Eve weighed the four-block walk against the morning traffic and parking issue.
“We’re walking. It’s only four blocks.”
“Okay, sure, but it’s raining.”
“Oh, rain! In that case, we’re walking. We’ll be talking to Hank Kajinski and Devin Spruce, both seventeen, both working at the Corner Deli.”
“I know that place. They make incredible cheese blintzes, and their matzo ball soup’s seriously mag.”
“We’re not going there for lunch, Peabody.”
When they reached the main lobby, Eve headed for the doors, and the rain.
A slow, steady sky drip that turned the city into a sauna.
People huddled under umbrellas—some, Eve thought, bought hastily from a street vendor who sold them at a premium at the first drip. Others, shoulders hunched, trudged along scowling like the wet equaled a personal affront.
She watched a woman, legs scissoring despite the heels, dashing up the sidewalk with a shopping bag over her head.
And vehicular traffic, as she’d predicted, crept inch by inch with horns blasting.
“You’d think a little rain ranked as one of those biblical plagues, like, what is it, locusts.”
“Or water turning to blood.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Wasn’t it? “That’s a plague?”
“It’s a popular one. One of Egypt’s ten, and one of the seven predicted in Revelation.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“Oh, just things you pick up.”
“I’d put them right down again,” Eve decided. “We have to deal with enough blood without worrying about it spurting out of the shower.”
“Okay, that’s guaranteed to give me daymares the next time I take one.” Peabody jerked her head right. “The guy across the street’s selling fold-up umbrellas for fifty bucks.”
“Yeah, I saw him. Anybody stupid enough to pay that deserves to get hosed. Plus, he’d make us before we crossed the street, and I’m damned if I’m chasing him. And we’re here.”
The Corner Deli actually stood on the corner. Most of the breakfast or bagel-and-schmear-to-go crowd had come and gone, but a few lingered on stools at the spotless white counter, or waited out the rain (good luck with that) over coffee and one of Peabody’s blintzes at an equally spotless postage-stamp-sized table.
The place smelled of baked bread, of pickles and onions and boiled eggs. And somehow it all combined into a single, appealing aroma.
Hank Kajinski was working the display counter and currently boxing up a round of rye for a waiting customer.
Eve judged him as six-one, with youthful vid-star looks, the kind that would cast him as the high school quarterback. Thick blond hair under his clear cap, bright blue eyes, just the hint of a summer tan, square-jawed, and lankily built.
Eve waited until he’d rung up the customer and turned with a flashing smile.
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
She held up her badge.
“Oh, right! Should’ve recognized you guys. I saw the vid. I mean, who didn’t?”
“Who didn’t,” Eve agreed.
“Dev’s in the back. I’ll get him, but I gotta get somebody to cover the counter while—”
He broke off as a woman strode out. Middle sixties, Eve gauged, sturdily built, with improbably red hair filling her cap with curls. Her skin was so white Eve wondered if she glowed in the dark.
“You the cops?”
“Yes, ma’am. We need to—”
She pointed a finger at Eve. “What’d they do? And I don’t want to hear any namby-pamby megillah.”
“They’re not in any kind of trouble.”
“We don’t put up with criminals and deadbeats in here.”
“As far as I know, ma’am, they’re neither. They may have seen an individual we’re looking for, and have fully cooperated in our investigation. This is a follow-up interview, as we’ve uncovered new information.”
“About these two?”
“Indirectly only.”
“Jeez, we didn’t do anything. I told you—”
Now that finger pointed at Hank. It bore a sharp, murderously red nail Eve imagined capable of slitting a throat with a single swipe.
“Hush! Go get Devin.” She pointed across the room. “Take that table. I’ll bring you a nosh.”
“We’re fine, thank you, but—”
“You sit in my place, you have a nosh.”
Better to move things along, Eve decided, and walked to the table.
“Whatever it is,” Peabody told her, “it’ll be really good nosh.”
Hank came out of the back with his friend. If Hank represented the high school quarterback, Devin could have stood as his defensive lineman, with his broad shoulders, tough build. He had smooth golden brown skin, a long blade of nose, and big, dreamy brown eyes. His hair, a kind of brassy gold at the crown, fell into pure black twists.
Both boys yanked off their caps as they sat, as if they weighed half a ton each.
“Sorry about that, Officers.”
