The In Death Collection 06-10 (157 page)

“Very nearly a perfect murder.”

“There are no perfect murders. There are always mistakes, with the murder itself the biggest of them.”

“Spoken like a cop.”

“I am a cop. And I’m going back to work.”

She wiggled away, slid off the bed, and once again reached down for the dress.

“You put that red number back on, baby, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Simmer down. I’m not strolling around naked. You never know where Summerset’s skulking.” She began pulling the dress up and glanced around the room. “I guess we should clean up some.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks like we’ve—”

“Had a very enjoyable evening,” Roarke finished. “This may shock you, but Summerset knows we have sex.”

“Don’t mention his name and sex in the same sentence. Gives me the creeps. I’m going to grab a shower, then work awhile.”

“All right. I’ll join you.”

“Uh-uh. I’m not showering with you, ace. I know your games.”

“I won’t lay a hand on you.”

He didn’t say anything about his mouth.

“What do you do? Take a pill?”

Limber, refreshed, and utterly satisfied, Roarke buttoned his shirt. “You’re stimulation enough.”

“Apparently.”

He took her hand, led her to the elevator, requested her office.

The cat was stretched across her sleep chair and gave a twitch of his tail when they walked in.

“Coffee?” Roarke asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

The minute he turned toward the kitchen, Galahad leaped down and bolted into the room ahead of him. Eve heard the single demanding meow.

She sat at her desk, stared at her computer, tapped her fingers.

“Computer, Draco case file. Cross-reference task. Find and list any and all connections, professional, personal,
medical, financial, criminal, civil, between cast members.”

Working . . .

“I assumed you ran that already.”

She glanced over as Roarke came back with coffee. “I’m running it again, with a few added details.

“Computer, highlight any name with sealed files, all areas.”

That information requires authorization. Please submit same . . .

“Would you like me to get around that little hitch for you?”

She made a low sound, a definite warning. Roarke merely shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“Authorization Code Yellow, slash Dallas, slash five-oh-six. Request from Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, regarding double homicide. You are authorized to flag sealeds.”

Authorization correct. Sealeds will be flagged. Data contained in sealed files requires warrant, signed and dated, for access . . .

“Did I ask you to access the data? Just flag the damned sealeds.”

Working . . . Multitask process will require approximately eight minutes, thirty seconds . . .

“Then get started. And no,” she said to Roarke. “We’re not opening the sealeds.”

“My goodness, Lieutenant, I don’t believe I suggested anything of the kind.”

“You think you and McNab scammed me on that warrant today?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He eased a hip onto the desk. “I did give Ian some advice, but it was of a personal nature. Man talk.”

“Yeah, right.” She tipped back in her chair, eyed him over her coffee cup. “You and McNab sat around talking about women and sports.”

“I don’t believe we got to sports. He had a woman on his mind.”

Eve’s sneer vanished. “You talked to him about Peabody? Damn it, Roarke.”

“I could hardly slap him back. He’s so pitifully smitten.”

“Oh.” She winced. “Don’t use that word.”

“It fits. In fact, if he took my advice . . .” He turned his wrist, glanced at the unit fastened there. “They should be well into their first date by now.”

“Date? Date? Why did you do that? Why did you go and do something like that? Couldn’t you leave it alone? They’d have had sex until they burned out on it, and everything would go back to normal.”

He angled his head. “That didn’t work for us, did it?”

“We don’t work together.” Then, when his eyes brightened with pure amusement, she showed her teeth. “Officially. You start mixing cops and romance and case files and gooey looks at briefings, you’ve got nothing but a mess. Next thing you know, Peabody will be wearing lip dye and smelly girl stuff and dragging body skimmers under her uniform.”

She dropped her head in her hands. “Then they’ll have tiffs and misunderstandings that have nothing whatsoever to do with the job. They’ll come at me from both sides, and before you know it, they’ll be telling me things I absolutely do
not
want to know. And when they break it off and decide they hate each other down to the guts, I’ll have to hear about that, too, and why they can’t possibly work together, or breathe the same air, until I have no choice, absolutely no choice, but to kick both of their asses.”

“Eve, your sunny view on life never fails to lift my spirits.”

“And—” She poked him in the chest. “It’s all your fault.”

He grabbed her finger, nipped it, not so gently. “If that’s the case, I’m going to insist they name their first child after me.”

“Are you trying to make me crazy?”

“Well, darling, it’s so easy, I find it difficult to resist. Why don’t you put the entire matter out of your mind before it gives you a headache? Your data’s coming up.”

She shot him one fierce look, then turned to the screen.

Connections within connections, she thought as she scanned. Lives bumping up against lives. And every time they did, they left a little mark. Sometimes the mark was a bruise that never fully healed.

