Page 70 of Devoted in Death

It didn’t take long, and only an instant more for Eve to drop her weapon hand, adjust her coat back over it.

She looked down into the round freckled face of a boy she judged at around ten.

“You’re not Sarri,” he accused.

“I’m not. Got a parent at home?”

“MOM!”

The shout had another kid—a girl, Eve deduced, as it wore a bright pink dress with brighter blue tights. And eyed her as suspiciously as the boy.

“You can’t come in ’cause you’re a stranger.” She shouted, a higher decibel than her brother, for her mother.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. For God’s sake, let me— Nathan Michael Fitzsimmons, what have I told you about opening the door?”

“It’s supposed to be Sarri.”

“It’s not.” The woman, obviously harried, dark hair clipped messily up, fuzzy slippers covering her feet, scooped both kids behind her.

“NYPSD.” Eve held her badge up again. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“What’s the matter? Is Sarri—”

“No problem,” Eve said quickly. “We’re looking into a missing-persons matter. Do you know a Wayne Potter?”

“No, I’m sorry, I— Oh, wait. Sorry, step in for a second. It’s freezing out there, and I’m letting the heat out.”

She shut the door behind them. “I think that’s the person who used to live here. One of the neighbors upstairs mentioned the name. We moved in last October. Mrs. Harbor—upstairs—she told me he’d left one day and never came back. Left his things, his family. I was a little nervous for a while once she told me, wondering if he’d come back and try to get in. But he hasn’t.”

The buzzer sounded again, and both kids shouted: Sarri!

“Thanks for your time.”

Eve edged back, let the woman open the door.

Sarri, bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, boots, gloves, all hitting every color of the spectrum was immediately covered in kids.

“That’s my sister in there,” the woman said with a laugh. “The world’s favorite aunt. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

Eve went back to the car through the chorus of angry horns and cursing. “One more,” she said. “It’s on the way.”

She had better luck with parking at the skinny townhouse, with a second-level slot, but no more inside.

Another woman, this one a weeper, who reported her longtime roomer/lover had vanished one evening when going out for a pack of gum. A small shrine stood under the front window—photographs, flowers, candles, an empty bottle of wine (the last, it seemed, they’d shared) a single red sock and a pair of black gloves.

It didn’t take long for Eve to work out a theory—not the alien abduction the woman currently held firm—and slightly longer to extricate herself and Banner.

“That’s enough for now. Jesus.” Eve shook her head as she pulled back into traffic. “Aliens, for God’s sake.”

“I’ve got a cousin back home who claims he’s been abducted four times.”

“I don’t think Curtis Hemming’s been anal probed by scientists of the planet Grum. He walked out for gum and kept walking because he wanted to get away from the lunatic who’d decided he was her soul mate. Sex is one thing, obsession’s another. In any case, the unsubs aren’t using either of those locations, and it’s improbable they ever crossed paths with Potter or Hemming.

“We’ll refine the search, see if we can cut out some of the walk-aways.”

She shoved through a knot of traffic, swerved around a maxibus, made her way through a snaking line of cabs.

“You sure can drive, Lieutenant. You sure can drive.”

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