Rapture in Death (22 page)

“On me? No, he didn’t. Get genuine here, Dallas, this is too Frankenstein. Jess isn’t a mad scientist. He’s a musician.”

“He’s an engineer, a musicologist, and a prick.” Eve took a deep breath, then related as much as she felt was necessary. As she spoke, Mavis’s tears dried up, hardening her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered once, then thinned.

“He used me to get to you, to get to Roarke. I was just a spring. Then once I’d bounced him to you, he fucked with your mind.”

“This is not your fault. Stop it,” Eve ordered when Mavis’s eyes started to shimmer again. “I mean it. I’m tired, I’m pressed, and my head is about to explode. I don’t need this soggy routine from you right now. It’s not your fault. You were used, and so was I. He was hoping for Roarke’s backing on his project. It doesn’t make me less of a cop or you less of a performer. You’re good, and you got better. He knew you could, and that’s why he used you. He’s too damn arrogant about his talent to have linked himself up with a dud. He wanted somebody who could shine. And you did.”

Mavis swiped a hand under her nose. “Really?”

It was that one word delivered with such shaky hope that made Eve realize how far Mavis’s ego had sunk. “Yeah, really. You were great, Mavis. That’s solid.”

“Okay.” She wiped at her eyes. “I guess my feelings got hurt when you didn’t hang for the act. Leonardo said I was being silly. You wouldn’t have split if you hadn’t had to split.” She took a long breath that lifted her thin shoulders, then dropped them again. “Then Jess, when he called, he laid all this stuff on me. I shouldn’t have bought into it.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll smooth out the rest later. I’m pressed here, Mavis. I don’t have much time to wrap this up.”

“You think he killed people?”

“I have to find out.” She looked over at the knock on her door. Peabody stepped in, hesitated.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. Should I wait outside?”

“No, I’m going.” Mavis sniffled, rose, sent Eve a watery smile. “Sorry about the flood and everything.”

“We’ll mop it up. I’ll talk to you when I can. Don’t worry about this.”

Mavis nodded, and her lowered lashes concealed the quick flare in her eyes. She intended to do more than worry.

“Everything all right here, Lieutenant?” Peabody asked when Mavis left them alone.

“Actually, Peabody, everything’s fucked.” Eve sat, tried to drill holes in her temples with her fingers to release the pressure. “Mira doesn’t think our boy has the personality profile for murder. I’ve insulted her because I’m going for another consultant. Nadine Furst is sniffing too close to the center, and I’ve just broken Mavis’s heart and shattered her ego.

Peabody waited a beat. “Well, other than that, how are things?”

“Cute.” But it did prod a reluctant smile. “Damn, give me a nice clear murder any day over this physiological crap.”

“Those were the good old days, all right.” Peabody shifted to make room as Feeney stepped in. “Well, the gang’s all here.”

“Let’s get to work. Status?” Eve asked Feeney.

“Sweepers found more discs at the suspect’s studio. So far, no matches on victims. He kept a log of his work.” Uncomfortable, Feeney shifted. Jess had been very explicit in his speculations on results, including the sexual nudge he’d given Eve and Roarke. “He names names, times, ah, suggestions. There’s no mention of any of the four dead. I’ve been through his communications system. No transmissions to or from any of the victims.”

“Well, that’s dandy.”

Feeney shifted his feet again, and his color fluctuated into a blush. “I’ve sealed the work log for your eyes only.”

Her brows knit. “Why?”

“He, ah, talks about you a lot. On a personal level.” He focused his eyes an inch over Eve’s head. “Again, he’s very explicit in his speculations.”

“Yeah, he made it clear he was overly interested in my head.”

“He isn’t just interested in that part of your anatomy.” Feeney puffed out his cheeks, blew the air out. “He considered it would be an entertaining experiment to attempt to ah…”

“What?”

“Influence your behavior toward him… in a sexual manner.”

Eve let out a snort. It wasn’t just the words, but Feeney’s stiffly formal delivery. “He figured he could use his toy to get me into the sack? Great. We can lay another charge on him. Intent to sexually molest.”

“Did he say anything about me?” Peabody wanted to know and received a glare from Eve.

