Strangers In Death

7

THE MORNING INTERVIEWS GAVE EVE A LOT TO chew on. If there’d been time, she’d have done just that, in her office, with her boots on her desk and her eyes on her murder board. But sessions with Mira were gold, and not something she could afford to fluff off.

With Peabody writing up the statements and reports, Eve strode into Mira’s outer office.

“Dr. Mira is running a bit behind today,” the palace guard in the guise of admin informed her.

“How behind is a bit?”

“Only a few minutes.” The woman smiled. “You’re a minute late yourself, so it won’t be long.”

“Fine.” Turning away, Eve screwed up her face and mouthed, You’re a minute late yourself. Then pulling out her ’link called her oldest friend, Mavis Freestone. Seconds later, Mavis’s happy face, surrounded by an explosion of lavender hair, popped on screen.

“Dallas! Guess where we’re going? Me and Belly Button?”

“To hell in a handbasket?”

“To the baby doctor. Yes, we are!” Mavis said in an excited coo. “We’re all clean and shiny and we’re going to the baby doctor so he can look at our little dumpling butt, our magalicious baby girl ears, and our yummy tum-tummy. Isn’t that right, Bellamia? Say hi to Auntie Dallas, sugarcheeks. Say hi.”

Mavis’s face was replaced by the round-cheeked (maybe it did have something to do with sugar), bright-eyed, curly-haired infant Mavis had popped out a couple months before. There were candy-striped ribbons tied in bows in the curls, drool dripping down the pudgy chin, and a huge, gummy grin. “Say hi to Bellaloca, Auntie Dallas.”

“How’s it going, Belle. Mavis.”

“Wave bye-bye, my itsy-bitsy baby-boo. Bye-bye to Auntie Dallas. Give her a cooey-dooey-”

“Mavis!”

“What?”

“Mavis, I’m saying this for your own good. You have to stop the insanity. You sound like a moron.”

“I know.” Mavis’s eyes, currently purple, rolled. “I can hear myself, but I can’t stop. It’s like a drug. So totally S. Hang on.” She set down the ’link, and the screen filled with the rainbow hues of the nursery. Eve heard Mavis cooing and gooing, and assumed she was putting the kid down somewhere.

“Back. She’s so beautiful. And she’s so good. Just this morning-”

“Mavis.”

“Sorry. Back.” Mavis blew out a breath that fluttered the lavender bangs spiking over her eyes. “I’m kicking out to the studio later, working on a new disc. I’ll be around grown-up people, lots of crazy artistic types. That’ll help.”

“Yeah, crazy artistic types. That’s the ticket. I just have a question.”

“Lay it down.”

“If you and Leonardo were having problems in bed-”

“Bite your tongue in three sections and swallow it!”

“Just hear me out. If you were, and it got sticky.”

“It wouldn’t get sticky in bed if we were having problems there.”

“Ha. Serious. If it got serious, would you tell me?”

“Affirmative.” The purple eyes registered quick worry. “You and Roarke aren’t-”

“No. Second part of the question. If you started going to an LC-”

“Can it be a really frosty one? Can it be two frosty ones, with really big wanks?”

“Solid ice, mongo wanks. If you did that, you’d tell me about it.”

“Dallas, if I was doing it with a pro, you couldn’t shut me up. Which you’d want to because you wouldn’t want to hear how they licked warm, melted chocolate off my-”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“But since my big, cuddly bear already does that, and his wank is mucho mongo, I wouldn’t need the LC.”

“Okay.” Eve turned when she heard Mira’s door open. And staring, quickly ended the call. “Thanks. Later. Hey, Charles, small world.”

She might have bashed him with a brick. His expression jumped from shock to disbelief and ended on flustered. “I’ve heard people call New York a small town,” he managed. “I guess this is what they mean. I was just…Well.”

“Eve.” With a warm and welcoming smile on her pretty face, Mira stepped beside Charles. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Come right in. Charles, always a pleasure.”

“Thank you. I’ll…” He gestured without any of his usual style. “Let you get to work.”

Over her shoulder, Eve watched him stride rapidly away as she moved into Mira’s office. “What’s all that about?”

“Have a seat. We’ll have some tea.”