“Lieutenant,” Eve corrected Hank. “Detective.”
“Yeah, still sorry about that. My bubbe’s a hard-ass.”
“That’s your grandmother?”
“Yeah.” Hank flashed the smile. “She says it’s her job to keep me, and Dev, too, on the straight and narrow, so we don’t end up putzes like her sister’s first ex-husband.”
“We didn’t tell her about being at the club that night, you know.” Devin hunched his broad shoulders. “She’d worry. We told the other guy … Sorry, the other detective guy we’d seen the dead girl—I mean before,” he said quickly. “Before that happened.”
“Understood. You danced with her.”
“Sort of.” He glanced at Hank.
“There were three of them. Excellent babe-age.”
From behind him, his bubbe gave him the flat of her hand over the back of his head. “You don’t talk about girls that way. You show respect.”
“Bubbe, it just means they were pretty. Like you.” That smile blasted out. “You have the most excellent babe-age.”
She gave him the flat of her hand again, but this time lightly, with affection. Then she set the tray she’d balanced on one hip on the table.
“You’ll have some babka, fresh this morning, and some sweet tea.”
Devin looked at her with those big, dreamy eyes. “Thanks, Bubbe.”
She stroked a hand over the brassy crown of his head. “Now, you tell the police whatever they need to know. With respect! Then you get back to work. We don’t pay for you to sit and eat babka.”
When she walked away, Hank forked up a bite. “It’s extreme. You gotta eat it, or she’ll give you all kinds of grief. Plus, extreme.”
“You danced with the victim and her two friends.”
“Sure, and a bunch of other babes. We weren’t there to hook, you know? Just swim. The music was tight and total. They, the babes, a unit, right, Dev?”
“Check it. I think Chaz danced with one of them again, just the one, but a unit. We didn’t hang with them, or anything like that.”
“Let’s go back to when you got to the club. You came as … a unit.”
“Five of us,” Hank confirmed. “Me, Dev, Chaz, Orlo, and Jonah.”
“When you got there, to the door, did anyone else come in with you?”
Dev shrugged, looked at Hank. “Maybe. We were all talking, and ribbing Orlo because he was supposed to come separate with his girlfriend, but she dumped him the day before. Harsh, man.”
“Maybe someone who was right behind the two of you. Your three friends were just ahead of you. We have Chaz opening the door, going in first.”
“I guess. I didn’t pay attention. We were pretty jacked about seeing Avenue A for free. No cover or anything. We all went last summer, so we knew it would slay.”
“The little guy?” Frowning, Hank squinted his eyes as if trying to see something in the distance.
And Eve felt the buzz.
“A little guy. Shorter than you, than both of you.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you describe him?”
“I didn’t really see him—I mean, pay attention. I only sort of noticed because when Chaz opened the door, he kind of blocked it for a couple seconds.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Devin confirmed. “He did this drama pause, said like, ‘Now it begins.’”
“That’s it, so when I had to stop short, the little guy bumped into me from behind. No big, but I thought, Jesus, man, we got all night.”
“How do you know it was a guy, or he was short?”
“Oh, right? I sort of halfway saw him slide in behind me and Dev when we were all walking up the block.”
“What did you halfway see? Any detail at all.”
“Well. Sad, sad baggies. Crap kicks, too. That sounds harsh, ’cause maybe that’s the best he could do, but that’s what I thought when I halfway saw him slide behind us.”
“Can you estimate his height?”
“I dunno … maybe … About as tall as my sister. Maybe about.”
“How tall is she?”
This time he just lifted his shoulders, and Eve glanced at Peabody.
When Peabody pulled out her PPC, Eve turned back to Hank. “Skin color?”
“A white guy. For sure, on that. I guess I saw his arms. Yeah, yeah, I did. Really white, so he was wearing a T-shirt. Maybe a tank type deal. I didn’t pay attention.”
“Hair color, eye color?” Eve asked, and Hank began to look distressed.
“Is this the guy who killed that girl?”
“It’s someone we want to identify.”
“Jesus, Jesus, I don’t want to guess on something like this. I don’t want to be wrong on it. I didn’t pay attention. I just gave him a glance back, that’s all. You didn’t notice?” he asked Devin.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t. I didn’t see him at all.”
“Hank.” Peabody pulled out her trust-me voice. “You’ve already helped us by what you did notice.”
