Immortal in Death (38 page)

“What are you thinking, Eve?”

She lifted her gaze to Casto’s. “That she had help. That somebody wanted her to get to it.”

“You think one of the staff led her down there so she could help herself?”

“It’s a possibility.” Eve shrugged off the doubt in Casto’s voice. “A bribe, a promise, a fan. And when we go through everyone’s records, we might hit on something that indicates a weak link. In the meantime — ” She broke off as her communicator sounded. “Dallas.”

“Lobar, sweeper. We found something interesting in the disposal hold down here, Lieutenant. It’s a master code, and its got Fitzgerald’s prints all over it.”

“Bag it, Lobar. I’ll be down shortly.”

“That explains a lot,” Casto began. The transmission perked up his appetite enough for him to dig into the pasta again. “Somebody helped her, like you said. Or she copped it from one of the nurses’ stations during the confusion.”

“Clever girl,” Eve murmured. “Very clever girl. Times it all like clockwork, goes down, unkeys what she wants, then takes the additional time to ditch the master. She sure was thinking clearly, wasn’t she?”

Peabody drummed her fingers on the table. “If she took a hit of the Immortality first — and it seems likely she would, it probably jolted her back on full. She probably realized she could be caught there, with the master. If she ditched it, she could claim she’d wandered off, that she was confused.”

“Yeah.” Casto flashed her a smile. “That works for me.”

“Then why stay?” Eve demanded. “She’d had her fix. Why didn’t she make a run for it?”

“Eve.” Casto’s voice was quiet, sober, as were his eyes. “There’s a possibility we haven’t touched on here. Maybe she wanted to die.”

“A deliberate OD?” She had thought of it, didn’t like what it did to her stomach muscles. Guilt descended like a clammy mist. “Why?”

Understanding her reaction, he laid a hand briefly over hers. “She was trapped. You had her. She had to know she was going to spend the rest of her life in a cage — in a cage,” he added, “with no access to the drug. She’d have gotten old, lost her looks, lost everything that mattered most to her. It was a way out, a way to die young and beautiful.”

“Suicide.” Peabody picked up the threads and wove them. “The combination she took was lethal. If she was clearheaded enough to get into the hold, she would have been clear-headed enough to know that. Why face the scandal, imprisonment, another withdrawal if you could go out quick and clean?”

“I’ve seen it happen,” Casto added. “In my line, it’s not unusual. People can’t live with the drug, can’t live without it. So they take themselves out with it.”

“No note,” Eve said stubbornly. “No message.”

“She was despondent, Eve. And like you said, desperate.” Casto toyed with his coffee. “If it was an impulse, something she felt she had to do and do quick, she might not have wanted to think long enough to leave a message. Eve, nobody forced her. There’s no sign of violence or struggle on the body. It was self-induced. It may have been an accident, it may have been deliberate. You’re not likely to fully determine which.”

“It doesn’t close the homicides. No way she acted alone.”

Casto exchanged a look with Peabody. “Maybe not. But the fact is that the influence of the drug may explain that she did just that. You can hammer away at Redford and Young for a while. Christ knows, neither one of them should get off clean in this. But you’re going to have to close this thing sooner or later. It’s done.” He set his cup down. “Give yourself a break.”

“Well, this is cozy.” Justin Young stepped up to the table. His eyes, hollow and red-rimmed, fastened on Eve. “Nothing spoils your appetite, does it, you bitch?”

As Casto started to rise, Eve lifted a finger, signaling him down. She shoved pity aside. “Your lawyers manage to spring you, Justin?”

“That’s right, all it took was Jerry dying to push them into granting bail. My lawyer tells me that with these latest developments — that’s just how the fucker phrased it — with these latest developments, the case is all but closed. Jerry’s a multiple murderer, a drug addict, a dead woman, and I’m all but in the clear. Handy, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Eve said evenly.