While Eve frowned, Mira moved with her usual graceful efficiency between the two scoop chairs to the AutoChef to order the flowery tea she seemed to live on. Her hair, a cannily highlighted sable, swung smoothly around her patient face, setting off her calm blue eyes. Her suit, a warm and dull gold today, showed off good legs.

“Since you don’t have a hair out of place, I’m guessing he didn’t drop by to bang you.”

Mira set delicate cups on the table between the chairs, and laughed with delight. “Wouldn’t that have been interesting? Because it is, I have no intention of confirming or denying.” She sat, crossed her legs smoothly, studied Eve’s face. “You’re annoyed because two of your friends have some private business they’re not inclined to share with you.”

“I’m not annoyed.” Irked, Eve decided, maybe she was a little irked. “The vic’s wife is one of Charles’s clients, and I interviewed him regarding that this morning, so-”

“I’ll tell you that what Charles and I discussed has nothing whatsoever to do with your investigation. Now, about your investigation-”

“Is he in trouble?”

Mira’s eyes softened. “No, Charles isn’t in trouble. He has a lot on his mind at the moment.”

“So he keeps saying,” Eve replied, and dropped into a chair. “People are too much damn work.”

“They certainly can be.”

“I could find out. It’s my damn job to find things out.”

“But you won’t, because I’ve just told you he isn’t in trouble, and you won’t intrude.”

“If these people wouldn’t crisscross all the time in front of where I need to go, I wouldn’t have to think about them.”

Mira sipped her tea, but hiding her smile didn’t hide the open amusement in her eyes. “Your life’s more crowded than it used to be. And you’re more contented.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling real cozy right now. Forget it.” She shrugged it off. Charles was a big boy. “You read the file?”

“Yes.” Mira took another sip of tea as-Eve knew-she aligned her thoughts. “In my opinion, Anders knew his killer. The method used, the staging surrounding it, wasn’t just personal, but intimate. Sexual, of course, but sex isn’t always intimate. And there is no physical or forensic evidence that the victim engaged in sexual relations with the killer, or anyone on the night of the murder.”

“Nope, he was still holding a full load. No fluids on the sheets or on the body itself. No hair, but for a few strays from the vic, skin.”

“Yet it was staged to appear otherwise, and the staging’s important. It took time, and planning and preparation. The killer thought about how this could and would be done for some time. There’s no impulse here, no passion. A sense of the dramatic, even the theatric, but that underlying sense of order. It feels female. That may be sexist, but it doesn’t feel like a same sex crime.”

“If it was, he’d’ve staged the body differently. Given the logistics of man-on-man sex, I think a male killer would have positioned the body differently.”

Mira nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“And even though I told Peabody not to jump to female off the get, it strikes me that if we were dealing with a man-again, if sex was part of it-there’d have been more anger. If Anders was gay, he was deep in the closet. Added to it, in my interviews with the wife, she admits they’d had discussions about his sexual preferences, and she always speaks of women.”

“A female killer, then, one who is able to resist impulse, at least long enough to plan, and to execute that plan. One who enjoys the elaborate, the symbolic. Who had or believed she had an intimate relationship with the victim, who certainly at some point had a sexual one with him. Someone who finds sex both powerful and compelling, and demeaning.”

“There are LCs like that,” Eve speculated. “Who get wrapped up in it-like an addict-then burn out.”

“Yes, which is why they’re screened so thoroughly before licensing and thereafter to keep the license.”

“Are you leaning toward pro?”

“It certainly could be-there are factors that indicate that sort of intimacy again, and distance. A professional companion must subjugate his or her own needs in order to tailor the relationship to the client’s demands. The nature and the length of the relationship is completely in the client’s hands.”

“That’s what they’re paid for,” Eve commented.

“Yes, and the most successful are able to consider it as a profession.” They enjoy their work, or consider it a public service. Here, the victim was bound, was naked. He was the supplicant, the submissive. The scarfing, another symbol of who is in control, who is dominant.

“And speaking of S-and-M, bondage, and other fringe areas of sex, Mira sipped her flowery tea. “This was a sex crime, certainly, but not one of sexual rage, or revenge. The genitals aren’t destroyed or mutilated, but spotlighted.”

“There’s the word for it.”