“But he was our age. Shit, I don’t know that for sure, either. I just figured. I don’t know if I saw his face. I don’t think so. I’ve got nothing in the banks that says I did. I more noticed his bags, right? And thought something like, here comes a doof.”
Time to back off, Eve thought.
“I’m going to confirm what Detective Peabody just said. You’ve helped us a lot, you’ve told us details we didn’t have. We appreciate your time and cooperation.”
“Okay. Sorry that’s all I got. And, um, you could maybe eat some of the babka? Bubbe’ll be pissed if you don’t.”
“Right.” Eve broke off a piece with her fork and sampled. And found herself eating a small bite of heaven.
“Well, God.”
Hank gave her a weak version of his smile. “Told ya. We gotta get back.”
The boys rose together and, pulling on their caps, headed back to the counter.
“I ate my entire slice,” Peabody confessed. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Easy to see why. Height?”
“Hank’s sister’s ID lists hers at five-five.”
“We’ll call it, for now, between five-five and five-seven. He’s white. Hank confirmed the cheap-ass baggies. Apparently to go with the crap kicks. And he told us more than he realized.”
“That the guy who slid in behind him wasn’t worth noticing.”
Eve took a second bite of cake. The streusel topping it hit a grand slam.
“My pride nearly exceeds the magnificence of this babka. The minute he noticed the sad baggies, the one wearing them sank beneath notice.”
Eve pulled some cash out of her pocket, laid it on the table.
“You’re not leaving that half a slice of babka.”
“We need to get back.”
Peabody solved the issue by wrapping it in one of the disposable napkins. “I’ll give it to McNab,” she said as she slid it into her pocket.
They started the rainy walk back.
“We can confirm approximate height and race. That’s not nothing. Contact the other three friends. It’s doubtful they noticed him at all. Hank barely did and only because he walked up behind him. I’ll add these details and contact Arlie’s group. We could get lucky.”
Her ’link signaled.
“Mira. She’s got a window now. I’m taking it. Try Jenna’s group on it, too,” Eve said, and quickened her pace.
She finger-scooped some of the wet from her hair as she stepped back into Central. Ignoring the elevators, she took the glides to Mira’s level.
Where the dragon waited.
“Dr. Mira will see you now. Don’t you own an umbrella, Lieutenant?”
“Probably.” Eve walked by the admin’s desk, knocked briefly, then walked into Mira’s office.
The NYPSD’s top profiler and shrink sat behind her desk, but stood when Eve walked in.
“You were quick,” Mira began. “And you’ve been out in the rain. I’ll get you a towel.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Maybe a little soggy compared to the soft and sleek that was Mira. She had her mink-colored hair twisted up and back today. It suited the straight lines of the white dress and short black jacket.
Despite Eve’s words, Mira stepped into the adjoining bath on her white shoes with their black cap at the toes, the high, skinny black heels, and came out with a towel.
Eve scrubbed it over her damp hair as Mira moved to the office AutoChef for what Eve knew would be flowery tea in delicate cups.
“Sit,” Mira told her. “I’ve read the file.”
“We have a little more.” To protect the fabric on the blue scoop chair, Eve laid the towel over it before she sat. “EDD nailed him on the security feed. Not his face, not much of him, but the group he merged with to help avoid just that.”
Because it was expected, Eve accepted the tea.
“Peabody and I just talked to two of the group. Only one, so far, noticed the unsub. And only to give us an approximate height. Between five-five and five-seven. And his race. White. He was sure on the race, reasonably sure of approximate height. The only other things he noticed were the cheap baggies, and he says crappy kicks.”
“So he noticed the height and skin color, the pants, the shoes. Nothing else?”
“That’s right, and he wanted to.”
“After the lack of fashion status in the shoes and pants, the rest was beneath notice.”
“That’s our take, yeah.”
Nodding, Mira sipped her tea. “And still nothing to connect the two victims?”
“No.”
“I don’t think you’ll find anything.”
“Neither do I. It’s not who they are. It’s what. Attractive teenage females. They don’t notice him, either.”
“Or if they do, with derision. Or worse? Pity. And he, so clever, so bright, so skilled—”
“Can’t get laid,” Eve finished.
