Page 74 of Fury In Death

She bumped along with traffic, stopped at a downtown office building. Childhood friend, tax lawyer.

No information, no vibe.

She moved on, headed north to a vegetarian restaurant. Former girlfriend, chef.

No information, no vibe, and an easy turndown of tofu nuggets.

She detoured east a few blocks, interviewed a same-sex couple, both friends, both new dads—triplets!—on parental leave.

No information, no vibe. And a sense of wonder that tiny humans required so much time, so much energy, and so much equipment.

Gauging time and direction, she backtracked west, north and aimed for Donahue Investigations.

Not an office building, Eve considered after she parked in a loading zone, but a nice, neat townhome with a discreet brass plaque.

She walked to the door, pressed the buzzer.

“Donahue Investigations.” A female, human voice came through the security speaker. “How can we help you?”

Eve held up her badge. “NYPSD. Lieutenant Dallas to speak with Melody Donahue.”

It took under five seconds for the door to buzz open.

She walked into a reception area that resembled someone’s stylish foyer.

A woman, mixed-race brunette, early twenties in a body-conscious (she had a good one) blue dress, had already risen from her desk. She walked toward Eve, hand extended.

“Lieutenant, I admire your work. Luce Dray. Mel’s—Ms. Donahue’s—just back in the office. She’s been in the field. Please have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Luce tapped her earpiece as she gestured to a pair of cozy-looking armchairs.

“Macy, Lieutenant Dallas is—yes, that Lieutenant Dallas. She’d like to speak with Mel. Right.” She tapped again, smiled at Eve.

“Macy—you could call her Mel’s lieutenant—will be right down. Can I get you coffee? We don’t stock your brand, but it’s not bad.”

“I’m good, thanks. How long have you worked here?”

“Three years. Great job. Interesting people. Here’s Macy.”

The woman—thirtyish, ebony skin, ebony eyes, with a magnificent eruption of black hair—jogged down the steps in short-heeled boots.

She wore stoplight red, and also extended a hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lieutenant. I was on the job in Queens. Mel’s office is upstairs. This way. Oh, Luce, Mel says to power down and go home on time. Hold the rest until you do.”

Eve walked up graceful steps toward the second floor.

“Offices up here,” Mace continued. “We keep the main level for reception, the conference room, research, and day care, as our researcher has several kids.”

“Why’d you leave the job?”

“To work in a firm owned and run by women.”

She gestured to a room on the left where a woman of about sixty worked, as Feeney often did, on her feet, hands flipping at a large wall screen.

“Hannah, our e-genius. Hannah, Lieutenant Dallas.”

The woman paused, studied Eve out of cool blue eyes. “Huh. Work with Ryan Feeney out of Central, right?”