Mira smiled a little. “Your crime scene notes indicate he insisted the bedroom door remain closed, had black drapes, and so on. This was a private man, one who had strong feelings about bedroom privacy. So by spotlighting his most private area, his most private business, the killer demeans him. Humiliates him even after death. And yet-”

“She-since we’re going with she-tranqs him halfway to a coma first. She didn’t want him to feel the pain or the fear. Didn’t want him to suffer the pain.” And that was a particular element that stuck in Eve’s craw. “It doesn’t fit.”

“It’s a contradiction, I agree. But people can be contradictory. It may have been an accident, may have been she miscalculated the dose. And before you say it, I will: No, I don’t think it was a miscalculation. Too much prep work to make such a big mistake.”

Eve sat a moment, then picked up the tea and drank before she remembered it wasn’t coffee. “Ah.” She set it down again. “I like the wife for it.”

Intrigued, Mira cocked her head. “I thought it was confirmed the wife wasn’t in New York during the time of the murder.”

“She wasn’t.”

“You suspect she hired the killer?”

“I’ve got nothing to support that. Nothing. Plus, I work back to why does a hire tranq him so heavily. What does a hire care if the target suffers? I’m going to have Roarke go over her financials, dig for other accounts, but it doesn’t feel like a hit. At least not a pro.”

“Why do you like the wife?”

“She’s smart. She’s a planner. She’s got an answer for everything. Her responses, reactions, her demeanor, all perfect, all just right. Like she fucking studied on it. And maybe it’s pushing me toward her, but I can’t get my head around this arrangement she said she and the vic had.”

Pushing up to pace, Eve ran it by Mira, condensing it down to the basics.

“You don’t believe her,” Mira concluded. “More, you don’t believe a couple inside a marriage could, or would, come to an agreement like this arrangement on sexual relationships.”

“Objectively, I know people could, and would, because objectively I know people are completely screwed up. But it doesn’t fit for me, it doesn’t…It’s like this one false note playing over and over in a song, and it throws me out every time. I don’t know if I don’t like the damn song, or if the song’s bullshit.”

“Objectivity is key to what you do, but so is instinct. If the note strikes you false, again and again, then you’d need to decide which note you’d play instead.”

“Huh. How does it strike you?”

“I haven’t heard it played from the source, and that can make a difference. But I will say that marriage partners often make arrangements and bargains that seem odd, or even wrong, to someone looking-or listening-in.”

“Yeah, I keep coming back to that, too. People do the whacked all the time.”

Time to let it stew, Eve decided as she hopped on a glide to start the trip back to Homicide. Time to take another look at the facts and evidence, and let the personalities and speculations simmer. With that in mind, she switched glides to detour to the Electronic Detectives Division. A face-to-face with its captain, and her old partner, might give her another angle on the security breach. She skirted by a couple of cops leaning back on the glide and jawing about basketball, wound her way around a grim-faced woman with her arms folded and piss in her eye before she ran into a logjam of bodies.

She smelled bad cologne, worse coffee, and fresh-baked goods as she snaked and elbowed her way through. Because the elevators were always worse, she stuck with the glides. As she neared EDD, the tone changed. The cops got younger, the clothes more trendy, the visible body piercings more plentiful. The smells edged toward candy and fizzy drinks. Every mother’s son or daughter was hooked up-pocket ’links, ear ’links, headsets so the chatter jittered out, the noise of it rising through the corridor and reaching critical mass inside the squad room.

She’d never known an e-detective to be still for more than five minutes. They bopped, danced, tapped, jiggled. Eve figured it would take her less than that five minutes to go stark raving mad if she rode a desk in EDD. But it suited Feeney. He might have been old enough to have fathered most of his detectives, and his idea of fashion ran to making sure his socks matched, but the color and buzz of EDD fit him like one of his wrinkled suits.

Naturally.

She turned toward his office and his open door. An explosion of sound had her pausing, then approaching with more caution. Feeney sat at his desk. His ginger hair with its generous dashes of gray sat on his head like an electrified cat. Beneath it, his comfortably droopy face was clammy and pale, if you overlooked the bright red nose that sat in the middle like a stoplight.

The explosion of sound came again in the form of three blasting sneezes, followed by a rattling wheeze, and a barking curse.

“Man, you look bad.”

His puffy eyes lifted. The shadows under them seemed to droop right down to his clammy cheeks. “Got a freaking son of a bitching cold.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Maybe you should be in bed.”

