “She didn’t.”
    “So.” She struggled with a yawn. “You getting anywhere with the numbers?”
    “A couple of interesting things. I want to come at them from another angle, then I’ll put it together for you.”
    “Sounds like a plan. Look, why don’t you pack it in for now, go on to bed? I’ll just wait for the Italian, then head in, too.”
    “Not a chance. If I leave you on your own, I’ll come back in a few hours and find you facedown at your desk, snoring.”
    “I don’t snore.”
    “Wake the dead.”
    “I do not.” Did she?
    He only smiled, then wandered off to study the Willowby side of the board. “You’ve gathered quite a bit in a short amount of time.”
    “Nothing that points to where she is and why. In the Italian case, they never found the woman, or the kid.”
    “They didn’t have you.” Nor had his mother, he thought. She’d had no one, and there was nothing that could change it. He turned to Eve. “Look at you. You’re running on empty, and pushing at two fronts.”
    “It may already be too late for her.” She nodded at Tandy’s photo. “Pushing’s all I can do.”
    When her ’link signaled, she spun around to answer. “Dallas.”
    “Triveti. I am returning to you.”
    His accent was thick and exotic, his face lean and handsome. “Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, Inspector.”
    “I am pleased. My English, scuzi, it is small.”
    “My Italian’s smaller.” She glanced toward Roarke. “I have someone with me who can help if we get in a bind. You investigated a Missing Persons case a couple years ago. A pregnant woman.”
    “Sophia Belego. You have the same.”
    “Tandy Willowby,” she told him, and gave him the bones of the case, with Roarke refining some of the details in Italian when the Inspector expressed