“That’s sick, Officer.”

“Just wondering.”

“We’re adding to his cage time,” Eve continued, “but we’re not pinning him on the big one. And Mira’s profile is going to work against us.”

“Lieutenant.” Peabody sucked in her breath and took the chance. “Have you considered that she’s right? That’s he’s not responsible?”

“Yeah, I have. And that scares the hell out of me. If she’s right, there’s someone else out there with a brain toy, and we’re not even close. So we all better hope we’ve got our man safely locked away.”

“Speaking of our man,” Feeney broke in. “You better know he’s lawyered himself.”

“I figured he would. Anybody we know?”

“Leanore Bastwick.”

“Well, hell. Small world.”

“She wants to make points off of you, Dallas.” Feeney took out his bag of nuts, offered them to Peabody. “She’s raring to go. Wants to set up a media conference. Word is she took him on pro bono, just for the shot at you, and the media coverage this will get once it hits.”

“She can take her shot. We can block the press conference for twenty-four hours. We’d better solidify before then.”

“I pulled a thread loose,” Peabody told her. “It might unravel more with some tugging. Mathias did indeed attend MIT for two semesters. Unfortunately, his term there was three years after Jess did his at-home degree, but Jess used his alumni status to access data from their files. He also taught an E-class elective on musicology, which the university uploaded into their library curriculum. Mathias took the course during his last semester.”

Eve felt a quick power surge. “That’s something to tug on. Good work. It connects, finally. And maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place. Pearly was the first known victim. What if he’s the one who was connected with the others? It could be as simple as their common interest in electronic games.”

“We looked there already.”

“So look again,” she told Peabody. “And look deeper. Not all the clubs and loops are above ground. If Mathias was used to help develop the system, he might have bragged about it. Those hobby hackers use all kinds of compu-names. Can you find his?”

“Eventually,” Feeney agreed.

“You can contact Jack Carter. He was his roommate on Olympus. Maybe he can give you a boost on them. Peabody, contact Devane’s son, see what you can shake out of him on this angle. I’ll work on the Fitzhugh angle.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll make a stop first. Maybe I can cut through some of the layers.” She felt she was back to square one, looking for the connection. There had to be one, and she was going to have to involve Roarke to find it. She called him from her car ‘link.

“Well, hello, Lieutenant. How was your nap?”

“Too short and too long ago. How long are you going to be in midtown?”

“Another few hours at any rate. Why?”

“I’m coming by. Now. Can you squeeze me in?”

He smiled. “Always.”

“It’s business,” she said, and cut him off before she could smile back. Daring her auto-drive, she programmed destination, then used her ‘link again. “Nadine.”

Nadine angled her head, shot Eve a cold look. “Lieutenant.”

“Nine a.m., my office.”

“Should I bring a lawyer?”

“Bring your recorder. I’ll give you a jump on tomorrow’s press conference re Jess Barrow.”

“What press conference?” The image and voice quality sharpened as Nadine went immediately to private, dragging headphones over her hair. “There’s nothing on schedule.”

“There will be. You want that jump, and you want the official report from the primary, be there at nine.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Senator Pearly. Get me everything. Not the official data, the quiet stuff. His hobbies, playgrounds. His underground connections.”

“Pearly was clean as a church choir.”

“You don’t have to be dirty to play underground, you just have to be curious.”

“And what makes you think I can get private data on a government official?”

“Because you’re you, Nadine. Feed the data to my home unit, and I’ll see you at nine hundred hours. You’ll beat the pack by two hours easy. Think of those ratings.”

“I’m thinking. Deal,” she snapped and signed off.

When Eve was able to glide smoothly into the parking facility at Roarke’s midtown office, she began to think more kindly toward vehicle maintenance. Her VIP space was waiting, locking its security shield the moment she shut down.

The elevator accepted her palm print and zoomed her up to the top floor in a quiet, dignified ride.

She’d never get used to it.

Roarke’s personal assistant beamed at her, welcomed her home, welcomed her in, and escorted her through the plush outer offices, down the streamlined corridor, and into the elegant efficiency of Roarke’s private office.

But he wasn’t alone.

