Immortal in Death (31 page)

“The prosecutor’s office is taking Dr. Mira’s report under advisement. Unofficially, I can tell you that unless other data come to light that disproves her analysis, the charges will be withdrawn on Monday.” He watched Eve block most of a shudder, approved her control. “The physical evidence is strong, but outweighed at this point by Mira’s report and the evidence gathered in the investigation of the allegedly connected deaths.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t clear her, Dallas, nor have you, but you’ve come damn close. Get the bastard, and soon.”

“I intend to.” Her communicator beeped. She waited for Whitney’s nod before she answered. “Dallas.”

“Got your damn rush order.” Dickie scowled at her. “Like I got nothing else to do.”

“Whine later. What have we got?”

“Your latest corpse had a nice ride on Immortality before he bought it. Just before, is my guess. Don’t think he had time to enjoy it.”

“Transmit the report to my office,” she said and cut him off before he could complain. She was smiling as she rose this time. “I have this thing I have to go to tonight, and I think I might be able to tie a few things up.”

Chaos, panic, and tattered nerves seemed to be as much a part of a high-fashion runway show as needle-thin models and glitzy fabrics. It was intriguing and amusing to watch the players assume their roles. The pouty-lipped mannequin who found fault with every accessory, the rabbit-paced dresser who wore glinting needles and pins in a tuft of her hair, the stylist who swept down on models like a soldier pumped for battle, and the hapless creator of all the glitz who stood by amid the swirl, wringing his huge hands.

“We’re running behind. We’re running behind. I need Lissa out in the cotton swirler in two minutes. The music’s on pace, but we’re running behind.”

“She’ll be there. Jesus, Leonardo, get a grip.”

It took Eve a moment to recognize the stylist. Trina’s hair was in sharp ebony spikes that could gouge an eye at three paces. But the voice gave her away, and Eve watched, letting herself be elbowed back by another frantic dresser as Trina glopped something that looked distressingly like come onto a streaked mane before squishing it into a smooth cone shape.

“What are you doing there?” A man with owl eyes and a knee-length cape bore down on Eve like a snapping terrier. “Get out of those clothes, for God’s sake. Don’t you know Hugo’s out front?”

“Who’s Hugo?”

The man made a sound like escaping gas and reached out to tug off Eve’s T-shirt.

“Hey, buddy, you want to keep those fingers?” She smacked them away and glowered at him.

“Get naked, get naked. We’re running out of time.”

Threats made no dent and he snatched at the snap of her jeans. She considered decking him, then pulled out her shield instead. “You can back off, or I can haul your ass in for assaulting an officer.”

“What are you doing here? We have our license. We paid our revenue. Leonardo, there’s a cop here. I simply can’t be expected to deal with police.”

“Dallas.” Mavis hurried over, varicolored fabric draped over her arm. “You’re really in the way here. Why aren’t you out front? Christ, why are you still dressed like that?”

“I didn’t have time to go back and change.” Absently Eve tugged at her stained shirt. “Are you all right? I didn’t know they’d rescheduled your tests, or I’d have been there.”

“I got through it. Dr. Mira was mag, but let’s just say I’m glad it’s over. I don’t want to talk about it,” she said quickly, and looked around the disordered and crowded space. “At least not now.”

“Okay. I want to see Jerry Fitzgerald.”

“Now? The show’s already started. It’s timed down to the last microsecond.” With the skill of a veteran, Mavis swayed out of the path of a pair of long-legged models. “She has to concentrate, Dallas. This pace is murder.” Cocking her head, she tuned into the music. “Her next cue is in less than four minutes.”

“Then I won’t keep her long. Where?”

“Dallas, Leonardo is — “

“Where, Mavis?”

“Back there.” Waving one frantic hand, she turned over one layer of fabric to a passing dresser. “In the star’s room.”

Eve managed to dodge, shift, and spin her way through the milling crowd to a door marked prominently with Jerry’s name. She didn’t bother to knock but pushed it open and saw the woman in question being squeezed into a gold lame tube.

