“Well, not really, but I guess.”
“Projects, meetings.” Eve waved a hand in the air. “Whatever. Bad timing on this. He’s decided he has to worry about me given the circumstances.”
Peabody followed the dots. “Hard to blame him.”
“Not for me it’s not. He—” She broke off when her comm signaled. “Looks like the caseworker got here a little early.”
“I’ll go bring her back.” Peabody stood. “You know, my mom’s pretty smart.”
“Scary about it,” Eve agreed.
“She’s proud of me. She and my dad didn’t really want me to be a cop, much less in New York, but they let me choose, and they’re proud of me. But she worries, and I know it. She says worrying is part of loving.
“So. I’ll bring Truman back.”
“He’s not my mother,” Eve pointed out as Peabody walked from the room.
“But he loves you.”
Yeah, yeah, she thought, then put it away.
She sat, started reviewing the file she had on Dorian as Peabody brought the caseworker in.
Pru Truman looked like a human rag that had been wrung dry too many times and tossed aside. Pale and bony in what even Eve’s unfashionable eye noted as an ugly suit, she clutched an ancient briefcase and kept her thin mouth pursed tight.
If Eve hadn’t skimmed her data, she’d have gauged the woman as early sixties. But her bio claimed a decade younger.
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas. Thanks for coming in, Ms. Truman. Have a seat.”
“Can I get you coffee?” Peabody asked her. “A soft drink?”
“I don’t consume caffeine, faux or otherwise. Still water, please.”
Because she found herself taking an instant dislike, Eve took a slow sip of her Pepsi.
“This is all very inconvenient,” Truman began.
“What’s that?”
“Being obligated to come all the way into New York. I had to reschedule several appointments.”
“I have a thirteen-year-old girl who’ll never have to worry about appointments again, seeing as she’s dead.”
“This unfortunate girl wasn’t one of my charges.”
“Dorian Gregg is.”
“Yes.” Truman reached into the briefcase, took out a disc file. “I have all my files on minor female Gregg, going back nearly five years. As you’ll see, I conducted numerous home visits over that length of time, arranged meetings and interviews with the teachers in her schools. I recommended, I believe you’ll find three years ago, for the custodial parent to attend and complete an addiction program, which she did.”
“You did all that?” Eve said, very pleasantly. “Oddly, we found a number of illegal substances in Jewell Gregg’s apartment, along with cheap wine and brew.”
“Perhaps she had a recent relapse, as often happens.”
“No mandatory testing?”
“She had completed the program.”
“Perhaps she had a recent relapse,” Eve repeated.
“And we will look into the matter.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it, since Dorian hasn’t been in that apartment since sometime around August of last year.”
Truman’s pointy little chin jutted up. “I was not aware of that circumstance.”
“It’s your job to be aware.”
Annoyance flashed, and Truman’s thin lips vanished as she pressed them together. “I won’t tell you how to do your job, you won’t tell me how to do mine. Minor female Gregg—”
“She has a name. She has a goddamn name.”
“Be sure I’ll report your language,” Truman responded with a sharp nod. “I do not refer to charges by name in order to keep a professional distance. She is a difficult, recalcitrant child,” Truman continued. “And as you can see from my files, and her juvenile record, has a history of truancy, of running away, of petty theft.”
Eve found the words, the tone, the voice pounding in her head. Except for the petty theft, Truman might have spoken of minor female Dallas.
“There’s also documentation of sporadic physical and verbal abuse of the custodial parent by the minor female.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I won’t tolerate that language. You have copies of my files, so we’re done here.”
“Sit your tight ass down, Truman, or I’ll not only see you’re cited for dereliction of duty, I’ll bring charges of my own and toss you in a cage.”