In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

and possibly psychotic. I have to find the way through.”
    “Do you think she killed him? Martinez?”
    “No, but I think she made sure she was alibied tight because she knew it was going down. I think the asshole loved her, and she loves no one. Maybe she used that against him. I need to think. I saw López, and Mira hit the target there. Lino’s killer confessed to his priest, and there’s nothing I can do. I look at this guy, Roarke, at López and I see another victim.”
    “Do you think the killer will go after him?”
    “I don’t know. I put him under surveillance. I could bring him in, legally, I could bring him in and wind him up for a few days, until the lawyers cut through it. But I need to leave him out, need to hope the killer will go back to him. And I look at him and I see he’s sick in his heart. I know he’s got this fist pounding on his conscience. There’s nothing I can do,” she repeated. “Just like there’s nothing López can do. We’re stuck, both of us, stuck with our duty.”
    She flopped back on the bed. “I need to clear my head, come at it again. It winds all over hell and back. Flores—why him, and where did his path cross with Lino? Where the hell is Chávez? Dead? Hiding? What was Lino waiting for? Was he killed for that, or does it go back to the past? The bombings? He did both of them, I’m damn well sure, so—”
    “You’re losing me.”
    She pushed up again. “Sorry. I need to lay it out, reorganize, look at the time lines, change up my board. I need to do runs on a whole shitload of people and look at all that from various angles.”
    “Then we’d best get started.” He took her hand, pulled her to her feet.
    “Thanks.”
    “Well, I owe you one for the call from Sinead.”
    “Huh?”
    “What do you take me for?” he asked, looping his arm around her waist. “My aunt just happens to get in touch the same morning I’m a bit off thinking about my connections in Ireland, and what—who—I’ve lost there? It’s nice to be looked after.”
    “So that would be looking after as opposed to poking in and interfering? It’s hard to tell the difference.”
    “It is, isn’t it? But we’ll muddle through it.”
    As they passed, one of the house screens came on. “Your guests are coming through the gate,” Summerset announced.
    “What guests?” Eve demanded
    “Ah . . .” Roarke raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes. A moment.” He dismissed Summerset. “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind. I can go down, take care of it. I’ll simply tell them you’re still at work, which you will be.”
    “Who? Damn it, why can’t people stay home? Why do they always want to be in somebody else’s?”
    “It’s Ariel Greenfeld, Eve, and Erik Pastor.”
    “Ariel.” She had a flash of the pretty brunette who’d been held and tortured by a madman for days. And stayed sane, strong and smart.
    “She got in touch today, and asked if they could come by this evening. I can take it, move them along.”
    “No.” Reaching down, she took Roarke’s hand. “It’s like the call from your aunt. It’s good to remember what matters. Ariel matters. So,” she continued as they moved toward the steps, “she and Erik the neighbor are making it work.”
    “Engaged, getting married in the fall.”
    “Jesus, it’s like a virus, this marriage thing. I could’ve met her at Central—or elsewhere,” she added. “Probably should have. You can’t have victims and wits and all manner of God knows dropping in here.”
    “I think this would be a clear exception. She did work for me, after all.”
    “Yeah, but . . . did? She quit? Goddamn that sick-ass Lowell. Did he take that away from her? She loved to bake, and your place downtown had to be a great gig.”
    “She’s baking. And you’ll see for yourself she’s in a good place. She’s happy and doing very well.”
    Eve’s eyebrows drew together. “You seem to know a lot about it.”
    “I know a lot about so many things.” He gave her hand a squeeze. As they started down the steps, Eve heard the voices from the parlor. She heard Ariel laugh.
    She’d cut her hair. It was the first thing Eve noticed. Robert Lowell had liked his victims with long hair, long brown hair. So Ariel had cut hers into a short, sleek cap and punched red into it. It looked good on her, Eve thought—though it probably helped that the woman wasn’t pale, bleeding, and battling pain.
    Her eyes were bright as they met Eve’s, and the smile