“I’m not going to be able to breathe in this. A skeleton couldn’t breathe in this.”

“You shouldn’t have eaten that pate, dearie,” the dresser said implacably. “Just suck it in.”

“An interesting look,” Eve commented from the doorway. “Makes you look like a fairy wand.”

“It’s one of his retro shots. Early twentieth-century glamour. I can’t fucking move.”

Eve came closer, narrowed her eyes at Jerry’s face. “The cosmetician did a nice job. I can’t see any bruises.” And she would check with Trina to see if there’d been any bruises to cover. “I heard Justin Young gave you a couple of shots.”

“Bastard. Hitting me in the face before a big show.”

“I’d say he pulled his punch. What did you fight about, Jerry?”

“He thought he could diddle with some little chorus dancer. Not on my time.”

“Time’s the interesting factor, isn’t it? When did he start his diddling?”

“Listen, Lieutenant, I’m a little pressed here, and walking out on the runway with a scowl on my face is going to ruin the presentation. Let’s just say, Justin’s history.”

Despite her claims to the contrary, Jerry moved with quick agility through the door. Eve stayed where she was, listening to the burst of applause as Jerry made her entrance. In six minutes flat, she was back being peeled out of the gold lame.

“How’d you find out about it?”

“Trina. Hair, for God’s sake! Christ, you’re persistent. I got wind of it, that’s all. And when I called him on it, he denied it. But I could tell he was lying.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve considered liars as Jerry stood, arms out. Trina transformed her ebony swing of hair into a complicated twist of curls with a hand-held heater. Sheer white silk with rainbow trimming was slipped over her arms. “He didn’t stay in Maui long.”

“I don’t give a shit where he is.”

“He flew back to New York last night. I checked the shuttles. You know, Jerry, it’s odd. That timing thing again. Last time I saw you two, you were all but joined at the hip. You went with him to Pandora’s, went home with him that night. You were still there in the morning. The word I get is he accompanied you to your fittings, rehearsals. Doesn’t seem like he’d have much time to boff a chorus dancer.”

“Some men work fast.” She offered a hand so the dresser could clasp on a half dozen jangling bracelets.

“A public fight, plenty of witnesses, even some handy media coverage. You know, on the face of things, it makes your dual alibis hold more water. If I was the kind of cop to believe in the face of things.”

Jerry turned to the mirror to check the line of her costume. “What do you want, Dallas? I’m working here.”

“Me, too. Let me tell you how I see it, Jerry. You and your pal had a little deal going with Pandora. But she’s greedy. It looks like she’s going to screw you and your partners. A handy thing happens. Mavis comes in, there’s a fight. For a sharp woman like you, that could spark an idea.”

Jerry picked up a glass, knocked back the sparkling sapphire contents. “You’ve already got two suspects, Dallas. Who’s being greedy now?”

“Did the three of you discuss it? You, Justin, and Redford? You and Justin go off and solidify an alibi. Redford doesn’t. Maybe he’s not as smart. Maybe you were supposed to back him up, too, but you didn’t. He takes her to Leonardo’s. You’re waiting. Did things get out of hand then? Which one of you picked up the cane?”

“This is ludicrous. Justin and I were at his place. Security verifies that. If you want to accuse me of something, bring a warrant. Until then, back off.”

“Were you and Justin smart enough not to contact each other since the fight? I don’t think he’s got your control, Jerry. In fact, I’m banking on it. We’ll have the transmission records by morning.”

“So what if he called me? So what?” Jerry raced to the doorway as Eve strolled away. “It doesn’t prove anything. You’ve got nothing.”

“I’ve got another dead body.” Eve paused, looked back. “I don’t suppose either one of you are going to alibi each other for last night, are you?”

“Bitch.” Incensed, Jerry heaved the glass, catching a hapless dresser in the shoulder. “You’re not hanging anything on me. You’ve got nothing.”

As the noise and confusion of backstage rose to a new level, Mavis shut her eyes. “Oh, Dallas. How could you? Leonardo needs her for ten more changes.”

“She’ll do her job. She wants the spotlight too much not to. I’m going to find Roarke.”

