“Do you even know what your job is?” Mahler asked. “Do you know why we’re here? No one cares that you figure this out, that you know how it happened. They don’t give points for that. What they want is for it not to happen again. Most of the time we come in after the worst is done, when it’s too late. And the people there aren’t glad to see us. The rest of the time, we’re just janitors for the dirt no one wants to know about. We catch some jerk and take him off the street. And we fail there, too. But failure in this job isn’t like any other kind. When you screw up, when you fail to keep people safe, you never forget. Whatever else you achieve, whatever distractions you find, whatever else…is in your life, it never—balances—out.”

Mahler walked to the doorway. “Do what you want, but do it fast,” he said as he left the room.

Chapter Twenty-Two

(i)

(WEDNESDAY, 11:30 P.M.)

Bailey stood in the evidence room behind a table covered in plastic evidence bags. “Obviously we’re still processing these things.”

Mahler and Rivas faced her across the table. The room was windowless and dark, lit only by a shop light over the table. Mahler looked past Bailey, to the far wall. Beside a desk piled with file folders, a figure sat alone in the dark. Leaning away from the shop light’s glare, Mahler saw it was Eden.

Bailey pulled on latex gloves and handed sets to Mahler and Rivas. “First things first. Dusting the victim’s bedroom gave us only her prints and one other set. Turned out to be a roommate’s. Nothing of interest on the sheets or in any of the clothes.”

She pointed to the tabletop. “This is everything we got warrants for. It includes everything Marty and I brought back from the victim’s apartment and that Steve and Daniel found in her cubicle. Marty still has the hard drives from the victim’s laptop and office computer.”

Bailey picked up a plastic bag with a small knife in it. “Marty found this little number taped under the victim’s desk. Pretty serious knife. Microtech UTX-70. Retails online for $250. It’s an OTF model, which means the blade comes out the front. Two-and-a-half-inch blade, powder metal steel, scalpel sharpness. Blade and handle contain traces of the victim’s blood type. Trish says the evidence of healed cuts on the victim’s ankles, feet, and forearms, apparently self-inflicted, is consistent with this kind of blade.”

Rivas took the bag from Bailey and turned it over. “What’s she afraid of? Why’s it taped under the desk?”

“Shame.” The word came from Eden, still sitting in the dark.

Rivas looked across the room and nodded.