“Sorry.” She struggled not to frown at Reeanna and William. “I’m interrupting.”

“Not at all.” Roarke walked over, kissed her lightly. “We’re just finishing up.”

“Your husband’s quite the slave driver.” William held out a hand to shake Eve’s warmly. “If you hadn’t come along, Reeanna and I would have to do without our dinner.”

“That’s William.” Reeanna laughed. “He’s either thinking of electronics or his stomach.”

“Or you. Can you join us?” he asked Eve. “I thought we’d try the French place on the skyline level.”

“Cops never eat.” Eve tried to adjust herself to the easy social tone. “But thanks.”

“You need regular fuel to help the healing process.” Reeanna narrowed her eyes for a quick, professional survey. “Any pain?”

“Not much. I appreciate the personal service. And I wonder if I could speak to you for a few minutes on an official matter — if you have time after your meal.”

“Of course.” Curiosity flitted over her face. “Could I ask what it’s about?”

“The possibility of doing a consult on a case I’m working on. If you’re agreeable, I’d need to do it tomorrow, early.”

“A consult on an actual human being? I’m there.”

“Reeanna’s weary of machines,” William put in. “She’s been making noises for weeks about going back into private practice.”

“VR, holograms, autotronics.” She rolled her beautiful eyes. “I long for flesh and blood. Roarke has us set up on the thirty-second level, west wing. I should be able to nudge William through a meal in an hour. Just meet me there.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Roarke,” Reeanna continued as she and William started toward the door. “We’d love to have that personal take on the new unit as soon as you can manage it.”

“And she calls me a slave driver. Tonight, before I leave.”

“Wonderful. Later, Eve.”

“Food, Reeanna. I’m dreaming of coquille St. Jacques.” William was laughing as he pulled her out of the door.

“I didn’t mean to break up your meeting,” Eve began.

“You didn’t. And you’ve given me a breather before I have to dig into a mountain of status reports. I’ve had all the data on that VR unit you’re concerned about transmitted. I’ve skimmed the surface, but I’ve found nothing out of line so far.”

“That’s something.” She’d rest easier once she could eliminate that angle.

“William would be able to spot any problem quicker,” he added. “But as he and Ree were in on the development, I didn’t think you’d care to pass it by him.”

“No. Let’s keep it close.”

“Reeanna was concerned about you. So am I.”

“She gave me a going-over. She’s good.”

“Yes, she is.” Still, he tipped Eve’s face back with a fingertip. “You’ve got a headache.”

“What’s the point of illegal brain scans when you can already see into my head?” She closed her hand over his wrist before he could drop his arm. “I can’t see into yours. It’s annoying.”

“I know.” His lips curved as he pressed them to her brow. “I love you. Ridiculously.”

“I didn’t come here for this,” she murmured when his arms wound around her.

“Take a minute anyway. I need it.” He could feel the outline of the diamond around her neck, one she had worn first reluctantly, and now habitually. “That’ll do it.” He eased her back, pleased that she’d held on another moment. She so rarely held on. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

“Peabody dug up a thin connection between Barrow and Mathias. I want to see if I can tighten it. How much trouble would it be to access underground transmissions, using MIT’s on-line services as a starting point?”

His eyes lighted. “I love a challenge.” He moved around the desk, engaged his unit, then slid open a hidden panel under it, flicked a switch manually.

“What’s that?” Her teeth went on edge. “Is that a block system? Did you just tune out Compuguard?”

“That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?” he said cheerfully. He reached over his shoulder to pat her hand. “Don’t ask the question, Lieutenant, if you don’t want to hear the answer. Now, what time period are you interested in, particularly?”

Scowling, she dug out her log, read off the dates of Mathias’s attendance at MIT. “I’m looking for Mathias specifically. I don’t know what line names he used yet. Feeney’s getting them.”

“Oh, I think I can find them for you. Why don’t you see about ordering us a meal? No reason to go hungry.”

“Coquille St. Jacques?” she said dryly.

“Steak. Rare.” He slid out a keyboard and began to work manually.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Eve ate standing up, breathing down Roarke’s neck. When he’d had enough of that, he simply reached around and pinched her.

