And Nixie? That kid's a blade. Aces all the way. Both scored high on IQ tests, but she's a level up from her brother, and makes the most of it. No disciplinary problems on either. A couple of warnings about talking in class or sneaking game vids, but no major. Coyle played Softball and basketball. Nixie's into school plays, does the school media flash, school band--plays the piccolo.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It's a wind instrument. Kinda like a flute. These kids have a lot of extracurricular, good grades. Didn't have time to get in trouble, from my view.”
“They both have their own bank accounts, and make regular monthly deposits. Where do kids get up to a hundred bucks a month?”
Peabody turned to the wall screen, scanned the data. “Allowance.”
“Allowance for what?”
She looked back, shook her head at Eve. “Their parents probably gave them a weekly allowance, spending money, saving money, that sort of thing.”
Eve swallowed more gyro. “They get paid for being a kid?”
“More or less.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
“Household like that, the way this is shaping up, the kids probably had regular chores, even with a full-time domestic. Keeping their rooms clean, clearing the table, loading the recycler. Then you got your birthday or holiday money, your school report money. Being a Free-Ager, we did bartering more than pay, but it comes to the same.”
“So if everybody stayed a kid, nobody'd have to get a job. They could have seen something at school,” she continued before Peabody could comment. “Heard something. Something off. We'll take a look at teachers and staff. We can run the adults' business associates and clients, fan out from there to friends, neighbors, social acquaintances. These people weren't picked out of a hat.”
“Doesn't feel like it, but can we discount straight urban terrorism?”
“It's too clean.” Roarke had it right on that one, she thought. “You want to terrorize, you're messy. Kill the family, rape and torture first, wreck the house, slice up their little dog.”
“They didn't have a little dog, but I get you. And if it was terrorism, some whacked-out group would be taking credit by now. Did we get any reports in? EDD, sweepers, ME?”
“I talked to Feeney. He's on it. Fill you in on the way.”
“To?”
“Morgue, then Central.” She rose, stuffing the last of the gyro in her mouth.
“Want me to let Summerset know we're leaving?”
“Why? Oh. Hell. Yeah, do that.” She crossed to the door joining her office with Roarke's. “Hey.”
He was rising from his desk, slipping on one of his dark suit jackets.
“I'm heading out,” she told him.
“So am I. I've rearranged a few things. Should be back no later than seven.”
“I don't know when.” She leaned against the jamb, frowning at him. “I should put the kid in a safe house.”
“This house is safe, and she's fine with Summerset. A more detailed media bulletin's come through. It doesn't list the names, as yet, but reports on an Upper West Side family, including two children, killed early this morning, in their home. Lists you as primary. Details to follow.”
“I'll have to deal with that.”
“And so you will.” He came to her, cupped her face, kissed her. “You'll do your job, and we'll figure out the rest. Take care of my cop.”
As she'd expected, the chief medical examiner had taken charge of the Swisher homicides. It wasn't the sort of detail Morris would pass to someone else, however qualified or skilled.
Eve found him, suited up, over the body of Linnie Dyson. “I've taken them in order of death.” Behind his microgoggles his dark eyes were cool and hard.
There was music playing. Morris rarely worked without it, but this was somber, funereal. One of those composers, she imagined, who'd worn white wigs.
“I've ordered tox screens on all victims. Cause of death is the same in all. There are no secondary wounds or injuries, though the minor male vie had
“What the hell is that?”
“It's a wind instrument. Kinda like a flute. These kids have a lot of extracurricular, good grades. Didn't have time to get in trouble, from my view.”
“They both have their own bank accounts, and make regular monthly deposits. Where do kids get up to a hundred bucks a month?”
Peabody turned to the wall screen, scanned the data. “Allowance.”
“Allowance for what?”
She looked back, shook her head at Eve. “Their parents probably gave them a weekly allowance, spending money, saving money, that sort of thing.”
Eve swallowed more gyro. “They get paid for being a kid?”
“More or less.”
“Nice work if you can get it.”
“Household like that, the way this is shaping up, the kids probably had regular chores, even with a full-time domestic. Keeping their rooms clean, clearing the table, loading the recycler. Then you got your birthday or holiday money, your school report money. Being a Free-Ager, we did bartering more than pay, but it comes to the same.”
“So if everybody stayed a kid, nobody'd have to get a job. They could have seen something at school,” she continued before Peabody could comment. “Heard something. Something off. We'll take a look at teachers and staff. We can run the adults' business associates and clients, fan out from there to friends, neighbors, social acquaintances. These people weren't picked out of a hat.”
“Doesn't feel like it, but can we discount straight urban terrorism?”
“It's too clean.” Roarke had it right on that one, she thought. “You want to terrorize, you're messy. Kill the family, rape and torture first, wreck the house, slice up their little dog.”
“They didn't have a little dog, but I get you. And if it was terrorism, some whacked-out group would be taking credit by now. Did we get any reports in? EDD, sweepers, ME?”
“I talked to Feeney. He's on it. Fill you in on the way.”
“To?”
“Morgue, then Central.” She rose, stuffing the last of the gyro in her mouth.
“Want me to let Summerset know we're leaving?”
“Why? Oh. Hell. Yeah, do that.” She crossed to the door joining her office with Roarke's. “Hey.”
He was rising from his desk, slipping on one of his dark suit jackets.
“I'm heading out,” she told him.
“So am I. I've rearranged a few things. Should be back no later than seven.”
“I don't know when.” She leaned against the jamb, frowning at him. “I should put the kid in a safe house.”
“This house is safe, and she's fine with Summerset. A more detailed media bulletin's come through. It doesn't list the names, as yet, but reports on an Upper West Side family, including two children, killed early this morning, in their home. Lists you as primary. Details to follow.”
“I'll have to deal with that.”
“And so you will.” He came to her, cupped her face, kissed her. “You'll do your job, and we'll figure out the rest. Take care of my cop.”
As she'd expected, the chief medical examiner had taken charge of the Swisher homicides. It wasn't the sort of detail Morris would pass to someone else, however qualified or skilled.
Eve found him, suited up, over the body of Linnie Dyson. “I've taken them in order of death.” Behind his microgoggles his dark eyes were cool and hard.
There was music playing. Morris rarely worked without it, but this was somber, funereal. One of those composers, she imagined, who'd worn white wigs.
“I've ordered tox screens on all victims. Cause of death is the same in all. There are no secondary wounds or injuries, though the minor male vie had
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