Crossing her excellent legs, Mira nodded again. “An involuntary celibate. The additions of a date-rape drug and the STD bacteria certainly indicate a sexual revenge element. They served no other purpose, but had deep meaning for him, personally. He knew they’d die in minutes, but he gained the satisfaction of knowing he’d dosed and infected them. The use of a needle when a pressure syringe would have been more efficient represents penetration.”
“Why not dose them and rape them? Infect or kill them while they’re under? Is he impotent?”
As she considered, Mira wrapped one of the strands of her triple chain of black-and-white beads around a finger.
“That’s possible, of course, but though he wants them, he despises them as much or more. He needs their notice, their willingness, even their gratitude. They owe him attention, owe him sex, and as they give him neither, they’re to blame. They’re to be despised, and eliminated. Eliminated in a way that demonstrates his cleverness, his skills and intelligence. His superiority.”
“Both girls noticed him after he injected them.”
“Yes, and I’m sure he wanted that, that one shining moment—after the penetration. Look at me. See me. You’re giving me attention now, aren’t you?”
“And so is everyone else,” Eve added.
It occurred to her the way Mira smiled at her, sat back, showed a similar satisfaction to what she felt when Peabody hit the mark straight on.
“Sure, he wanted the crowd, the dark,” Eve continued, “but there are plenty of venues that cater to under-twenty-ones. These two events? Specifically chosen, I think, for the media attention that would follow the murders. We’re all paying attention to him now.”
Setting the tea aside, she pushed up to pace. “Not just the girls he killed. Yeah, I get that shining moment for him. Needed, necessary, but hey, they’re dead. All he has to do is turn on a screen and he can see and hear all the attention paid. To him, about him. About his … accomplishments.”
“I agree. Still, the media attention after Jenna Harbough wasn’t enough. He found his second victim the very next night. No cooling-off period, no reveling in his success.”
“He’d already picked the time and place, scoped it out, researched.”
“Yes,” Mira agreed. “But he’s young, Eve, and though organized, meticulous in his science, he lacks impulse control. I would give you a range of fifteen to twenty-two, and my instincts say he falls in line with the ages of his victims.”
“The wits would’ve noticed if he was older—into his twenties. He could look younger than he is, but … I don’t think so. He targets girls in his own age range because those are what he wants. And despises.”
Mira waited, stayed silent as Eve slid her hands into her pockets.
“An incel, sexually deprived, so sexually obsessed. He has to know chemistry. I toyed with the idea he had someone helping him create the formula, access the ingredients for him. But that doesn’t play. That’s attention and focus. A mentor, a partner takes something away from him.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t play.”
“I think he’s very much alone,” Mira said. “He certainly sees himself that way. Alone, unappreciated. Above average, likely far above average intelligence, at least in this area. He’s familiar with formulas, drugs, chemistry, and has found a way to access or create the ingredients he’s chosen.”
“Pure heroin. It takes months and careful work to go from flower to drug. But he can’t afford good clothes for his shining moment? That doesn’t play, either. He had to make it himself, almost had to because it makes it his.”
“And the heroin alone would have been enough to accomplish death. The ketamine and the rest, they add a little flourish, don’t they? It makes it his formula. A signature.”
“Yeah.” Eve let that settle in. “Yeah, a signature. His own creation.”
“The bacteria and the Rohypnol add the sexual revenge. The potassium chloride—”
“He’s executing them.”
Mira’s quiet blue eyes met Eve’s as she nodded. “Exactly, for crimes committed against him. The girls he chose, more or less in the moment, represent all of them. All the ones who ignored him or taunted him or refused him.”
“Or just didn’t see him,” Eve murmured.
“He’s a white male, most likely between sixteen and eighteen, of superior intellect with highly honed skills. He’s organized; he plans. But then he acts on impulse, in that moment. A misogynist, narcissist, emotionally stunted, socially inept. He knows what it is to be bullied and scorned, but that’s nothing compared to being ignored.
“The kills, followed by the media attention, and no doubt aided by masturbation sate his sexual cravings, but not for long.”
Eve nodded again because it confirmed her own thoughts. “At that age, a passing breeze has a guy thinking about sex. But this one? For this one it’s not the desire that fuels him. It’s the denial.
“Eventually, the needle won’t be enough of a stand-in for his dick. He’ll need to rape one before he kills her.”
“The cravings build again, Eve, so eventually is likely sooner than later. He spends a great deal of his time alone, at his work. Parental attention, if any, is minimal. His father or father figure is likely something he only aspires to be. Sexually attractive to women, successful, admired. His mother or mother figure…”
Mira twisted the strand again. “There, he feels scorn at best.”
