Page 26 of Random in Death
And watched a young girl die.
“His statement’s accurate,” Eve commented. “The time’s as close as it gets. When he stepped out, when she came out. Stumbled out, just the way he said she did. He tried to help her. He did everything right. Everything he could to help her.”
“I know. I watched it as well.”
She turned now. “But there wasn’t anything he could do, because she was dead when she fell out that door. It was already too late to save her.”
“I thought the same.”
Eve shook her head. “Not think, is. I know what death looks like, and it was all over her. She never had a chance. Not once whatever was in the needle went into her. She stayed on the floor and danced another couple minutes, but she was already dead.”
She rubbed her hands over her face. “Okay. Okay. I’ve gotta go.”
“Tag me, will you, when you’re done for the day. Or before, if you can use me. If I’m wandering, I may wander by the Great House Project. I’ll be downtown having a look at your property in any case.”
“All right.”
When he kissed her goodbye, she leaned into him.
“I probably won’t put in a full day. It’s harder to shake people loose on a Sunday.”
“Either way, take care of my cop.”
When she left, he turned to the cat. “What’s your Sunday look like then?”
After a quick ribbon through Roarke’s legs, Galahad jumped on the sleep chair, stretched out.
“Just as I expected.”
Chapter Four
Because the day started mild but wouldn’t stay that way, Eve kept her window open on the drive downtown. No matter what the hour, New York had its sights and sounds.
The quick yips of a trio of cat-sized dogs prancing ahead of their human walker, who bopped behind them, probably to the beat of whatever played in her earbuds.
The dogs had collars embedded with shiny things that shot back the sunlight like lasers. She assumed rhinestones, but hey, you never knew.
The laser beams made her wish for her badass sunshades. Considering, she checked her jacket pockets, and yeah, there they were. Points for Roarke, she thought, and slipped them on.
A maxibus blatted and wheezed as it pulled to a stop. Sleepy people filed off; sleepy people filed on.
She wondered, as she often did, why sleepy people didn’t find a way to live closer to work.
Then again, here she was, living uptown, driving downtown to the job.
Life would throw its curveballs.
She caught the scent of glide-cart coffee—reminiscent of burnt cardboard—ignored the sounds of horns as somebody didn’t move fast enough when a light went green. And watched a bike messenger risk life and all four limbs as he wove through building traffic. He sped through a yellow as it turned red while the pedestrian he nearly splatted at the crossing shot him the finger.
Metal rattled as a shopkeeper lifted his metal security doors, and someone blasted thrash metal through their own open windows.
A sidewalk sleeper, license to beg displayed, set up against a building, tossed a few coins in his bucket to seed it, and began to play a harmonica.
One block down, a woman in a breezy summer dress and skyscraper heels strode out of the street doors of a silver tower. She slid fluidly into a sleek black limo while the doorman and the driver loaded her mountain of luggage.
In New York, the carelessly rich and the quietly desperate breathed the same air.
When Eve got to the morgue, she programmed a large go-cup of coffee. Carrying it with her, she entered the long white tunnel with its echoes, its scents of death and disinfectant.