The In Death Collection 06-10 (51 page)

“Come on, Dallas, I’m working a double. I got stiffs stacked like bricks in the drawers here.”

“Put my brick on the table and have the report to me by oh six hundred or I’m coming over there and I’m going to show you what a Y cut feels like.”

She cut transmission and turned around. “Gimme, Dickie.”

“Don’t crowd me, Dallas. You don’t scare me. I don’t see no Priority One tab on this evidence.”

“There will be by nine.” She walked over and gave his hair a hard quick yank. “I haven’t had my fucking coffee, Dickie. You don’t want to mess with me here.”

“Jeez, get some then.” Behind his microgoggles, his eyes
were as big as an owl’s. “I’m running the damn stuff, aren’t I? You want it quick or you want it right?”

“I want it both.” Because she was desperate, she walked over and ordered a cup of the lab sludge pretending to be coffee and forced down a swallow.

“Hair’s human,” he called out. “Treated with a salon fixer and an herbal disinfectant.”

That perked Eve up enough to have her drinking more coffee as she crossed to him. “What kind of fixer, what’s it for?”

“To preserve color and texture. It’ll keep the white from yellowing or getting stiff. Two of your samples have some adhesive on one end. These hairs likely came from a wig. A good, expensive one. This is real human hair, and that puts it high-end. I’ll have to run more to tag the adhesive. Might be able to get you a brand name on the fixer after some more tests.”

“What about the fibers, the stuff Peabody got from the drains?”

“I haven’t done it yet. Jesus, I’m not a droid.”

“Okay.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I need to go to the morgue, make sure Holloway’s on the table. Dickie.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. He was a pain in the ass, but he was the best. “I need everything you can get me, and I need it fast. This guy’s taken out four, and he’s already looking for number five.”

“I’ll get it to you a hell of a lot faster if you stop breathing down my neck.”

“I’m leaving. Peabody.”

“Sir.” Peabody jerked from her doze in a lab chair and blinked blindly.

“We’re moving,” Eve said shortly. “Dickie, I’m counting on you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know I don’t think I got my invite to your big party tomorrow night.” He smiled thinly. “Musta gotten lost.”

“I’ll make sure we find it. After you give me what I need.”

“You got it.” Pleased, he turned back and bent over his work.

“Greedy little bastard. Here.” Eve pushed the coffee into Peabody’s hand as they headed back out to the car. “Drink this. It’ll either wake you up or kill you.”

Eve badgered the AME until she had confirmed cause of death. She stood over his shoulder until he’d run the tox test and reported the over-the-counter tranq in Holloway’s system.

Back at Central she ordered Peabody to the cramped area commonly known as the Resort. It consisted of one dark room with three two-level bunks.

While her aide slept, Eve settled into her office and wrote up the reports. She transmitted the necessary copies, and fueled herself with more coffee and what might have been a cranberry muffin from the vending machine.

It was still shy of dawn when her ’link beeped and Roarke’s image swam onto her screen.

“Lieutenant, you’re pale enough to see through.”

“I’m solid enough.”

“I have something for you.”

Her heart bumped once. He’d know to say nothing more on a logged call. “I’m going to try to swing home shortly. Peabody’s down for a couple of hours more.”

“You need to go down yourself.”

“Yeah. I’ve about done all I can here. I’m coming in.”

“I’ll wait up for you.”

She broke the call, and left a brief memo for Peabody, should she wake before Eve returned. Once she was in her car and headed out, she put in another call to the lab.

“Anything more for me?”

“Jesus, you’re relentless. Tagged your fiber. It’s a sym-poly blend, trade name Wulstrong. Simulated wool, commonly in coats and sweaters. This was dyed red.”

“Like a Santa suit?”

“Yeah, but not one of your bell-ringing suits. Those poor bastards can’t afford this kind of weight and quality. This is
good shit, next best thing to real wool. The manufacturers claim it’s better—warmer, more durable, and blah blah blah. That’s bullshit, ’cause nothing’s better than genuine. But this is good, pricey. Just like the hair. Your guy isn’t worried about spending credits.”

“Good. Nice work, Dickie.”

“You find my invitation, Dallas?”

“Yeah, it fell behind my desk.”

“Those things happen.”

“Get me the results of the drain lift, Dickie, and I’ll have it messengered over.”

She watched dawn flirt with the eastern sky as she turned toward home.

She knew where to find Roarke. In a room that shouldn’t have existed, manning equipment that she shouldn’t know about. She ignored the knee-jerk reaction, a cop’s reaction, as she approached the room and laid her palm on the plate.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

Her palm- and voiceprints were analyzed quickly, and she was cleared inside.

He’d left the curtains open on the wide glass. The glass itself was treated. No one could see inside. The room was large, the floor a fancy marble, the walls accented with art—but for one, which was dominated by several screens.

All but one screen was blank now. On that, Roarke ran stock reports while he sat behind the slick U-shaped console toying with an unregistered computer.

“You were faster than I figured.”

“There weren’t that many layers to go through.” He gestured to a chair beside him. “Sit down, Eve.”

“Were they thin enough that I can slide it through? Indicate I found it myself without falsifying my report?”

His cop, Roarke thought fondly, would always worry about such niceties. “If you’d know just where to look, just what to question—which I imagine you would have, given another day
or two. Sit,” he repeated, and this time took her hand and pulled her into the chair.

He’d tied his hair back—which always made her want to tug it free of the thin leather band. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his black sweater. She found herself looking at his hands, thinking about his hands. Gorgeous, clever hands. She realized she was drifting and snapped herself back.

When she blinked her vision clear, his face was close, and one of those gorgeous, clever hands held her chin, his thumb brushing over the shallow dent in its center. “Nearly went out, didn’t you?”

