lap. Too
late for Martha . “What if, hypothetically speaking, I knew one of our
subjects was suicidal?”
“It’s moot,” he said coldly, warningly even. “You do
not have that information.”
She looked up. His eyes were narrowed, daring her to
continue. “But if I did?”
“Then you’d be facing discipline from the committee.
Perhaps worse.”
Eve wanted to close her eyes, wanted to retreat back
into the dark. But this was real. Martha was really dead. They might have seen
it had they tested more frequently. I should have insisted . A year ago
she’d been happy to have her research approved and funded. Rocking the boat
hadn’t seemed worthwhile. The situation had changed.
She took the copy she’d printed of Martha’s death
article from her notebook. “This was subject 92.” Keeping her hand perfectly
steady, she handed it to him over his desk.
He stared at the page, then grabbed it. His face
darkened and Eve’s throat closed. This was it. He’d throw her out of the
program. Cancel her research.
“I think that if we’d tested her more often, we might
have been able to get her help,” she said. “Her death is on my head, Dr.
Donner. I don’t want any more suicides.”
Deliberately he dropped the sheet onto his shredder
and hit the switch. Instantly the page was gone and with it any minute respect
she’d held for Donald Donner.
“I never saw that,” he said. “ You never saw it.
Are we clear, Miss Wilson?”
Eve’s knees were shaking, but she’d be damned before
she’d let him see it. “Crystal.”
For a long time she sat at her desk, staring at
nothing, trying to figure out what to do.
What would Dana do? Dana Dupinsky Buchanan, one of the women who’d all but raised her in
Hanover House, a Chicago shelter. Dana, who’d risked her freedom and her life
helping battered women find hope and safety. Helping runaways like me .
Dana would do whatever was necessary to keep those
people safe. So should I.
Maybe no more bad things would happen. But if they
did… I’ll do what I need to do. She knew where every one of her subjects
resided in Shadowland. Now she’d seek them out in the real world, right here in
Minneapolis. Starting with Christy Lewis.
If Donner found out, she’d be finished. But I’d
rather forfeit it all and be able to look in the mirror. She’d do what she
needed to do, but smartly. If I’m lucky, nobody will ever know. Her
subjects would be safe and Donner would get his precious published study.
Then she’d get a new advisor. But first, Christy.
She’d watched Christy’s Gwenivere for weeks in the virtual world. It was time
to set Christy straight in the real one.
Monday, February 22, 2:10 p.m.
Noah had expected Mrs. Kobrecki to look meaner. So
when a sweet little old lady answered his knock, he had to swiftly control his
surprise. “Mrs. Kobrecki?”
“You must be the detectives.” She opened the door
wide. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you,” Jack said with an engaging smile. “You’re
a hard woman to reach.”
“My cellular phone battery was dead. I was away for
the weekend and returned just this morning. I called you all as soon as I saw
the crime scene tape. Poor Martha.”
“How long had you known Ms. Brisbane, ma’am?” Noah
asked.
“Eight years. We had our differences, but I never
dreamed she’d do this.”
“What kind of differences?” Noah probed with a
sympathetic smile.
“Her apartment,” Mrs. Kobrecki said archly, as if it
were obvious. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but that woman lived in total
filth.”
Noah thought of Martha’s spotless apartment. “When did
you last see her?”
“Week ago, Saturday. She was going out, which was odd.
She didn’t go out often.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Jack asked.
“No.” Mrs. Kobrecki’s lips thinned.
“Did you have an argument, Mrs. Kobrecki?” Noah asked.
“Yes. I told her that if she didn’t clean her place,
I’d evict her. She just ignored me.
late for Martha . “What if, hypothetically speaking, I knew one of our
subjects was suicidal?”
“It’s moot,” he said coldly, warningly even. “You do
not have that information.”
She looked up. His eyes were narrowed, daring her to
continue. “But if I did?”
“Then you’d be facing discipline from the committee.
Perhaps worse.”
Eve wanted to close her eyes, wanted to retreat back
into the dark. But this was real. Martha was really dead. They might have seen
it had they tested more frequently. I should have insisted . A year ago
she’d been happy to have her research approved and funded. Rocking the boat
hadn’t seemed worthwhile. The situation had changed.
She took the copy she’d printed of Martha’s death
article from her notebook. “This was subject 92.” Keeping her hand perfectly
steady, she handed it to him over his desk.
He stared at the page, then grabbed it. His face
darkened and Eve’s throat closed. This was it. He’d throw her out of the
program. Cancel her research.
“I think that if we’d tested her more often, we might
have been able to get her help,” she said. “Her death is on my head, Dr.
Donner. I don’t want any more suicides.”
Deliberately he dropped the sheet onto his shredder
and hit the switch. Instantly the page was gone and with it any minute respect
she’d held for Donald Donner.
“I never saw that,” he said. “ You never saw it.
Are we clear, Miss Wilson?”
Eve’s knees were shaking, but she’d be damned before
she’d let him see it. “Crystal.”
For a long time she sat at her desk, staring at
nothing, trying to figure out what to do.
What would Dana do? Dana Dupinsky Buchanan, one of the women who’d all but raised her in
Hanover House, a Chicago shelter. Dana, who’d risked her freedom and her life
helping battered women find hope and safety. Helping runaways like me .
Dana would do whatever was necessary to keep those
people safe. So should I.
Maybe no more bad things would happen. But if they
did… I’ll do what I need to do. She knew where every one of her subjects
resided in Shadowland. Now she’d seek them out in the real world, right here in
Minneapolis. Starting with Christy Lewis.
If Donner found out, she’d be finished. But I’d
rather forfeit it all and be able to look in the mirror. She’d do what she
needed to do, but smartly. If I’m lucky, nobody will ever know. Her
subjects would be safe and Donner would get his precious published study.
Then she’d get a new advisor. But first, Christy.
She’d watched Christy’s Gwenivere for weeks in the virtual world. It was time
to set Christy straight in the real one.
Monday, February 22, 2:10 p.m.
Noah had expected Mrs. Kobrecki to look meaner. So
when a sweet little old lady answered his knock, he had to swiftly control his
surprise. “Mrs. Kobrecki?”
“You must be the detectives.” She opened the door
wide. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you,” Jack said with an engaging smile. “You’re
a hard woman to reach.”
“My cellular phone battery was dead. I was away for
the weekend and returned just this morning. I called you all as soon as I saw
the crime scene tape. Poor Martha.”
“How long had you known Ms. Brisbane, ma’am?” Noah
asked.
“Eight years. We had our differences, but I never
dreamed she’d do this.”
“What kind of differences?” Noah probed with a
sympathetic smile.
“Her apartment,” Mrs. Kobrecki said archly, as if it
were obvious. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but that woman lived in total
filth.”
Noah thought of Martha’s spotless apartment. “When did
you last see her?”
“Week ago, Saturday. She was going out, which was odd.
She didn’t go out often.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Jack asked.
“No.” Mrs. Kobrecki’s lips thinned.
“Did you have an argument, Mrs. Kobrecki?” Noah asked.
“Yes. I told her that if she didn’t clean her place,
I’d evict her. She just ignored me.
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