“You killed her.” He leaned forward on the table, the slap of his hands rattling cutlery. “You might as well have rammed a knife in her throat. She needed help, understanding, a little compassion. But you kept hacking away at her until she fell to pieces. Now she’s dead. Do you understand that?” Tears began to swim in his eyes. “She’s dead and you get a nice big star next to your name. Bagged yourself a mad killer. But I’ve got news for you, Lieutenant. Jerry never killed anyone. But you did. This isn’t over.” He swept an arm across the table, sending dishes to the floor in a mess of broken crockery and spilled food. “No way in hell is this over.”

She let out a long breath as he walked away. “No, I guess it’s not.”

She’d never known a week to move so fast. And she felt brutally alone. Everyone considered the case closed, including the PA’s office and her own commander. Jerry Fitzgerald’s body was reduced to ashes, her final interview logged.

The media went into its usual frenzy. Top level model’s secret life. The killer beneath the perfect face. Quest for immortality leaves a trail of death.

She had other cases, certainly had other obligations, but she spent every free minute reviewing the case, picking through evidence, and trying out new theories until even Peabody told her to give it up.

She tried to juggle the few little details on the wedding Roarke had asked her to see to. But what the hell did she know about caterers, wine selections, and seating charts? In the end, she swallowed her pride and dumped the whole mess on a sneering Summerset.

And was told, in didactic tones, that a wife of a man in Roarke’s position would have to learn basic social skills.

She told him to shove it, and they both went off, well satisfied to do what they did best. Under it all, Eve was almost afraid they were beginning to like each other.

Roarke wandered from his office into Eve’s. And shook his head. They would be married the next day. In less than twenty hours. Was the bride-to-be fussing with her wedding gown, bathing herself in fragrant oils and perfumes, daydreaming about her life to come?

No, she was hunched over her computer, muttering at it, her hair tousled from constant raking with her fingers. There was a stain on her shirt where she’d spilled coffee. A plate holding what might have once been a sandwich had been set on the floor. Even the cat avoided it.

He walked up behind her, saw, as he had expected to see, the Fitzgerald file on screen.

Her tenacity fascinated him, and yes, allured him. He wondered if she had allowed anyone else to see that she suffered over Fitzgerald’s death. If she’d been able, she would have hidden it even from him.

He knew the guilt was there, and the pity. And the duty. All would push her, chain a part of her to the case. It was one of the reasons he loved her, that huge capacity for emotion strapped into a logical, restless mind.

He started to bend down to kiss the crown of her head just as she lifted it. They both swore when her head connected hard with his jaw.

“Christ Jesus.” Torn between amusement and pain, Roarke dabbed at the blood on his lip. “You make romance a dangerous business.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up behind me that way.” Frowning, she rubbed the top of her head. It was just one more spot to throb. “I thought you and Feeney and a few of your hedonistic friends were going out to rape and pillage.”

“A bachelor’s party is not a Viking invasion. I have some time yet before the barbarism begins.” He sat down on the corner of her desk and studied her. “Eve, you need a break from this.”

“I’m going to be taking a three-week one, aren’t I?” she hissed as he only lifted his brows patiently. “Sorry, I’m being bitchy. I can’t get past this, Roarke. I’ve put it aside a half dozen times this past week, but I keep coming back.”

“Say it aloud. Sometimes it’s helpful.”

“Okay.” She shoved back from the desk, narrowly missed stepping on the cat. “She could have gone to the club. Some of the fancy people slum at that kind of place.”

“Pandora did.”

“Exactly. And they did run with the same basic crowd. So yeah, she could have gone to the club, she could have seen Boomer there. She might even have had a contact tell her he was in. This is all supposing that she knew him, which is not firmly established. And was working with him, or through him. She sees him there, realizing he’s mouthing off. He’s a loose end, someone who’s outlived his usefulness and is now a liability.”

“So far that’s logical.”

She nodded, but didn’t stop pacing. “Okay, he spots her after he comes out of the privacy room with Hetta Moppett. Jerry has to worry now what he’s said. He could have bragged, even puffed up his own connection to impress the woman. Boomer’s smart enough to know he’s in trouble, takes off, goes underground. Hetta’s the first victim. She’s got to go because she might know something. She’s taken out quick, brutally, so it looks like a random rage hit. Her ID’s taken. That means it’ll take longer to trace her, connect her with the club and Boomer. If anyone cared to connect her, which was unlikely.”