“Well, well, this didn’t come up before. Michael Proctor’s mother was an actress. She had a small part in a play. Twenty-four years ago.” Eve sat back. “And just look who was onstage with her. Draco, Stiles, Mansfield, Rothchild. That correlates to the trouble between Draco and Stiles. Where’s Anja Carvell?” she murmured.

“Perhaps she had, or has, a stage name.”

“Maybe. No sealeds on Proctor’s mother.” She ordered the computer to do a run on one Natalie Brooks.

“Interesting. This was her last performance. Retired, returned to place of birth. Omaha, Nebraska. Married the following year. Looks squeaky clean. Attractive,” she added when she ordered the computer to show her ID picture from twenty-four years before. “Young, got a fresh sort of look. Right up Draco’s alley.”

“You think she might be Anja?”

“Maybe. Either way, I can’t see Draco passing her up. That adds another layer to Michael Proctor. He didn’t mention his mother knew Draco.”

“He might not have been aware of it.”

“Unlikely. Let’s take a look at the flags. Hmm, Draco’s got a few sealeds of his own.”

“Money, prominence, connections,” Roarke said. “It buys silence.”

“You ought to know.” She said it with a smirk, then jerked up in her chair. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. What’s this? Carly Landsdowne’s got a sealed.”

“More secrets? More silence?”

“Not this time. I know this code. It’s an old one. It was in use when I went into the system. A lot of the kids in state homes wanted that code more than they wanted to eat their next meal. It’s the code for adoption. Sealed,” she added. “With the birth mother’s data inside. Look at the date.”

“Eight months after Stiles’s assault on Draco. It won’t be a coincidence.”

“This plays for me. Draco got Anja Carvell pregnant. She tells him, he dumps her. Dumps her hard. She falls apart, tries self-termination, but Stiles gets to her before she’s finished. She has a change of heart and decides to complete the pregnancy. Gives the kid away, and pays a hefty fee for a seal.”

“It wouldn’t have been easy.”

Eve’s eyes went flat. “It’s plenty easy for some. Kids are tossed aside every day.”

To comfort her, he put his hands on her shoulders, rubbed. “By Stiles’s account, she was in love with the baby’s father and nearly destroyed by him. Yet she didn’t terminate the pregnancy. She gave the child up, which is different, Eve, than giving the child away. She paid for the seal to protect the child.”

“It protects her, too.”

“Yes, but there are other ways. She could have sold the baby on the black market. No questions asked. She chose legal channels.”

“Stiles knew. She’d have spilled it. We’re going to have to have another chat. Now, let’s see. Which judge should I wake up for the warrant and authorization to crack the seal?” She looked up at Roarke. “Any suggestions?”

“Lieutenant, I’m sure you know best.”

Before she roused a judge out of bed and risked irritating him, she tried to tag Peabody through her communicator.

“Off duty?” Sheer shock glazed Eve’s eyes at the blinking red light on her pocket unit. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Why, the nerve!” Roarke clucked his tongue. “I bet she’s got some insane idea that she’s entitled to a life.”

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault,” Eve chanted under her breath while she sent the transmission to Peabody’s palm ’link.

After six beeps, Eve was up and pacing. “If she doesn’t answer, I’m going to—” Abruptly, Eve’s desk ’link exploded with noise. Her angry yelp had the cat racing back into the kitchen.

“Peabody! For God’s sake, where are you?”

“Sir? Sir, is that you? I can’t really hear over the music.”

The audio might have been chaos, but the video shimmered clear and gave Eve a close-up view of her aide, complete with fussy hair, lip dye, and slumberous eyes.

I knew it,
was all Eve could think.
I just knew it.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I have?” The vague eyes blinked at the information, then Eve heard what could only be described as a giggle. “Well, maybe. A couple. I’m in a club, and they have drinking here. Really rocking screamers. Is it morning already?”

“Hey, Dallas!” McNab’s face pushed against Peabody’s so the two of them, equally plowed by the look of things, shared the screen. “This band is ice. Why don’t you get your main squeeze and come on down.”

“Peabody, where are you?”

“I’m in New York City. I live here.”

Drunk,
Eve thought in frustration.
Drunk as a Station Caspian colonist.
“Never mind. Take this outside before I go deaf.”

“What? I can’t hear you!”

Ignoring Roarke’s amused chuckle, Eve leaned into her ’link. “Officer Peabody, go outside, keep the transmission open. I need to talk to you.”

“You’re outside? Well, hell, come on in.”

Eve sucked in a breath. “Go. Out. Side.”

“Oh, okay, sure thing.”

There was a great deal of fumbling, more giggling, bumpy views of a crowd of what Eve decided were maniacs leaping and spinning as the band crashed out noise. To her great pain, she heard, very clearly, McNab’s hissed suggestion of what would be fun to do in one of the club’s privacy rooms.