“He’s out front,” Mavis said wearily as Leonardo rushed over to soothe his star. “Don’t go out there looking like that. Put this on. It’s already been run. Without the overdress and the scarves, no one will recognize it.”

“I’m just going to — “

“Please. It would mean a lot if you were wearing one of his designs out front. It’s a simple line, Dallas. And I’ll find some shoes that fit you somewhere.”

Fifteen minutes later, with her torn clothes stuffed in her bag, Eve spotted Roarke in the front row. He was applauding politely as a trio of large-breasted models jiggled wildly in transparent rompers.

“Great. Just what we want to see women wearing when they walk down Fifth.”

Roarke lifted a shoulder. “Actually, a great many of his designs are very attractive. And I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that number on the right.”

“Keep dreaming.” She crossed her legs and the flow of black satin over them whispered in response. “How long do we have to stay?”

“Until the bitter end. When did you buy this?” He ran a fingertip over the narrow straps draped over her biceps.

“I didn’t. Mavis made me put it on. It’s one of his without the frills.”

“Keep it. It suits you.”

She only grunted. Her torn jeans suited her mood a great deal better. “Ah, here comes the diva.”

Jerry glided out, and at each step of her dainty glass shoes, the runway exploded into color. Eve paid little attention to the billowing balloon skirt and sheer bodice that caused such a furor of approval from the attendees. She watched Jerry’s face, and only her face as fashion critics murmured busily into their recorders and dozens of buyers ordered frantically from their porta-links.

Jerry’s face was serene as she waved aside dozens of muscular young men who prostrated themselves in front of her. She sold the outfit with graceful twists and turns and clever choreography that had her stepping nimbly onto a pyramid of hard male bodies.

The crowd applauded. Jerry posed, then aimed icy blue eyes at Eve.

“Ouch,” Roarke murmured. “I’d say that was a direct hit. Is there something I should know?”

“She’d like to rip my face off,” Eve said mildly. “My mission has been a success.” Satisfied, she sat back and prepared to enjoy the rest of the show.

“Did you see? Dallas, did you see?” After a quick pirouette, Mavis threw her arms around Eve. “At the finale they actually stood up for him. Even Hugo.”

“Who the hell is Hugo?”

“He’s only the biggest name in the business. He co-sponsored the show, but that was with Pandora. If he’d pulled out — well, he didn’t, thanks to Jerry stepping in. Leonardo’s on his way. He can pay back his debts. The orders are already pouring in. He’ll have his own showroom now, and in a few months, there’ll be Leonardo’s everywhere.”

“That’s great then.”

“Everything’s working out.” Mavis fussed with her face in the mirror of the ladies’ lounge. “I have to find another gig, and I’ll wear his designs exclusively. Things are going to go back to the way they should be. They are, aren’t they, Dallas?”

“They’re heading that way. Mavis, did Leonardo go to Jerry Fitzgerald, or the other way around?”

“For the show? He went to her originally. Pandora suggested it.”

Wait, Eve thought, how did I miss this step? “Pandora wanted him to ask Jerry to model in his show?”

“It was just like her.” On impulse, Mavis took out a tube and removed her lip dye. She studied her naked mouth a moment, then chose a container of Berry Crush. “She knew Jerry wouldn’t play second lead, not to her, even though there was a lot of good buzz about the designs. So asking her was a kind of dig, you know. She could say yes, and take the backseat, or say no and miss being in one of the hottest shows of the season.”

“And she said no.”

“Made out like she had previous commitments. Saving face. But the minute Pandora was out of the picture, she called Leonardo and offered to fill in.”

“How much will she make?”

“For the show? She’ll get about a mil, but that’s nothing. The headliner gets to pick her fashions at a wholesaler’s discount, an endorsement fee for each wearing. Then there’s the media clause.”

“Which is?”

“Well, the big models get it to go on the fashion channels, the talk channels and all that. They get to pump up the designs and get paid for the appearances. Exposure and big bucks for the next six months, with an option to renew. She could rake in five, six mil plus bennies from this one appearance.”