As she outlined, Eve tapped each photo, each connection.

“Ava to Edmond and Linny Luce-friends of vic who would, in turn, testify as to the comfortable and happy marriage. Except they don’t like her-under the surface, they don’t like her a bit. She didn’t count on that. She didn’t count on any real connection being made between her-lady of the manor, lady bountiful-with the less fortunate women in the program she oversees.”

Now she pinned her finger to Ned Custer’s photo. “She sure as hell didn’t count on any connection between the murder of a philandering, blue-collar asshole and the murder of her renowned philanthropist husband. Murders committed months apart, with different MOs, in different parts of the city.”

“It could work,” Peabody said under her breath. “It could really work.”

“It did work,” Eve corrected. “Two men are dead.”

“You think they traded murders. Fuck me,” Baxter added.

“I know they did. Ava’s been planning this a long time. At least two years, since I believe she killed her father-in-law. But probably longer than that. Once the father-in-law was out of the picture-” Eve tapped Reginald Anders’s photo on the board. “Lots more at stake. More money, more power, more control. That skin she was wearing, boy, that really had to start to tighten up on her. Every single day, to have to look at this guy she’d married, play the contented wife, listen to him drone on and on about his sports, his business, his programs. Planning the murders, that would help her get through it. That light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Yes,” Mira agreed when Eve turned to her. “For a goal-oriented personality, one who sees the big picture, the planning is part of the reward. For one who’s skilled in long-term role-playing, there would be considerable satisfaction in the success of that role. But you’re talking years, Eve. Any actor, even one so amoral and self-serving, would require breaks.”

“The vic traveled a lot, she encouraged it. And she would often entertain during those trips, leaving out the vic’s nephew and closer friends. Her parties, her way. And Charles. He added to her cover, to the picture, but let’s not discount the release of good sex-especially when you’re in the driver’s seat. The client holds the power with an LC.”

“If she did Custer, she must’ve stalked him,” McNab put in. “The wife couldn’t know what bar he’d troll in the night of. And Anders couldn’t have pulled it off on impulse. She had to be set.”

“Exactly right. We’ll canvass his haunts again, and show Ava’s photo, and the photo of her with red hair I’m having Yancy generate. She picked the flop, had to. Her type wouldn’t leave that to chance.”

“Agreed,” Mira said.

“We find a connection between her and the flop. Show her photo there. She’s not going to be alibied for the night of Custer’s murder, but we’re going to get that solid. She bought the wig, she bought the clothes. We’re going to find out where. We’re going to go over the case file from the father-in-law’s death and find her mistakes. And we’re going to bring her in. We’re going to sew her up, and we’re going to take her down for two counts of murder, and one count of conspiracy to commit.”

“Suzanne Custer,” Baxter murmured.

“Yeah, she’s the needle in the haystack and the needle for the thread. She trusts you.”

“Yeah.” Baxter sighed it. “Yeah, she does.”

“We’ll use that. We’re going to break her down, Baxter, you and me. We’ll break her because she’s not built like Ava.”

“She got nervous.” Trueheart shifted his attention to Baxter. “When we went back to talk to her, a few days after the murder, she was jumpy and nervous. She didn’t want to talk to us. You smoothed her down.”

“Yeah, yeah. It set off a little buzz, but there was nothing to tie her. Nothing. So I put it down to regular nerves and the situation. She had me, goddamn it.”

“Now we’ve got her,” Eve reminded him. “Dr. Mira, can you give us a personality profile on Suzanne Custer?”

“From Detective Baxter’s overview, I’d say she’s a woman who accepts or perhaps expects her own victimization. She accepted, or certainly lived with, her husband’s behavior. While it appears she sought more for her children, she failed to take advantage of programs offered for abused women. It’s possible she didn’t see herself as such. She doesn’t control, or seek control. At this point, until further study, my opinion would be she fears and seeks those with authority over her.”

“A woman who does what she’s told.”

“So it would seem,” Mira said, “from the data I have at this point. I’d like to look at her background, her childhood.”

“I’d appreciate if you could do that ASAP. Feeney, McNab, I need a search on electronic purchases. Look for the wig, costumes re Ava. Dig in. She may have picked them up a year ago, two years. Hell, she might’ve had them for a decade. Look for all communications between her and Suzanne Custer and her personal ’links, and any at Anders’s. I’ve got warrants to check all communication devices owned by Plowder and Bride-West.”

“On it,” Feeney told her, and kept eating.

“Trueheart, you’re with Peabody. Check for Suzanne’s purchases at a smut shop called Just Sex. Her husband shopped there, so odds are if she needed anything for the job, that’s where she’d go. Get the medicals on her from her health clinic-a Dr. Yin-and prescriptions from its pharmacy. Tap the Transit Authority. She had to get from her apartment to the Anders house and back. Mother of two, I bet she uses the subway routinely, and a fare card.”

“Lieutenant.” Trueheart raised his hand and lowered it again as Baxter elbowed him. “I don’t think she’d leave the kids alone. I don’t think she’d have gone out and left her kids unattended. She’s just not the type for it.”

“Okay. Then let’s find out if she got a sitter, or where her kids were on the night of. If the civilian has time…”

“The civilian can probably carve out a few minutes here and there,” Roarke commented.

“A remote was used to shut down the security at the Anders house. A high-end and illegal remote. Where did it come from and which one of our killers obtained it? I haven’t picked up a hot one there. You find out.”

“Not as entertaining as a visit to a smut shop,” Roarke considered, “but the black market has some appeal.”

“Good luck.” Feeney saluted him. “Coulda been any of a couple dozen types-or versions of types-picked up any time within the last couple years. Coulda been homemade, for that matter, you had any snap for it.”

Roarke smiled at him. “Adds to the fun, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s all go out and have fun. Baxter,” Eve said, “with me.”

I wouldn’t have pegged her.” Baxter brooded out the side window as Eve drove. “She snowed me right from the get.”

“You didn’t peg her because she didn’t do it.”

“Same thing as doing it, and I didn’t get a whiff. The boy did. When we went back and she was nervy, he caught the whiff. And I blew it off, explained it away. I didn’t see it, didn’t smell it, didn’t hear it.”

“Guess you’d better turn in your papers, then. I hear private security’s a good gig for washed-out cops.”

“To borrow a phrase, bite me.” But it didn’t seem he could work up any steam. “She’s soft, Dallas. Mira’ll come up with her psycho-whatever, but it comes down to her being a soft sort, a little wounded, a lot tired. Mousy, if you get me. Right now, with all you worked out, I’m trying to see her going into that house, pumping Anders full of tranqs and setting him up like a kink kill, and I can’t see it.”

“You like her. You feel sorry for her.”

Irritation tightened his face. “I like lots of people, and feel sorry for some. That doesn’t stop me from seeing a stone killer when she’s in my damn face.”

“You’re taking it personal, Baxter.”

“Damn right I am.” There was steam now as he jerked toward Eve. “And don’t give me any of that objectivity crap. You wouldn’t be so fucking good at the job if you didn’t take it personal.”