“Should I be there?”
That she’d ask meant, well, everything.
“You’re welcome, of course, to come in whenever you like or can. We’re not having a media opening. We decided that some time back. Nothing formal, no speeches, no media and so on, as that would end up about good works and all of that when it’s about the children. As it happens, with Cobbe in New York, I’m more than glad we decided that way. I’m adding to the security until, but I don’t see him focusing there.”
“No point,” she agreed, “if the media’s not hyping you. Push the rest away a minute,” she told him. “How do you feel about it? Kids are moving in. Kids will eat there, sleep there starting today. Some of them will never have had a place they could feel that safe.”
He looked at the view out the terrace windows—the green of the grass, the flowers blooming.
“I think of the dream I had last night. My mates and I, working Grafton Street. I don’t regret it, not a bit. But I know full well I might not have survived without Summerset. He gave me that safe place. Not a place or a way you’d find … we’ll say correct, but safe, and clean, when I’d known neither. Books, all I could read. Food, so I never went hungry. He had his standards and his rules, but never once did I feel the back of his hand.”
He took hers now. “Even after Richard Troy, you didn’t have that, not altogether, not day in and out. It was the Academy that gave you that.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“I like to think we’re giving those who come to An Didean a mix of both what Summerset gave me and what the Academy gave you. And so I feel more than fine about it.”
“I’d say it’s a good mix, as long as there aren’t classes on how to bypass security systems.”
“Nothing formal in any case.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll see to the dishes.”
“I’ve got it. I’d rather you check the housing search.”
“All right then.”
While she cleared, he sat at the auxiliary, called up the results. “Ah well, that’s a bit better, but we can do better yet.”
“How many?”
“More than two hundred, but I can narrow it. I’ll refine it when a contact or two gets back to me. And I can slim that number before that with a bit of adjusting.”
He got up. “A little time’s what I need on this, and the salon. I should have something you can work with on both this morning.”
“Okay. I’m going in, putting a report together before I meet Peabody at the morgue. I’ll keep in touch.”
“I’ll do the same.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, his lips lightly on hers. “He’s never known the likes of you. I’m sure of it, as neither had I.”
He kissed her again. “Take care of my cop.”
“Your cop’s locked and loaded.”
She found the pale gray topper on the newel post, and had to assume Roarke deemed it worked best with what she had on. With a shake of her head, she shrugged into it, went outside to where her vehicle waited.
The earlier start meant less traffic and no ad blimps. Always an advantage. Halfway—smoothly for a change—downtown, her ’link signaled. She saw Harvo’s name on the display and took it on the in-dash.
“Dallas.”
Harvo, her spring-green hair spiked up, said, “Yo. Got the goods for you.”
“You’re in early.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t get to the sample yesterday, so I came in early because, you know, poor kitty. And fuck the fucker who killed it and wants to do the same to Roarke.”
“I appreciate it. What can you tell me?”
“Got details, solid, as Berenski already did the blood work.”
“He did.”
Harvo lifted her shoulders. “Dickhead’s a dickhead, but he comes through when it’s, you know, family time. So. Young female tabby with a history of mange, still on meds.”
“Mange.”
“Yeah, which was being treated—along with flea treatments. I’m betting she was looking and feeling a lot better before the bastard cut her up, because the hair sample’s healthy. I’m going to send you the medical name for the topical—the dry shampoo. Blood work confirms the oral meds and supplements. Somebody was taking good care of her, Dallas. You can only get the mange med from a licensed vet.”
“This is good, Harvo.”
“Well, natch.” She fluffed at her hair, then her eyes turned sober. “You get anything more, I’m all over it.”
“Thanks.”
“Report on its way in five—just wanted to give you the heads-up. Cha.”
“Yeah, uh, cha.” Whatever the hell that actually meant.
So, a cat who’d had fleas, mange. A stray? Maybe taken to a shelter, or just taken in by a cat lover. And importantly, taken to a vet who’d have records.
She didn’t want to think, yet, of how many vets New York boasted. She could work with the data, drill down into it.
She checked the time, considered, and headed for the morgue. She could work there until Morris came on, save a little time.
And where are you, Cobbe? Still sleeping, she thought, on nice smooth sheets paid for in blood.
Enjoy it while you can, you bastard, because your time’s coming.
As she walked the white tunnel, bootsteps echoing, Eve texted Peabody.
At the morgue now. Go straight to Central. Review Harvo’s incoming report. Start search for applicable vets.
More time saved, potentially, she thought.
She prepared to find a seat, start her morning report, but, through the porthole windows of his doors, spotted Morris already at work.
She swung through. “Early morning or long night?”
He glanced up. “A little of both. I had a floater last night, accidental death as it turned out. Demonstrating one shouldn’t drink to excess, chasing vodka tonics with Erotica, while going on a moonlight sail.”
“Bad choices will get you every time.”
“Won’t they just? Your kitty didn’t have a choice.”
Eve studied the cat on the slab. “No, she didn’t. I didn’t expect you to come in early to work on her.”
Morris bent back to his work, examining stomach contents.
“The one who did this would like to do the same to Roarke?”
“Yeah, he would.”
“Then it’s the least you should expect.” He straightened a moment.
He wore a clear protective cape over one of his excellent suits, a steely gray with pale, delicate pinstripes, offset by the bold blue of his shirt. His dark hair coiled in a braid with a thin cord of that same bold blue woven through.
Microgoggles hung around his neck as his eyes met hers.
“When I lost Amaryllis, you were there for me, not just professionally, but as a friend, as family. So was Roarke.”
“That’s just …”
“The way it is, and should be. Threaten one of ours, deal with us all. I can tell you while this poor creature had no choice, she did, before her death, have someone who cared for her.”
“Harvo said she’d been treated for mange and fleas.”
“I agree. You can see the remnants of both, but you’ll need the goggles. She’d been well tended. I can tell you she was fed the morning she died, and enjoyed a few treats about two hours before TOD. I can run the analysis of the contents here.