“Except they didn’t count on you.”

“There’s that. Boomer’s got a sample, he’s got the formula. He had quick hands when he wanted them, and a skill for larceny. Judgment wasn’t his strong suit. Maybe he pressed for more money, a larger cut of the whole. But he was good at his job. Nobody knew he was a weasel but a handful of people connected to NYPSD.”

“And those who did wouldn’t have known how seriously and personally you take a partnership.” He cocked his head. “Under most circumstances, I’d say his death would have been chalked off to a soured drug deal, a revenge hit by one of his associates, and left at that.”

“True enough, but Jerry didn’t move quick enough. We found the stuff at Boomer’s, started to work on that angle. At the same time, I get a first-hand look at Pandora at work. You know the story there, and you’ve heard the rundown on the circumstances on the night of her death. Pinning Mavis with the crime was a stroke of luck, good and bad. It gave Jerry time, presented her with a convenient scapegoat.”

“A scapegoat who just happened to be near and dear to the primary’s heart.”

“That’s the bad luck. How many times am I going to walk into a case and know the most likely suspect is absolutely innocent? Despite all the evidence, despite everything? It’s just not going to happen.”

“I don’t know. It did with me a few months ago.”

“I didn’t know, I felt. After awhile, I knew.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, ripped them out again. “With Mavis I knew, from the get go, I knew. So I approached the entire case from a different angle. Now I see three potential suspects, all, as it turns out, with motive, with opportunity, and with means. One of those suspects, I begin to believe, is addicted to the very drug that started the ball rolling. Just when you think it’s safe to start assuming, a dealer on the East End is taken out. Same MO. Why? That’s a sticking point, Roarke, one I can’t clean up. They didn’t need Cockroach. The odds of Boomer trusting him with any data on this are so long they reach through the stratosphere. But he’s taken out, and there are traces of the drug in his system.”

“A ploy.” Roarke took out a cigarette and lighted it. “A distraction.”

For the first time in hours, she grinned. “That’s what I like, about you. Your criminal mind. Toss in a red herring to confuse the issue. Leave the cops straining to find a logical connection with Cockroach. In the meantime, Redford’s manufacturing a variety of Immortality on his own, he’s given it to Jerry. Along with a hefty fee. But he got that back by bleeding her for every bottle of it from then on. A smart businessman, he’s gone to the trouble, taken the risk of procuring a specimen from the Eden Colony.”

“Two,” Roarke said and had the pleasure of seeing that intense face go blank.

“Two what?”

“He ordered two. I swung by Eden on my way back on planet, had a talk with Engrave’s daughter. I asked if she could find the time to do some cross-checking. Redford ordered his first specimen nine months ago, using another name and a forged license. But the ID numbers are the same. He had it shipped to a florist on Vegas II, one with a dubious reputation for dealing in contraband flora.” He paused to tap his ash into a marble bowl. “I’d say it was sent from there to a lab, where the nectar was distilled.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’m telling you now. It was just confirmed five minutes ago. You can probably contact security on Vegas II and have the florist questioned.”

She was swearing as she pounded to her ‘link, gave orders for just that.

“Even if they crack him, it’ll take weeks to cut through the bureaucracy and have him transported on planet so I can have a go at him.” But she rubbed her hands together, anticipating it. “You might have mentioned you were doing this.”

“If it came to nothing, you wouldn’t be disappointed. Instead, you have to be grateful.” His eyes sobered. “Eve, this doesn’t change the situation overmuch.”

“It means Redford was working on his own longer than he wanted us to know about. It means — ” She broke off and dropped into a chair. “I know she could have done it, Roarke. On her own. She could slip out of Young’s apartment without detection. She could have left him sleeping, come back, cleaned up. Every fucking time. Or he could have known. He’d go to the wall for her, and he’s an actor. He’d toss Redford to the wolves in a heartbeat, but not if it implicated Jerry.”