“Back off.”

“I’m just trying to see.” But she backed off. “You’ve been at it a half hour.”

He imagined, with the equipment available at Cop Central, even Feeney would have taken twice as long to get to that same point. “Darling Eve,” he said, then sighed when she only frowned at him. “There are layers here, Lieutenant. Layers over layers. That’s why they call it underground. I’ve located two of the coded names our young, doomed autotonics ace used. There’ll be more. Still, it takes some doing to unscramble transmissions.”

He turned the machine on auto so he could enjoy his own dinner.

“It’s all just games, isn’t it?” Eve shifted so she could see the screen run with figures and odd symbols as it worked. “Just grown-up kids playing games. Secret societies. Hell, they’re just high-tech clubhouses.”

“More or less. Most of us enjoy diversions, Eve. Games, fantasies, the anonymity of a computer mask so we can pretend we’re someone else for a time.”

Games, she thought again. Maybe it all boiled down to games, and she just hadn’t looked closely enough at the rules and players. “What’s wrong with being who you are?”

“It’s not enough for everyone. And this sort of thing attracts the lonely and the egocentric.”

“And fanatics.”

“Certainly. E-services, particularly underground ones, provide the fanatic with an open forum.” He cocked a brow, cut neatly into his steak. “They also provide a service — educational for that matter — informative, intellectual. And can be perfectly harmless entertainment. They’re legal,” he reminded her. “Even the underground ones aren’t closely regulated. And that stems mainly from the fact that it’s nearly impossible to do so. And cost prohibitive.”

“EDD keeps a line on them.”

“To some extent. Look here.” He swung back, tapped out a few keys, and had a display sliding onto one of the wall screens. “See that? It’s nothing more than a somewhat amusing diatribe about a new version of Camelot. A multiuser role playing program, hologram optional,” he explained. “Everyone wants to be king. And there.” He gestured to another screen. “A very straightforward advertisement for a partner in Erotica, a sexual fantasy VR program, dual remote controls mandatory.” He grinned at her knitted brow. “One of my companies manufactures it. It’s quite popular.”

“I bet.” She didn’t ask if he’d tried it out himself. Some data she didn’t need. “I don’t get it. You can rent a licensed companion, probably cheaper than the cost of that program. You get sex in the flesh. Why do you need this?”

“Fantasy, darling. Having control or abdicating it. And you can run the program over and over, with nearly unlimited variations. It’s mood again, and mind. All fantasies are mood and mind.”

“Even the fatal ones,” she said slowly. “Isn’t that what this is all about? Having control. Ultimate control over someone else’s mood and mind. They don’t even know they’re playing the game. That’s the big kick. You’d need a huge ego and no conscience. Mira says Jess doesn’t fit.”

“Ah. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

She flicked a look down at him. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“He’s what, in my alley days in Dublin, we would have called a fug — cross between a fuck and a pug. Lots of mouth and no balls. I never met a fug who could draw blood without whining.”

She cleaned the steak off her plate and set it aside. “It seems to me that killing in this manner is bloodless. Cowardly. Fuglike.”

He grinned at that. “Well put, but fugs don’t kill, they just talk.”

She hated that she was beginning to agree and had muscled her way down what looked like a dead end with Jess Barrow. “I’ve got to have more. How much longer do you figure?”

“Until I’m through. You can keep yourself occupied with the data on the VR unit.”

“I’ll come back to it. I’m going to go down to Reeanna’s office. I can just leave her a memo about Jess if she’s not back from dinner.”

“Fine.” He didn’t try to dissuade her. She had to move, he knew. To take some action. “Will you come back up when you’re done, or will I meet you at home?”

“I don’t know.” He looked perfect there, she thought, sitting in his snazzy office, manipulating controls. Maybe everyone wanted to be king, she mused, but Roarke was content being Roarke.

His gaze shifted to hers, held. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“You’re exactly what you want to be. That’s a pretty good deal.”

“Most of the time. And so are you what you want to be.”

“Most of the time,” she murmured. “I’ll check in with Feeney and Peabody after I meet with Reeanna. See if anything’s come loose. Thanks for dinner — and the compu-time.”

