Page 62 of Random in Death

“I’ve tried that angle. It’s a very large, enthusiastic crowd, so difficult. And the timing? When or about she was injected, given the TOD, the operator focused on the stage. After the band finished, there’s another long pan. You can see the one you’ve identified as the boyfriend—the hair’s distinctive—trying to get through the crowd, moving toward the concessions.”

“He went to get ice. She thought she’d been stung by a wasp.”

“Ah. As consultant, I’d advise you to have EDD take this. They’d have the equipment to enlarge, pull in more than I can do on this portable.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Scanning the park, the stage, the screens set up for those who couldn’t see the stage, she jammed her hands in her pockets.

“It’s a crapshoot, but I’ll do that. Or you could give the original to McNab before you leave.”

“Am I leaving?”

“There’s nothing you can do here now. Go get some sleep. Peabody and I have to do the notification. I’ll be home after that.”

“You said the mother lives uptown?”

“Right.”

“Which means Peabody would have to go uptown, then down yet again.”

“It’s the job.”

“In which I’m officially an expert consultant, civilian,” he reminded her. “Let her stay with McNab, Eve. I’ll do the notification with you, then we’ll all go home and get some sleep.”

She scrubbed at her face, shoved at her hair. “All right. All right, logistically it’s better. She stays downtown, and she can drop into Central and write this up, then go home and get some sleep.”

“You’re very strict.”

“That’s why I’m LT. Peabody!” she called out, gestured. “Give her the original of the vid,” she told Roarke. “Bag it, Peabody, give it to McNab. I need EDD all over it. Looking for the shortish dooser in the crowd shots. Tell him to find us a miracle. In the morning. Tonight, he can go with you into Central. Write this up. I’ll copy my on-scene recording.

“Roarke and I will do the notification.”

“Oh, sure. Are you sure?”

“You’re down, we’re up. Morgue, eight sharp.”

“I won’t be late.”

“Don’t be. I’ve got a picture of her from her friends,” Eve said as she and Roarke walked away. “I don’t see a junction with Jenna. Different types, different interests, different schools. Arlie definitely made time to date. Solid grades—they had that, I guess. But Arlie worked part-time, wanted to go into fashion design. Only child, just her and her mother, no father in the picture. Different looks, so it’s not a type, not that way, he goes for.”

She hissed out a breath as she saw Nadine doing a stand-up, with Quilla and Jake off to the side. Every other reporter doing stand-ups turned as Eve approached the barricade.

And every one of them shouted questions.

“There will be no comments at this time. Shout yourselves hoarse for all I care. The NYPSD has no comment on the investigation at this time. You”—she pointed at Nadine—“over there. You”—now at Quilla—“stay put.”

As she stepped to the far side with Nadine skirting the barricade to join her, she called back to Quilla.

“I can feel your eyes rolling at me. And oh!” She glanced back, slapped a hand on her heart. “It burns.”

She heard Quilla laugh, ignored it.

“First, you bring the rock star?”

“I might’ve been able to stop him if I’d had your stunner. Might, possibly.”

“Second, you keep the kid here?”

“The kid,” Nadine countered, a little pissy with it, “is my intern, and has permission from the school to stay until I see her safely back. Which is momentarily. What—”

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