“You have to give him points for imagination,” Roarke pointed out.

“I hate you for this.” Patience straining, Eve held the transmission while Peabody and McNab stumbled out of the club. The noise level dropped, but not by much. Apparently McNab’s choice of club was in the core of Broadway’s never-ending party district.

“Dallas? Dallas? Where are you?”

“Your ’link, Peabody. I’m on your ’link.”

“Oh.” She lifted it again, peered at the screen. “What are you doing in there?”

“Have you got any Sober-Up in your bag?”

“Betcha. You gotta be prepared, right?”

“Take some. Now.”

“Aw.” Peabody’s cheerfully colored lips moved into a pout. “I don’t wanna. Hey, that’s Roarke. I heard Roarke. Hi, Roarke.”

He couldn’t resist and moved into view. “Hello, Peabody. You’re looking particularly delicious tonight.”

“Golly, you’re pretty. I could just look at you and look at you and—”

“Sober-Up, Peabody. Now. That’s an order.”

“Damn.” Peabody rummaged through her bag, came up with the little tin. “If I gotta, you gotta,” she said, plucking out two pills before shoving the tin at McNab.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Oh.”

“Peabody, I need all current data on Anja Carvell, all search and scan results.”

“ ’Kay.”

“Shoot them to my car unit. Then I want you to meet me,
in uniform,
at Kenneth Stiles’s address. Thirty minutes. Understood?”

“Yeah, sort of . . . Could you repeat the question?”

“It’s not a question. It’s an order,” Eve corrected and repeated it. “Got that now?”

“Yeah. Um, yes, sir.”

“And leave your trained monkey at home.”

“Sir?”

“McNab,” Eve snapped, and cut transmission.

“Party pooper,” Roarke murmured.

“Don’t give me any lip.” She rose, pulled her shoulder harness out of the desk drawer, strapped it on. “Go do some financial adjustments and point by point analyses.”

“Darling, you were listening.”

“I’m not laughing,” she told him, and was annoyed because she wanted to. “Stay out of trouble.”

He only smiled, waiting until he heard her jog down the stairs.

She was going to ease her way around the seal instead of breaking through it, he thought. There was no reason he should have the same limitations.

He strolled down the corridor to a private room. His voice and palm prints were checked and verified. The locks disengaged.

“Lights on,” he ordered. “Full.”

The room streamed with light, blocked from the outside by the secured privacy screens on the bank of windows. He crossed the wide squares of tile while the door behind him closed, resecured.

Only three people had entry to this room. Three people he trusted without reservation. Eve, Summerset, and himself.

The slick black control panel formed a wide U. The equipment, unregistered and illegal, hummed softly in sleep mode. The wide eye of CompuGuard couldn’t restrict what it couldn’t see.

He’d restructured most of his questionable holdings over the years. After Eve, he’d disposed of or legitimized the rest. But, he thought as he helped himself to a brandy, a man had to have some small reminders of the past that made him.

And in his rebel’s heart, the idea of a system like CompuGuard that monitored all computer business was an annoying pebble in his shoe. He was honor bound to shake it out.

He stepped to the control, swirled his brandy. “System up,” he ordered, and a rainbow of lights bloomed over black. “Now, let’s have a look.”

Eve left her vehicle in a second-level parking slot a half a block from Stiles’s apartment. She’d walked half that distance when she spotted the figure trying to blend with the trees at the edge of the facing park.

“Trueheart.”

“Sir!” She heard the squeak of surprise in his voice, but he’d schooled his face into calm lines by the time he stepped out of the shadows. “Lieutenant.”

“Report.”

“Sir, I’ve had the subject’s building under surveillance since his return at eighteen-twenty-three. My counterpart is surveilling the rear exit. We have maintained regular communications at intervals of thirty minutes.”

When she made no comment, he cleared his throat. “Subject lowered privacy screens on all windows at eighteen-thirty-eight. They have remained engaged since that time.”

“That’s good, Trueheart, gives me a really clear picture. Now, tell me if he’s in there.”

“Lieutenant, subject has not left the surveilled premises.”

“Fine.” She watched a Rapid Cab swing toward the opposing curb. Peabody, looking considerably more official in full uniform with her hair straight under her cap, climbed out. “Stand by, Officer Trueheart.”

“Yes, sir. Sir? I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for this assignment.”

Eve looked up into his very young, very earnest face. “You want to thank me for duty that has you standing out in the dark, in the cold, for . . .” She glanced at her wrist unit. “For approximately five and a half hours?”

“It’s a homicide investigation,” he said with such reverence she nearly patted his cheek.

“Glad you’re enjoying it.” She headed across the street, where Peabody waited. “Look me in the eye,” Eve demanded.

“I’m sober, sir.”

“Stick out your tongue.”