“I’m in bed, the wife’s on me like white on tofu, how she told me I shoulda worn the muffler, and how she didn’t give me those nice earmuffs for Christmas. Damn things make me look like I got a couple of red rats coming out of my ears. She’ll want to be pouring Christ knows what into me.”

He hacked, sneezed, cursed. And Eve eased back another few inches.

“Plus, she’s been taking some godforsaken class on alternative medicine, and has it in her head colonics are the cure for every damn thing. You think I want a colonic?”

“I really don’t.”

He blew his nose heroically. “You want a rundown on the Sanders electronics.”

“Anders.” She could almost see the microscopic germs dancing and mating gleefully in the air around him. “Feeney, you gotta go home.”

“I’m going to ride it out. Got inhalers, and decongestants. Don’t work for shit, but I got them. I get a brain tumor, they can fix it, no problem. I get a lousy germ, and they got nothing.”

“Blows, but-”

“Come on in, I’ll bring up the file.”

She studied him, her trainer, her mentor, her longtime partner. He was, in every way that counted, a father. And she thought of the gleeful germs banging each other all over the office. “Ah, actually, I’ve got to get back down. I forgot something.”

“This’ll only take a minute.”

“Feeney, I’m not coming in there, I’m not taking one step closer without a hazmat suit. You’re dog sick, you’re contagious, I can actually see your germs flying around in the air having a party. You need to go home.”

He lowered his head to the desk. “Stun me, will you, kid? I’m too weak to pull my own weapon and do it myself.”

“Shit.” She glanced back, saw McNab’s cube was empty. Figured. “You.” She jabbed a finger at the closest live body, even if it was clad in a banana yellow skin-suit with knee-high purple airboots. “Your captain needs transportation home. Now. Arrange it. Who’s next in rank?”

“Ummmm.”

“Jesus. Get the transpo. I want a vehicle ready to go, and an officer at the elevator door of the garage, this sector, ground level, by the time I get there. If it’s not-who are you?”

“Um, Detective Letterman.”

“If it’s not, Detective Letterman, I’m coming back up here and peeling you like the banana you resemble. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do it!” Eve took several deep breaths, like a diver preparing to go under, then holding it, went into the red zone. She grabbed Feeney’s coat, his hat, his scarf. “Come on, get these on.”

“Wanna die at my desk,” he whimpered, “not in bed like an old man.”

“Jesus, stop being a baby. You’re not going to die. Get your coat on. Don’t breathe on me. Wear the hat. What the hell’s wrong with you coming in today?”

His glassy eyes rolled up to hers. “You’re turning into a woman on me, fussing and nagging.”

Insulted, she yanked the hat down over his ears herself. “Watch it, pal, or I’ll deck you and have a couple of your fruit baskets out there cart you out.”

“That’s better.” He braced a hand on the desk. “You know, Dallas, I think I’m pretty fucking sick.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since I got here. Let’s go.” She put an arm around his waist, led him out. In the squad room, one glare cut off any questions or comments. “Call Maintenance,” she ordered as she hauled Feeney out. “Have them disinfect that office.”

“Sanders,” Feeney wheezed.

“Anders,” she corrected and called for the elevator.

“Remote was a slick one. Custom.”

“Okay.” When the elevator doors opened, occupants took one look at Feeney. The protests rang out immediately. “Make room or get the hell off.” People scattered, deserted the ship as she pulled Feeney on. “Garage,” she ordered, “ground level.”

“Shut it down, booted it up the same way,” Feeney continued. “No tampering with the locks. Knew the code or had a clone. Can’t find any indication of cloning. Have to be slick, too.”

“Okay.” How long did it take to get to the damn garage? How soon after breeding did germs give birth to new ones?

“Nothing on the house ’links looks hinky. Got a list of ’em in the report.”

“Yeah.”

“Pocket ’link either. Office ’links. Going back another week on the lot, but nothing popping.”

“I got it, Feeney.”

“Nothing popping on his comps either.” He slumped against Eve like a drunk. “Guy had a million of ’em, so it’s taking a while. Personals don’t show anything off.”

“You get to the wife’s yet?”

“Whose wife?”

“Never mind.” When the doors opened, a burly, hard-eyed uniform stepped forward. Letterman, she thought, could live.