“He’s short for his age. A big brain, but weak, physically on the puny side. Not athletic. Nobody invites him to parties or to just hang. He doesn’t have a circle, nobody to stand up for him. Or tell him how baggies are supposed to drape.”
Sitting back, Mira sipped some tea. “You have a picture.”
“When I was that age, I didn’t want a circle. Actually, I never wanted one, yet it just happened. But at that age, I made sure I didn’t. I know what it’s like to be singled out and get the shit kicked out of you emotionally and/or physically.”
“What did you do?”
“Learned to kick back, harder. Get through it and move on. He can’t move on. I wanted to be left alone. He wants the opposite. Even a punch in the face is attention, isn’t it? When you can’t even get that? You’ve got nothing.”
“That’s interesting.” Head angled, Mira set her teacup aside. “There may have been a teacher, an administrator, someone in charge who saw to it he was left alone. Stop the bullying, the taunting, the teasing—an effort to protect him. And he may have felt even more isolated.”
“He’s a killer. You don’t kill this way unless it’s in you. ‘You think it’s funny?’ That’s what Arlie’s boyfriend heard her say after she thought she got stung by a wasp. He stood close enough for her to see him. See him smiling or laughing at her pain. He strutted off the dance floor after jabbing Jenna.
“Proud of himself,” Eve concluded. “He’s a sick, twisted, vicious little son of a bitch.”
“Well. Not the clinical conclusions I’ll write in my profile, but yes. Yes, he is. Look for exceptional students, science and math particularly, in accelerated courses. He may have skipped a grade along the way, or taken early college courses.
“His school records would include incidents of bullying, unless that, too, was ignored. And, Eve, it’s possible he could afford better clothes, but simply didn’t know the importance, at that age, of the right brand or style. Alternately, he may come from a financially stable family, but is kept on a strict budget.”
“Someone could buy his clothes,” Eve considered. “Pick them, hand them over.”
“Ah, so baggies aren’t on the approved list. Also possible,” Mira agreed.
“He’s got plans for another.”
“I’m afraid I agree. And very soon.”
“Summer. Most kids are out of school. Some working part-time, and all of them looking for something to do. Where’s the action, where’s the fun? Some music, some noise, some excitement. He just has to pick his spot.”
“And there are so many.”
“Yeah, there are. I appreciate you making time for this.”
“How much sleep have you had in the last, what, thirty-six hours?”
“It has to be enough.” But it made her think. “You know, if he’s got a summer job, or the big brain copped him an internship—lab work’s where I lean. He’s not getting a lot of sleep, either. Maybe taking boosters to get through the day. Or making his own.”
“Considering the amount of sleep most teenagers need, you’re very likely right.”
“It’s good. That’s good. He’ll screw up somewhere. Not soon enough, maybe not soon enough, but he’ll screw something up.”
She pulled out her signaling ’link. “An incoming from the lab. The scuff marks. Got a partial. Kick It brand, Zoomers, men’s size between six and seven. That’s small, isn’t it?”
“Dennis wears a ten, if that helps.”
“Small feet, short guy. And even I know this brand is crap. Cheap soles, dye bleeds, so enough for the partial. Bet he’s got blisters. Gotta get on this.”
“Keep me informed.”
“I will. Thanks again.” She kept her ’link in her hand as she tagged Peabody. “Find out what stores in New York carry Kick It brand Zoomers. We’re looking for men’s size six to seven.”
“Small feet, crap shoes.”
“I know that much. Find more.”
She cut Peabody off, grabbed a glide.
Already a mistake, she thought. Scuff marks, trace on the window frame. Little, tiny mistakes.
He’d make more.
“Peabody,” she said when she turned into Homicide.
“I’m looking now.”
“Try venues that sell the baggies and the shoes, T-shirts, too.”
“I’ll add it.”
“Jenkinson?”
“We’re working it, boss. Hell of a lot of labs in high schools and colleges in this fine city. We’ve got you a partial list.”
“Keep going.”
She turned into her office, went for coffee. Took a minute to glug some down.
The bacteria. Medical lab, research lab. Internship.
Poppies. You’d have to have a greenhouse, or some sort of area to grow them. Then somewhere to do all the other steps.
