Down the Rabbit Hole

Mira frowned over her tea. “The sleep aid should have prevented that.”


“The three times her fiancé found her at it, she was doing or saying weird things. Pouring tea for a party, down in the kitchen; crawling under the bed saying she needed to go down the rabbit hole. Sitting on the bed, waking him up with a riddle about a raven and a writing desk.”

“Alice in Wonderland.”

“That’s what Louise said.”

“Interesting.” Mira sat back in her blue scoop chair, sipped more tea. “A sort of test, I’d think, laying a base for the post-hypnotic suggestions. An interesting choice. A kind of surreal story filled with a young girl’s bizarre adventures. Some interpret it as drug-based—the hookah-smoking caterpillar, the mushrooms that cause Alice to grow, and so on. He may be an addict himself. A combination of psychic abilities and hallucinogens would give him a heady sense of power.”

“He kills—or rather causes another to kill because he can, and because it gives him a sense of power. Watches, from his . . . client’s point-of-view—that gives him a front-row seat.”

“Yes, and Alice again. Perhaps delight; a childish delight in watching the murder and suicide he’s manipulated.”

“He’s probably done it before.”

“It worked so seamlessly, really, it’s difficult to believe this was his first.”

“Then I’d better find him before he sets the next one up.” Heading back, she switched from elevator to glide, moving briskly, and spotted Roarke the minute she turned in to Homicide. He sat on the corner of Jenkinson’s desk holding a conversation that had her detective grinning.

When he saw her, he rose, strolled over. “Lieutenant.”

“Are you here to report a crime?”

“No. I had a meeting nearby and took a chance my wife might be about. And here she is.”

“Not for long.” But she considered her options. “How much time do you have?”

“That would depend.”

“If you’ve got an hour, maybe two, I’d split Darlene’s list with Peabody.”

“Then I’ve got an hour, maybe two.”

“Good. Hold on a minute.” She stepped over to Peabody’s desk. “See if Feeney can spare McNab. If so, take him with you and check out the last half of Darlene’s list. If McNab can’t do it, take Uniform Carmichael. Roarke and I will work on the first half.”

“Sure. I’ll tag him now.”

“McNab or Carmichael, Peabody. Good eyes and experience. We’re looking for a sociopath with at least some psychic abilities, one who may be an addict. An interest or obsession with Alice in Wonderland is likely, so look for any sign of that. Psychopathic pathology’s also very probable.”

“Solid backup because he could try to put the whammy on me.”

“Solid backup.” Eve left it at that, turned away, and noted that Roarke must have slipped into her office and back, as he held her coat.

“Thanks. Report after every meet,” she told Peabody, and strode out, swinging on the coat as she walked.

“You probably know more about this Alice in Wonderland stuff than I do.”

“I know the story,” Roarke said. “I’ve read the books, and seen a variety of vid interpretations.”

“Like I said, you know more than I do, so you’ll be handy. The person we’re after likely knows a lot about it, too. You might catch something I’d miss.”

“Such as a white rabbit or mad hatter?”

“If you say so. I’ll drive,” she said when they reached the garage.

“You don’t know the story?” he asked her.

Her childhood hadn’t been prone to bedtime stories. Then again, she thought, neither had Roarke’s.

“Some kid falls down a rabbit hole, which makes no sense because rabbits are a lot smaller than kids. Weird stuff happens.”