“You can pay me back.” He took her hand, rose. “I want, very much, to make love with you tonight.”

“You don’t have to ask.” Flustered, she moved her shoulders. “We got married and everything.”

“Let’s say asking is part of the fantasy.” He moved in, just a little; touched his lips to hers, just a whisper. “Let me woo you tonight, darling Eve. Let me surprise you. Let me… seduce you.” He laid a hand on her heart, felt the hard, thick beat of it. “There,” he murmured. “I’ve already started.”

Her knees were quivering. “Thanks. That’s just what I need to keep my mind focused on my work.”

“Two hours.” This time he lingered over the kiss. “Then let’s take something for ourselves.”

“I’ll try.” She stepped back while she was sure she still could, walked quickly toward the door. Then she turned back, just looked at him. “Two hours,” she told him. “Then you can finish what you started.”

She heard him laugh as she closed the door and hurried toward the elevator. “Thirty-nine, west,” she ordered, then found herself smiling.

Yes, they’d take something for themselves, she decided. Something Jess and his nasty little toy had tried to steal from them.

Then she stopped, and her smile faded. Was that the problem here? she wondered. Was she so focused on that — on a kind of personal retribution — that she was missing something bigger? Or smaller?

If Mira was right, and Roarke with his fug theory was on the mark, then she was off. It was time, she admitted, to pull back a bit. Refocus.

It was a tech crime, she mused. But tech crimes still require the human element: motive, emotion, greed, hate, jealousy, and power. Which of those — or which combination of those — was at the core of this? She could see both greed and a hunger for power in Jess. But would he kill for them?

Steely minded, she replayed his reaction to the morgue shots in her mind. Would a man who had caused that to happen, had directed it to happen, react with such violent distress when faced with the results?

Not impossible, she decided. But it didn’t fit her image of the hand on the button.

He enjoyed seeing the results of his work, she remembered. He liked to snicker over them and note them down in his log. Did he have another log, one the sweepers missed? She’d have to take a trip through his studio herself.

Deep in thought, she stepped out on thirty-nine, scanned the shielded glass walls of a lab. It was quiet here, security in full swing as indicated by the cameras in full view, the warning red beep of motion detectors. If there were any drones still at work, they were behind closed doors.

She placed her palm on a plate, received verification, answered the request for voice print by giving her name, then requested the location of Reeanna’s office.

You are cleared for top level, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Proceed left through breezeway, then right at termination. Dr. Ott’s office is five meters beyond this point. It will not be necessary to repeat this procedure to gain entry. You are cleared.

She wondered if Roarke or Reeanna had cleared her through and followed the directions. The breezeway impressed her, offering a full view of the city on all sides. She could look between her own feet and see the life bustling on the street below. The music piped in was energetic, and made her think sourly of some musicologist’s idea of fueling drones with enthusiasm for their work. Wasn’t that just one more kind of mind control?

She passed a door bearing an imprint that identified it as William’s. A game master, she thought. It might be helpful to get his input, pick his brain, jiggle a few hypotheses out of him. She knocked, watched his recorder light beep red for locked.

I’m sorry, William Shaffer is not currently in his office. Please leave your name and any message. He will respond as soon as possible.

“It’s Dallas. Look, William, if you’ve got a couple minutes when you finish dinner, I’ve got something I’d like to run by you. I’m going to drop by Reeanna’s office now. I’ll leave a memo if she’s not there. I’ll be in the building or at home later if you’ve got time to talk to me.”

As she turned away, she glanced at her watch. How long did it take to eat, for God’s sake? You picked up food, put it in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

She found Reeanna’s office, knocked. She hesitated for less than five seconds when the recorder light beeped green, then slid the door open. If Reeanna didn’t want her inside, she’d have kept it locked, Eve decided, and indulged herself in a thorough study.

It looked like Reeanna, she decided. Polished to a bright sheen, underlying sexual tones in the slashes of fiery red in the laser art against cool white walls.

The desk faced the window to provide Reeanna with a constant view of the busy sky traffic.

