Page 143 of Obsession in Death

“I did a little digging. She’s been on post multiple times when you’ve testified. Dallas, she was the bailiff on the Jess Barrow trial.”

“That’s a lot of weight. Do you have a location?”

“She’s in court.”

“She definitely needs a talking-to. Print out the picture. Let me finish setting this last search up in case this craps out— Jesus, Santiago and his colorful dice metaphors. We’ll take the shot by the bar and grill on the way, see if they recognize her. This is a good pop, Peabody.”

“Feels good.”

•••

While Eve and Peabody headed out from Central the woman they hunted for walked in.

She felt good. Resolved. Right. Her coworker’s ID scanned, logged her in as Charis Cannery.

Just a precaution. If the searches they ran spit out her real name, they wouldn’t find her logged in at Central.

She submitted to the body scan, the scan of the evidence box. Nothing would show. She knew how to mask any questionable items from a standard scan.

The timing couldn’t have been more in her favor. Security, just like everyone else, wanted the day over so they could go out, celebrate. And an official ID rang no bells.

Nobody looked at her. Nobody knew how special she was. How immortal she was about to become. It would happen, everything as it was meant to happen, in this house of law and order.

She took the elevator down, edging back into the corner out of habit. A woman in a red dress talked to a stocky uniformed cop about their plans for the big night.

She had plans, too. She wouldn’t spend New Year’s Eve alone, not this time. Not this last time.

She got off, instinctively hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller as she squeezed between passengers. Then she remembered why she was here, straightened, drew her shoulders back proudly.

She walked into the nearest restroom, checked all the stalls, then pulled off the wig—Charis’s color—shoved it and the contacts into the recycler.

For a moment, she studied herself, saw Eve.

But not yet, she reminded herself. She pulled on a black cap that hid the hair—enough of it—rearranged her scarf.

Then picked up the box again, almost forgetting her own name as she carried the box to Evidence.

She knew the cop on duty, but she’d prepared for that. He was old enough to be her father, friendlier than most. He smiled at her from behind his protective screen.

“How’s it going?”

“Oh, well.” Cameras on her now, cameras recording. But it wouldn’t matter. “I’ve got this to bring in, and I’m supposed to pick up the Dobey boxes. Ah... I’ve got the order here.”

She held up the order she’d meticulously forged, nudged it into the scanner. Then swiped the ID.

“Order’s verified. You got the wrong ID swipe—it’s Lottie, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I don’t know what you...” She turned the ID over, stared at it as if in shock.

She’d practiced.

“Oh no! I have Charis’s. She must have mine. We were in the locker room just before I left. She must have picked mine up by mistake.”

She lifted her face, looked into his eyes. “This is terrible. She’s gone for the day. She took personal time to get this party put together. What should I do? I’m supposed to take the Dobey boxes in for reprocessing.”

“No problem. Order’s verified, and I know you, so we’ll pass it through. Make sure you get in touch with Charis, and asap, get it straightened out.”

“Oh, thank you! I will.”