Free The Unquiet by Patricia Gaffney, J. D. Robb, Mary Blayney, Ruth Ryan Langan, Mary Kay McComas Page A

the disguise, and Mira says it’s unlikely he could tolerate the jaw—broken or dislocated that way.”
    “Now you have two doctors telling you that. This is extreme.” Louise tapped a finger, tipped in pearly pale pink, on the sketch. “There would be airway blockage, difficulty breathing, speaking, eating. There should be considerable swelling, but I don’t see any in this sketch. The pain would be enormous. And the eyes certainly aren’t natural. Not just the color. Hyperthyroidism can cause the eyes to bulge, but I’ve never seen anything that severe. And the skin? I’d diagnose multiple organ failure at worst, anemia at best. He had to fake all this.”
    “Hey, I saw that guy.” The waitress paused as she served the wine.
    “When?” Eve demanded. “Where?”
    “Last night. Well, this morning. You don’t forget a face like that,” she added with a laugh.
    “Exactly what time? Exactly where?” Eve drew out her badge, laid it next to the sketch.
    “Oh. I guess he wasn’t just a weirdo. I had the late shift last night, so I didn’t leave until after two. I live on Jane, right off Greenwich Street. I did some yoga when I got home. It relaxes me. I don’t know exactly, but it was probably about three fifteen, three thirty or thereabouts, when I finished. I heard this weird laughing, and went to the window. I had it open, and I saw this dude here sort of skipping down the sidewalk across the street. You see all kinds, you know, so I didn’t think anything of it. I saw him jump up, swing on the pole of the streetlight, waving this black bag. I just thought, weirdo, shut the window, and went to bed.”
    “Which way was he going?”
    “East, toward Eighth, it looked like. What’d he do?”
    “Enough so if you see him again, contact the police.” She hitched up a hip, dug out a card. “Contact me.”
    “Sure. Wow, a lieutenant. Homicide. Wow. He killed somebody?”
    “Yeah. I’d like your name and address.”
    “Sure. Sure.” Once she’d given it, the waitress hurried away.
    “You scared the hell out of her,” Charles said.
    “She’d be smart not to walk home alone, and to keep her windows closed.” She put the sketch away, sipped at her beer. “Do you know any of Rosenthall’s lab people?” she asked Louise.
    “No.”
    “Okay, we’ll set them aside for now. Did Rosenthall ever move on you?”
    “No! He was with Arianna when we met, then I was with Charles not long after. He’s in love with Ari, and added to that, his work doesn’t give him a lot of time for moving on other women.”
    “It doesn’t take that much time. She’s the one backing his research and work—or the Group is. If she cut him loose, it’d be a big loss.”
    “She’s in love with him, and they’re bonded over the work,” Louise began. “If something went wrong between them, it would be a blow for both of them, personally and professionally.”
    “But scientists are easier to find than backers like the Whitwood Group. If his work’s important to him.”
    “Essential, I’d say.”
    “Then he’d do a lot to protect it.”
    “Not this, Dallas. Never this. Not Justin.”
    “I’m going on the theory the three victims knew something about the killer. Something he killed to protect. Has Justin ever sampled product?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    Okay, Eve thought, as long as Louise spoke in absolutes they wouldn’t get anywhere on Rosenthall.
    “How about Billingsly?”
    “I can’t say. I’d certainly doubt it, but I don’t know him well.” Louise smiled a little over her wine. “That’s a deliberate choice.”
    “He put moves on you.”
    “He puts them on every female he finds attractive or believes can enhance his career. But Ari’s the gold ring.”
    “How’d he react when you brushed him off?”
    “Like it was my loss. He has a temper, but I’ve never seen anything to indicate he’s capable of murder or real violence. He’s rude and demanding, but from what I’ve heard, very good in