By the time Eve reached Central, that word had streamed through the maze, slid into cubes and offices, and had the air thick with fury.She stepped into the bull pen, paused. She wasn't much for speeches. She preferred briefings or orders. But she was rank here, and the men deserved to hear from her.They were at desks, in cubes, answering 'links, writing reports. A couple were taking statements from civilians who'd either been victimized or had victimized someone else.There was the smell of bad fake coffee, sickly sugar substitute, sweat, and someone's greasy dinner. And under it was that fury, a ripe, rich, dangerous odor.Most of the noise stopped when she came in, but one of the civilians continued to weep in soft, liquid sobs. 'Links beeped, and for the moment were ignored.She knew she had blood on her, and she knew every cop in the room saw it and thought of where it had come from.“Detectives Owen Knight and James Preston went down in the line at approximately twenty-fifteen this evening.
