Page 103 of Fury In Death

As she pushed through an intersection, pedestrians on the corners revved their engines for the race at the Walk signal.

“Why is it dots?” she wondered. “Why isn’t it squares or triangles? He’s physically weak, without resources, can’t know who to trust. Cops? Maybe, maybe not. And he still has family. He didn’t protect his wife, his child. How does he protect what he has left?”

“By disappearing.”

“By disappearing until he could make them pay.”

Because she didn’t want to take the time to hunt for parking, Eve pulled into an already crowded lot and hunted there.

They got out for the walk.

“And they’re not going to go after his family now.” Peabody picked up the theme. “No point, plus they’re too busy trying to stay alive.”

“That would be number one,” Eve agreed.

“And trying to find him’s a close second.”

“Add covering their tracks. But he’s moving fast. He knows them, knows he has to move fast. They’d have looked for him, and hard, for a while after he poofed.”

“Then they’d figure—who wouldn’t?—he’d just wandered off, or left to kill himself. He doesn’t call the cops, go to the media, make any noise, any threats. Check him off.

“You know . . .” Peabody pursed her lips in thought. “I think it’s dots because they’re not distracting. You’d be tempted to fill in other shapes along the way instead of just following them.”

“Hmm. But maybe filling them in leads to other angles and theories.”

“Now I’m confused. Or maybe I’ll create those connect-the-dot puzzles using a variety of shapes. And if you fill in the right ones, you get other solutions. Whee. I could make a fortune.”

“Yeah, you do that in your spare time.”

Eve stepped into the dignified brick building.

Memorial centers, funeral parlors, they all struck her as the same whatever the decor, the shape, the footprint.

The scent of flowers, not only from the elegant arrangements carefully placed but, she expected, piped through the climate system. The hushed quiet and muted colors, the dark-suited staff who moved quiet as ghosts.

One of the dark-suited crossed to them, a woman with the palest of blond hair carefully coiffed, and sympathy surrounding her like the scent of flowers.

“How can I help you this morning?”

Eve lifted her badge. “Lawrence Chu.”

Sympathy turned businesslike. “Of course. Dr. Chu’s memorial program is underway in Solace on the second floor. You may take the elevator or the stairs.”

“Stairs are fine.”

“Solace will be to your left at the end of the hall.”

“I want mine outdoors,” Peabody murmured when they started up the straight beige carpeted stairway. “My, you know, this. Outside, trees, grass, sky.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She walked down the beige-carpeted hall to the door with the small plaque reading SOLACE.

She eased it open, and with Peabody, slipped inside.

A good-sized room, she noted, with privacy-screened windows that let in the light and muted the sounds of the city.

Some stood as she did, some sat, and her quick estimate came in at roughly a hundred and sixty attendees, including family.