Months of work. Privacy? Maybe you could grow the flowers without anyone thinking why other than flowers. But you’d need a place for the rest.
Privacy.
She took another moment to drink, to organize her thoughts.
She’d update her board, her book, take some thinking time. Just five minutes.
Look over Jenkinson’s list, she decided.
Then she’d make her own. Cross-check, and maybe.
Ten minutes into the work, she heard footsteps—two sets, unfamiliar. Jamie and Quilla stepped into her doorway.
“Really?” was all she could think of.
“Sorry to interrupt, Lieutenant.”
“Then don’t,” she suggested.
“Sir.” Jamie stuck with the formal. “Captain Feeney sent me. I’m actually—was actually—with Roarke today, but my supervisor said if I finished my work in progress I could shift to EDD. So I did, but the captain said I should get your permission to assist on the investigation.”
The kid had skills. She needed skills.
“Then you have it. That doesn’t explain you.” She pointed at Quilla. “You’re not an e-geek.”
“Actually, she’s got—”
Eve cut Jamie off with a look. “Was I addressing you, civilian intern?”
“No, sir.”
“Jeez, harsh. I’m pretty good, he was going to say. But I’m here on a project, just bopped down with Jamie.”
Eve started to say bop out again, but curiosity got her. “What project?”
“I’ve got permission, from the school and Nadine and Feeney, to do a story on EDD. I can do interviews as long as I don’t, um, impede any work. And Feeney has to review and sign off on the final before I turn it in.”
The kid had skills, too, in her area of interest. Besides, Eve thought, Feeney’s decision.
“And since I bopped with Jamie, I was going to ask, once this one’s done, if I can do one on Homicide.”
“No.”
“For the upperclassmen.” Quilla rolled right on. “Some of the students, especially the year-rounders like me, give cops the hard eye. We’ve got reasons for it. So it’s good to show cops are mostly just people, doing a job. And if some of them are assholes, most are working really hard to help.”
“We deal with things in this division that aren’t appropriate for students.”
“Why? You have two girls, dead girls, on your board. They’re just like me. Like us. Or like I am now, I guess. Like most of us are trying to be. We’ve got some assholes, too, but mostly we’re trying. Like Dorian’s trying. Shit, Dallas, you know what they did to her in that place. You got all those girls out of there. They raped them and drugged them and sold them. They killed Dorian’s friend, and nearly killed her. How’s what you do here inappropriate?”
Jamie stayed silent, but Eve caught the look, the smile. The pride again.
Christ, it was everywhere.
“And to think I put Nadine onto you. Now I’ve got two of you.”
“Nadine says she’s just helping refine what I had when she took me on.”
She heard Peabody coming. “I’ll think about it.” Much, much later.
“Hey, Jamie, hey, Quilla. I have a strong probable, Dallas. L&W.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Losers and Wheezes,” Quilla said. “A store,” she continued. “Crap junk your cheap aunt Jane buys for your birthday since she doesn’t know better, or doesn’t really give a shit. I wouldn’t even lift a pair of socks from a L&W.” She waited a beat, shrugged. “Back when I maybe considered the possibility of lifting.”
“Uh-huh.” But since she had an expert on the matter, Eve pursued. “Did you notice anyone at the band thing wearing Losers and Wheezes?”
Quilla tipped her head so her purple hair fell over one eye. “Didn’t stick if I did.”
“Off the record.”
Quilla shrugged again. “Okay.”
“Short white guy, around sixteen. Black tee and baggies, Kick It Zoomers, probably black.”
“Kick Its?” Now Jamie spoke up, and the interns rolled their eyes at each other. “Subzero. Maybe you buy them if you have to spend a day walking in mud, because they’re gonna fall apart in a couple weeks anyway.”
“If I got caught dead in a pair, I’d die a second time of humiliation.”
Quilla’s statement cracked Jamie up. They fist-bumped.
“It doesn’t stick,” Quilla said again. “But I’ll look at the vid again.”
“EDD has it.”
“I’ll look, too.”
“Fine. Scram. Go do what you’re here to do.”
“You’ll think about it?”
“I said I would. Go away.”
“Think about what?” Peabody asked as they went away.
“I’m not thinking about it now. How many L&Ws?”
“Seven.”
Eve got up. “It could be worse. Let’s go check out the losers and wheezes.”