“Captain Feeney?”

“Right here. Where’s your ride?”

He gestured to a black-and-white. “Let me give you a hand. Poor bastard looks pretty sick.”

“What’s the closest health center?” she asked as between them they maneuvered Feeney into the backseat where he simply sprawled out facedown.

“Got a walk-in clinic on Broadway and Eighteen.”

“Take him there.”

“Aw, Dallas,” Feeney mumbled.

“Stay with him,” Eve continued. “I’ll contact his wife. When she gets there, if she wants you to stay, you stay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Name?”

“Klink.”

“Take care of him, Officer Klink.”

She slammed the door, stepped back. And watching Klink drive Feeney away wondered if she had time for a detox session.

She settled for scrubbing her hands as if her next task were to perform surgery. And tagging Feeney’s wife on the move, made her way back to her own division to track down McNab. She had visions of EDD throwing an orgy of biblical proportions without Feeney in command. Just as she was about to try for McNab, she swung into her own bullpen and saw him.

His back was to her, but there was no mistaking Ian McNab. Who else had that skinny build, the long tail of blond hair flopping down the back of a shirt that resembled the view through a kaleidoscope? And who else would have his flat ass on her partner’s desk?

“McNab, get your pitiful excuse for an ass off Peabody’s desk and into my office.”

She didn’t bother to wait to see if he obeyed. She didn’t doubt he would, or that he’d slip Peabody a little pinch or tickle before he did. Some things she didn’t need to witness.

By the time she got coffee, he was bouncing into her office. “Hey, Dallas, I just came down to-”

“Who’s the ranking officer under Feeney?”

“Ah, that would be…yeah, that would probably be DS Reedway. Why?”

“I just had Feeney hauled off to the health center. His-”

“Jeez.” MacNab’s soft green eyes clouded with worry. “Is he that bad? He looked rough this morning.”

“Bad enough. Inform your Detective Sergeant that your captain’s out sick. If he needs any information or assistance, he can contact me.”

“She. DS Melodie Reedway.”

“A cop named Melodie. It’s just not right.” She waved that off. “If your ranking officer has no objections, I’d like you as primary e-man on the Anders investigation. You’re annoying, but at least I know what to expect from you.”

He grinned at her. “I’ve been working it. I came down to give you an update.”

“Feeney just gave me one on the way down to transpo-or partially. Have you started on the wife’s electronics?”

“We focused on the vic’s first, and he has serious boatloads. Fairly iced. Guy liked UTD-up-to-date,” he translated when Eve frowned. “I can shift over to the wife’s if you want. Anything special I’d be looking for?”

“Yeah, her having a conversation with the killer would be nice. You know the particulars of the case, you’re a detective. You’ll know when you see or hear it. Get back up there, McNab.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ll give Mrs. Feeney a call, let her know.”

“Already done. But you could check in with an Officer Klink. He’s with Feeney.”

“Okay. Hey, it’s mag about Peabody doing Now tonight. She’s freaked. I was giving her a pep talk just now.”

“As long as that’s all you were giving her. Leave now, and don’t touch my partner on the way out.”

She shut the door behind him. After topping off her coffee, she sat at her desk, put her boots up on it. And studied her murder board.

Anders, Thomas A., she thought. Age sixty-one, wealthy and successful. Married, no children. Loving uncle to his only nephew, who stands as a major heir and successor. Enjoyed sports and electronic toys-and according to his spouse, kinky sex. Staunch friend. Fair employer. Golf dates, tennis dates, season tickets to every sport known to man. Boxed seats.

Swiveling away from the murder board she brought the file up on her computer, flipped through for the crime scene photos not on the board, then studied her own record of the victim’s closet/dressing room area.

Suits, sure. Looked like maybe a dozen. Two tuxes. Dress shirts, ties. Yeah, yeah. All that took up one wall of the room. The short wall. And filling the two longer walls were the casual clothes, the sports clothes. Golf pants, khakis, sports shirts, shorts, track pants, sweatshirts. And in the drawers, what had she seen when she’d opened the drawers?

Dress socks, she recalled, pulling it into her head. High-end sweaters-the cashmere, the merino wool, the alpaca. Lots of T-shirts-short-and long-sleeved. A lot with sports logos, team emblems. His own brand. Dozens of sports socks. Boxer shorts. Plain white boxers, plain white undershirts. Tailored pajamas.

