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Chapter Five
Posted by
jlk
,
21 September 2012
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Eve had spent a life time learning how to pull herself out of her nightmares. More so since Dallas and the horror of McQueen. And Stella. Yet, they still came. This time when she pulled free and found herself in the corner of the bedroom, huddled on the floor, freezing, shaking, crying silently, she didn’t bother to try and go back to sleep. Instead, she went to the workout room and sweated out her fears. Then to the pool for an exhaustive swim. Like she hadn’t seen enough water yesterday, Eve thought self-mocking. She pulled herself out and went to shower and dress. It still wasn’t 6 and she had no desire to do anything, Eve thought, restless. She missed Roarke.
Aimlessly, she shrugged on her full length black leather coat and wandered outside; following the footpaths some of Roarke’s magical gardeners had built. The sun wouldn’t rise for almost another hour, and the predawn silence was … interesting. Why did she never seem to find peace in her world, Eve questioned herself. She wasn’t like Roarke, who would settle down in the library and read a book, or play his video and holo games, watch a vid, able to entertain himself and be satisfied in solitary pursuits. She didn’t prefer any sort of hobby or craft. Had no desire for any of the things others she knew did when they were alone. She liked her work and she liked …well, that was about it, Eve realized. She just wasn’t a sit quietly kinda woman.
And if Roarke was going to be spending weeks at a time away from home, she may as well stop moping and get back to work.
The minute crisis over, Eve headed to the museum her husband called a garage and selected a pretty blue vehicle with two seats. She’d grudgingly let Peabody drive it later. After all, her partner gave the press conference, hadn’t she? And in the replay it looked like someone had indeed poured a bucket of water over her partner before she’d gotten off the boat.
Summerset watched the gates close behind Roarke’s Lieutenant. She’d barely slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d check with Davidson, but Summerset was certain she hadn’t eaten at the charity auction last night. He’d arrange for donuts to be sent to the Lieutenant’s bullpen in another hour. Detective Peabody would make sure she had one. The nutrition content was feeble, but at least she would have some fuel. He would have to put some thought into a form of food equivalent to a nasty jab, placed in her office tonight. Perhaps something surrounding a model of the Brooklyn Bridge. Ms. Ariel may be a good resource there. Given her job as a baker, she would be up this time of day. He’d just start on that, Summerset thought with satisfaction.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve contemplated her murder board. Shirley Deville had been stabbed to death because she hadn’t given up her hand bag. She’d held onto it to the death. The two men who had deprived her of her life for forty-seven dollars were small time thugs, both with records. Brailey Borge and Kevin Culper had just been out of Riker’s ten days. They’d obviously stayed together since being released off the same maxibus. She and Peabody had tracked down their hidey hole in a basement room on Fourteenth. They’d actually been there, drinking homemade brew and smoking Zoner when she and Peabody had come through the door. Then in a play you could never see coming, Borge had thrown his bottle at Peabody, who’d ducked, but slipped on a puddle of water that had accumulated from a broken fridgie unit. Eve’s partner had gone down, and somehow tangled Eve up with her. During the comedy part of the attempted arrest, the two fuckheads had escaped out the door.
Then they had promptly carjacked a RapidCab and headed off.
That’s when the disastrous car chase had started.
There was a black and white parked nearby in case they were stupid enough go back to their hole. In the meantime, she had a list from their previous arrests on known associates and family, and Riker’s had ponied up the list of associates and cell mates. With any luck, and Eve thought they were due, they’d get the murdering little weasels today.
Aimlessly, she shrugged on her full length black leather coat and wandered outside; following the footpaths some of Roarke’s magical gardeners had built. The sun wouldn’t rise for almost another hour, and the predawn silence was … interesting. Why did she never seem to find peace in her world, Eve questioned herself. She wasn’t like Roarke, who would settle down in the library and read a book, or play his video and holo games, watch a vid, able to entertain himself and be satisfied in solitary pursuits. She didn’t prefer any sort of hobby or craft. Had no desire for any of the things others she knew did when they were alone. She liked her work and she liked …well, that was about it, Eve realized. She just wasn’t a sit quietly kinda woman.
And if Roarke was going to be spending weeks at a time away from home, she may as well stop moping and get back to work.
The minute crisis over, Eve headed to the museum her husband called a garage and selected a pretty blue vehicle with two seats. She’d grudgingly let Peabody drive it later. After all, her partner gave the press conference, hadn’t she? And in the replay it looked like someone had indeed poured a bucket of water over her partner before she’d gotten off the boat.
Summerset watched the gates close behind Roarke’s Lieutenant. She’d barely slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d check with Davidson, but Summerset was certain she hadn’t eaten at the charity auction last night. He’d arrange for donuts to be sent to the Lieutenant’s bullpen in another hour. Detective Peabody would make sure she had one. The nutrition content was feeble, but at least she would have some fuel. He would have to put some thought into a form of food equivalent to a nasty jab, placed in her office tonight. Perhaps something surrounding a model of the Brooklyn Bridge. Ms. Ariel may be a good resource there. Given her job as a baker, she would be up this time of day. He’d just start on that, Summerset thought with satisfaction.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Eve contemplated her murder board. Shirley Deville had been stabbed to death because she hadn’t given up her hand bag. She’d held onto it to the death. The two men who had deprived her of her life for forty-seven dollars were small time thugs, both with records. Brailey Borge and Kevin Culper had just been out of Riker’s ten days. They’d obviously stayed together since being released off the same maxibus. She and Peabody had tracked down their hidey hole in a basement room on Fourteenth. They’d actually been there, drinking homemade brew and smoking Zoner when she and Peabody had come through the door. Then in a play you could never see coming, Borge had thrown his bottle at Peabody, who’d ducked, but slipped on a puddle of water that had accumulated from a broken fridgie unit. Eve’s partner had gone down, and somehow tangled Eve up with her. During the comedy part of the attempted arrest, the two fuckheads had escaped out the door.
Then they had promptly carjacked a RapidCab and headed off.
That’s when the disastrous car chase had started.
There was a black and white parked nearby in case they were stupid enough go back to their hole. In the meantime, she had a list from their previous arrests on known associates and family, and Riker’s had ponied up the list of associates and cell mates. With any luck, and Eve thought they were due, they’d get the murdering little weasels today.
