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her. But neither of them moved on it.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “She would have told me. Honesty had become a vital tool for her in recovery, and she trusted me. They’d made a vow—Jen, Coby, and Will—to abstain for six months, to focus on themselves as individuals. Coby joked about it. He was funny, sharp. He’d used that charm and wit to survive on the streets. Now he used it to keep himself and his friends steady. Wil went the more spiritual route. He’d lived with his great-grandmother until she died, and she’d taken him to church. He’d started to go back. Jen and Coby went with him a few times, but more for friendship than interest.”
    “What church?”
    “Ah . . . Chelsea Baptist.”
    “Where else did they go routinely, do routinely?”
    “They liked to hang out at the Twelfth Street Diner, drink coffee, and talk. They all put in time at Get Straight, attending meetings, taking on chores—cleaning, organizing donations—that’s part of the program. They attended group there, too, as well as here. They’d see a vid now and then, but primarily they worked—saved their money toward finding a place to live—concentrated on the program, studied. Or Jen did. She was taking a business class.”
    “You gave them permission to live in the building?”
    “Yes. Justin asked me, and we thought it would give them a breather, allow them to live on their own, save, stay close to the Center. The stipulation was they had to keep the place, and themselves, clean. They did.”
    “You visited them there?”
    “Either Justin or I would drop by once a week. Spot-check,” she said with the first hint of a smile. “We trusted them. But you can’t trust the addiction.”
    “Arianna!”
    The sharp call sliced through the quiet garden. A man, tall, his dark hair cropped close to a tanned face, hurried toward them. His eyes, a green as sharp as his voice, were all for Arianna. Ignoring Eve and Peabody, he grabbed her hands, got to his knees.
    “I heard what happened. What can I do for you?”
    “Eton.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. Eve saw her bear down against them. “I was going to tell you myself, but I needed to speak with the police. Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, my associate, Eton Billingsly.”
    “The police.” He shot Eve a disgusted look. “At a time like this?”
    “Murder usually brings the cops.”
    “It’s hardly necessary to interrogate Arianna at all, and particularly before she’s had time to process.”
    “Okay. Let’s interrogate you. Where were you between one and four a.m. this morning?”
    He blustered. Eve couldn’t think of another word for the sounds he made or the look on his face as he sprang to his feet. “I’m not answering any of your insulting questions, and neither is Arianna.”
    “Oh yeah, you are,” Eve corrected, “here or at Cop Central. Your choice.”
    “Eton.” Arianna rose. “Stop now. You’re upset. The police are trying to find out who hurt Jen and the boys, and why.”
    “They’ll hardly find out here, with you.” He took her hands again. “Justin should never have allowed it.”
    “Justin doesn’t allow anything.” Gently, but deliberately, Arianna drew her hands away.
    “You’re right, of course. But it’s natural to want to shield you from this kind of ordeal. I know how much you’d invested in these recoverings.”
    “I haven’t heard an answer yet, Mr. Billingsly.”
    “ Dr. Billingsly,” he snapped at Eve. “And at that time of the morning, I was home in bed.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “What was your relationship with the victims?”
    Perhaps due to the fact that his face went red, Arianna answered for him. “Eton is one of our psychologists. He specializes in hypnotherapy. The process can help them through withdrawal, give them focus, and can often help them bring the root of their addiction to the surface.”
    “So, did you do the ‘you’re getting sleepy’ with the victims?” Eve asked