“Why?”

“Because you want to. Now, stop sulking.” With this, Eve walked toward the building. “And no rolling your eyes at the back of my head.”

Peabody’s eyes stopped in mid-roll. “Am I to be
informed of the reason I’ve been called back on duty?”

“You’ll be informed. If all your surviving brain cells are in working order, you’ll get the drift when I corner Stiles. I’ll fill in the blanks when we’re done.”

She gave her badge and palm print to the night guard for verification, got clearance. Eve ran it through quickly on the way up.

“Wow, it’s like one of those daytime serials. Not that I watch them,” Peabody said quickly when Eve’s eyes slid coolly in her direction. “One of my sisters is addicted though. She’s totally hooked on
The Heart of Desire.
See, Desire’s this small and charming seaside town, but under the surface, there’s all this intrigue and—”

“Don’t. Really.”

She hurried out of the elevator to prevent any possibility of a rundown of anything called
The Heart of Desire.
She pressed the buzzer at Stiles’s apartment, held her badge up toward the security peep.

“Maybe he’s asleep,” Peabody said a few moments later.

“He’s got a house droid.” Eve pressed the buzzer again and felt the ache of tension squeeze in her gut.

She’d assigned a rookie, a rookie for Christ’s sake, to surveillance on a lead suspect in two homicides. Because she’d wanted to give the kid a break.

If Stiles had slipped past him, she had no one to blame but herself.

“We’re going in.” She reached for her master code.

“A warrant—”

“We don’t need one. Subject is suspect, dual homicide, also potential victim. There’s reason to believe subject has fled or is inside, unable to respond.”

She bypassed the locks with her master. “Draw your weapon, Peabody,” she ordered as she reached for her own. “Go in high, to the right. Ready?”

Peabody nodded. Her mouth might have been brightly painted, but it was firm.

At Eve’s signal, they went through the door, sweeping
opposite directions. Eve ordered lights, narrowed her eyes against the sudden flash of them, scanned, sweeping as she angled herself to guard Peabody’s back.

“Police! Kenneth Stiles, this is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. I am armed. You’re ordered to step out into the living area immediately.”

She moved toward the bedroom as she spoke, ears cocked for any sound. “He’s not here.” Every instinct told her the place was empty, but she gestured Peabody to the far side of the room. “Check that area. Watch your back.”

She booted open the door, led with her weapon.

She saw a neatly made bed, a tidy sitting area, and the dark pool of the suit Stiles had worn to the memorial service on the floor.

“The droid’s here, Dallas,” Peabody called out. “Deactivated. No sign of Stiles.”

“He’s gone rabbit. Goddamn it.” Still, she kept her weapon out and ready as she moved into the bath, through the adjoining door.

One look at the dressing room had her holstering it again. “I guess that lets Trueheart off the hook,” she said to Peabody when her aide joined her. Eve fingered a pot of skin toner, then lifted a wig. “Stiles is probably damn good with this stuff. Call it in, Peabody. Suspect in flight.”

“Sir.” Trueheart stood stiff as a petrified redwood in the entry to Stiles’s dressing room. His face was white but for the high color skimming along his cheekbones. “I take full responsibility for the failure of the assignment given to me. I will accept, without qualification, any reprimand you deem appropriate.”

“First, stop talking like that droid Peabody’s reactivating. Second, you’re not responsible for the flight of this suspect. That’s on me.”

“Lieutenant, I appreciate you taking my inexperience into consideration in my failure to perform my duty and
complete this assignment in a satisfactory manner—”

“Shut up, Trueheart.” Jesus God, spare her from rookies. “Peabody! Come in here.”

“I’ve nearly got the droid up and running, Dallas.”

“Peabody, tell Officer Trueheart here how I deal with cops who botch assignments or fail to complete same in what I deem a satisfactory manner.”

“Sir, you bust their balls, mercilessly. It can be very entertaining to watch. From a discreet and safe distance.”

“Thank you, Peabody. You make me proud. Trueheart, am I busting your balls?”

His flush spread. “Ah, no, sir. Lieutenant.”

“Then it follows that in my opinion, you didn’t botch this assignment. If my opinion was otherwise, you’d be curled on the floor, clutching said balls and begging for mercy, which Officer Peabody has succinctly pointed out I do not have. Are we clear?”

He hesitated. “Yes, sir?”

“That’s the right answer.” She turned away from him, studied the dressing area. The forest of clothes in different styles and sizes; the long, wide counter covered with bottles and tubes and sprays. Cubbyholes loaded with hairpieces, wigs. Drawers ruthlessly organized with other tools of the trade.

“He can make himself into anyone. I should’ve factored that in. Tell me who you did see leaving the building between eighteen-thirty and when I arrived on-scene. We’ll verify with the security discs from the exits, but be thorough.”