The sitting area was plush with a deeply cushioned body-form lounger that still held the imprint of its last occupant. Reeanna’s curves were impressive, even in silhouette. The clear Plasticide table was hard as stone and was intricately carved with diamond patterns that caught and refracted the light from an arched-neck lamp with a rose-toned shade.

Eve picked up the VR goggles laid on it, saw they were indeed Roarke’s latest model, and set them down again. They still made her uncomfortable.

Turning away, she studied the workstation across the room. Nothing soft or feminine about that area, she noted. It was all business. Slick white counter, muscle flexing equipment even now hard at work. She heard the low hum of a computer on auto, frowned at the symbols flickering on the monitor. They looked similar to what she’d tried to decipher from Roarke’s screen.

But then, computer codes all looked the same to her.

Curious, she walked over to the desk, but nothing interesting had been left out to examine. A silver pen, a pair of pretty gold earrings, a hologram of William wearing a flight suit and grinning youthfully. A short printout, again in that baffling computer code.

Eve sat on the edge of the desk. She didn’t want to fit her wiry build into the imprint left by Reeanna’s. Pulling out her communicator, she tagged Peabody.

“Anything?”

“Devane’s son is willing to cooperate. He’s aware of the interest she had in games, particularly role playing. It wasn’t an interest he shared, but he claims he knows one of her usual partners. He dated her for a short time. I’ve got her name. She lives right here in New York. I have the data. Should I transmit?”

“I think you can handle an interview solo. Arrange a meet, bring her in only if she refuses to cooperate. Report back.”

“Yes, sir.” Peabody’s voice remained sober, but her eyes lighted with the assignment. “I’m on my way.”

Satisfied, Eve tried for Feeney, hit his frequency occupied recording. She had to settle for leaving a request for contact.

The door opened. Reeanna stopped her rush inside when she spotted Eve at her desk. “Oh, Eve. I didn’t expect you quite yet.”

“Time’s part of my problem.”

“I see.” She smiled, let the door shut. “I suppose Roarke cleared you in.”

“I guess he did. Problem?”

“No, no.” Reeanna waved her hand. “I’m distracted, I suppose. William went on endlessly about some glitches he’s concerned about. I left him brooding over his creme brulee.” She flicked a glance toward her humming computer. “The work never stops around here. R and D’s a twenty-four/seven proposition.” She smiled. “Like police work, I imagine. Well, I didn’t take time for brandy. Would you like some?”

“No, thanks. On duty.”

“Coffee then.” Reeanna moved over to a counter, requested a snifter of brandy, a cup of black coffee. “You’ll have to excuse my lack of focus. We’re a little behind schedule today. Roarke needed data on the new VR model, and he wanted it from conception to implementation.”

“That was yours. I didn’t realize that until he mentioned it just now.”

“Oh, William’s mostly. Though I had a small part. Now.” She handed Eve the coffee, then took her brandy around the desk to sit. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m hoping you’ll agree to that consult. The subject is currently in custody, now lawyered, but I don’t think we’ll be blocked there. I need a profile, angling from your particular area of expertise.”

“Genetic branding.” Reeanna tapped her fingers. “Interesting. What are the charges?”

“I’m not free to discuss that until I have your agreement and clear the session with my commander. Once that’s done, I’d like the testing scheduled for seven hundred.”

“Seven a.m.?” Reeanna winced. “Ouch. And here I’m a night owl rather than a lark. You want me up and running at that hour, give me some incentive.” She smiled a little. “I can assume you’ve already had Mira test your subject — and the results weren’t to your liking.”

“Second opinions aren’t unusual.” It was a defensive answer. She felt defensive. And, Eve realized, she felt guilty.

“No, but Dr. Mira’s reports are sterling, and they’re very rarely questioned. You want him badly.”

“I want the truth badly. To find it, I have to separate theory and lies and deceptions.” She pushed off the desk. “Look, I thought you were interested in doing this sort of thing.”

“I am, very. But I like to know what I’m dealing with. I’d need the subject’s brain scan.”

“I’ve got it. In evidence.”

“Really?” Her eyes gleamed, catlike. “It’s also important to have all available data on his biological parents. Are they known?”

“We accessed that data for Dr. Mira’s test. It’ll be available to you.”