Interesting.

She added some notes to the file. After a quick knock, Peabody poked her head in. “Dallas, Ben Forrest is here. He’d like to see you.”

Eve thought of the murder board, started to tell Peabody to have him wait, then thought better of it. “Send him on back.”

She finished her notes, saved to the file. When the next knock sounded, she called out an absent, “Come in.”

“Lieutenant, I appreciate you-”

She watched Ben’s face. Watched the tired eyes go wide, and the stunned horror turn them glassy. “God, oh, God.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Forrest.” She stood, angled so she blocked his view of his uncle’s photos. “I wasn’t thinking. Let’s take this outside.”

“I-I…I know what you told me, and what they’re saying in the media. How he died. But…”

Eve took her coat off the hook, tossed it over the board. “Sit down.” She gave him a light shove to see that he did, then got him a bottle of water.

“Who would do that to him? Who would humiliate him that way? Killing him wasn’t enough?” Rather than drink, Ben slapped the bottle against his palm. “It wasn’t enough to take his life?”

“Who would want to humiliate him that way?”

When his gaze lifted to Eve, the fury burned. “I don’t know. I swear to God, I don’t know. If I did, if I even thought, maybe, maybe him or her, I’d tell you. I loved him, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I believe you. You traveled with him on occasion. On business, or pleasure. Golf trips, sports events.”

“Yeah. I guess we averaged at least a trip a month.”

“Ben, look at me. I believe you loved him, and I’m telling you if you hold back you’re not helping him. So think before you answer me. When you traveled, just the two of you, did he ever seek out women, did he ever arrange for companionship-professional or otherwise.”

“No. Wait.” He held up a hand, closed his eyes, and took a few breaths. “We nearly always shared a two-bedroom suite. We could hang out together that way. I can’t swear that he was always alone in his section of the suite, or that he never went on the prowl after I was down for the night. I can’t swear to it. I can only swear to you that I never saw or heard any sign of that kind of thing. I never knew him to seek out companionship. He used to ask me, to razz me sometimes, about finding a woman and settling down. Lieutenant, he was settled. If you’re digging through the dirt somebody smeared on him, you’re never going to find who did this to him. Because it’s a goddamn lie.”

“Okay, Ben. How about this? The two of you traveled a lot together, just the two of you. Did you ever hit any strip clubs, sex clubs? Just a boys’ night out kind of thing?”

“No. That wasn’t Uncle Tommy’s style, and he’d’ve been embarrassed to go to a place like that with me. We went to games, sports bars, that kind of thing.”

“All right.”

He nodded, then twisted off the cap, drank the water. “They contacted Ava, and said we could have him now. I’m taking care of the arrangements. I wanted to come here to see if there’s anything. Anything you can tell me.”

“I can tell you that your uncle is my priority. Are you having a memorial?”

“Tomorrow.” He drank again. “We didn’t want to wait. Brigit’s helping with the details. He’d want simple. He liked simple best.”

“Who decorated the house?”

He let out a surprised laugh. “Ava. And yeah, it’s not simple. Uncle Tommy liked it though, got a kick out of what he called Ava’s Palace.”

“I bet. The style’s a lot different in his office.”

“Yeah. Guy world. That’s what he’d say.”

“Did he take sleep aids?”

“I…I don’t think so. I mean, maybe once in a while. I don’t remember him mentioning anything like that, but I don’t guess it ever came up. I know he liked the door closed, the drapes drawn when he went to bed. He said it was the only way he could get a good night’s sleep. So, I guess that sort of thing was his sleep aid.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Anyway, thanks.” He got to his feet, and his gaze traveled back to the board covered now by Eve’s coat. “I’m glad I saw that. Not the images, I’ll never be glad of that. I’m glad I saw that you had that in here. That you’re looking at it, that you can’t turn around in this room without seeing what was done to him. It helps me know you mean it. He’s your priority.”

Alone, Eve turned back to the board. She lifted off her coat, tossed it over the visitor’s chair. And she looked into Ava Anders’s eyes.

“You’re a liar,” Eve stated aloud. “You’re a liar, and I’m going to prove it.”