“I was just . . . thinking.”

“Uh-huh. Thinking. I’m going to make a trade with you, Lieutenant. I’ll give you what I’ve found if, in exchange for it, you’ll be here at six tonight. You’ll take a soother—”

“Hey, I’m not bargaining for information.”

“You are if you want the information. I can wipe it.” He reached out a hand and let it hover over some controls she couldn’t identify. “You’ll be here, take a soother,” he repeated, “and let Trina give you a full treatment.”

“I haven’t got time for a stupid haircut.”

It wasn’t the hair styling he was thinking of, but the body massage and relaxation program he was going to arrange. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ve got four murder discs on my desk.”

“Right at this moment, I don’t give a damn if you have four hundred. Whatever your priorities, you happen to be mine. That’s my price. Do you want the data?”

“You’re as bad as Dickhead.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She snorted out a laugh at the insult in his voice, then rubbed her hands over her face. She really hated when he was right. She was running on fumes. “Okay, I’ll take the deal. What did you find?”

He frowned at her for a moment, then dropped his hand and turned to the screen wall. “Save data on screen four, screen
off. Holloway file up, on all screens. Our friend here had a costly ID change four years ago. Under his birth name . . .”

“John B. Boyd. Shit.” She got to her feet and walked closer to the screens to read the first of several police reports. “Sexual offender, rape charges. Dropped by victim. Coerced sexual partnership, convicted. Six months psych treatment and community service. Bullshit. Possession of illegal sexual paraphernalia, pleaded out. Voluntary treatment for sexual obsessions. Treatment complete, records sealed. Fuck that. This guy was twisted and the system let him slide.”

“He had money,” Roarke pointed out. “It’s easy to buy your way out of mid-level sex charges. He slithered his way clear, then ends up sodomized and strangled. Irony, Eve, or justice?”

“He should have gotten his justice in the courts,” she snapped. “I don’t give a damn about irony. Would Personally Yours have found this during screening?”

“I would have.” He moved his shoulders. “It depends on how deep they go, but as I said, it was only a few layers down. Any full-security screen would have popped it. Sealing the records only protects him from a standard employee or credit screen.”

“Did you get his financials?”

“Of course. Subject financials, screen six. You can see he did very well monetarily at his work. Had a decent broker who invested well. He liked to spend, but he had it to spend. There are, however, several reasonably good deposits which are over and above his modeling fees or investment dividends. Ten thousand at three-month intervals over a two-year period.”

“Yeah.” Again, she stepped closer to the screen. “I see them. Were you able to trace?”

“I wonder why I tolerate these small insults.” He only sighed when she turned back and scowled at him. “Naturally. They were e-transfers, swung through a variety of sources in
a decent attempt to conceal the original source. However, all of them bounce back to one location.”

She nodded her head. “Personally Yours.”

“You’re an excellent detective.”

“So, he was blackmailing them. Or one of them. Do you have initials of the name authorizing transfer?”

“The account is under both names. It could have been either Piper or Rudy. Their account uses a passcode rather than a signature.”

“Okay, it gives me enough to bring them into Interview and cook them awhile.” She drew a long breath. “I’m going to let Peabody have a go at them first, shake them up. Then I’ll move in.”

“Just make sure you’re home by six.”

Impatient, she turned back to him. The morning was breaking, light slipping through the treated glass and accenting her pale cheeks and shadowed eyes. “I made the deal. I’ll keep it.”

“Of course you will.” If he had to go down to Cop Central and carry her out personally.

Eve decided the best strategy was to hit her targets hard and clean while they were already bruised. If Peabody played it right, Rudy and Piper would be shaken, working frantically to avoid bad publicity and a potential lawsuit brought by a horrified client.

And when Peabody moved out, Eve thought, she would move in.

At nine thirty she was in the salon, showing Holloway’s picture to the reception clerk. If it went as timed, she would be finishing up when Peabody came in and gave her the go signal.

“Sure, I know Mr. Holloway. He had a regular once a week, and a standing monthly.”

“Once a week for what?”

“Hair style, facial, manicure, massage, and aroma-relax.” Yvette, friendly and helpful now, leaned over the counter and let out a little sigh as she studied Holloway’s picture again. “This guy’s got a mag shell, and he knew how to maintain. Once a month he got the works, full day of treatments.”

“Same consultant?”

“Oh sure, he wouldn’t settle for anybody but Simon. A few
months ago, Simon took a vacation. Mr. Holloway pitched a big one right here in the wait area. We gave him a free spin in the mood tube and a Deluxe O to chill him down.”

“Deluxe O?”

“O for orgasm, honey. Privacy room, with his choice of VR, holo, or droid LC. We aren’t set up for human licensed companions, but we have all the alternatives. The Deluxe runs five hundred, but it was worth it to take him down. You gotta keep your regulars happy. A client like Holloway drops like five thousand a month in here, not counting product purchases.”

“And there’s nothing like a Deluxe Orgasm to keep the customer satisfied.”

“You got it.” She grinned, grateful that Eve didn’t appear to hold grudges. “So, did he do something?”

“You could say that. But he won’t be doing it again. Simon around?”

“He’s back in Studio Three. You don’t want to go back there,” she began when Eve turned.

“Yes, I do.”

Eve walked down a short hallway and through frosted glass doors etched with silhouettes of perfect human forms.

There were muted voices and music, the sounds of water splashing tunefully, birds chirping, breezes blowing. She could smell eucalyptus, rose, musk.

Pastel-colored doors lined both sides. Through an open one she could see a long padded table and complicated equipment, tubes, mirrors, a small computer station. All of which reminded her uncomfortably of a health center.

As she continued down, another door opened and a consultant in a white uniform led a woman covered from head to toe in green glop toward another area.

“Studio Three?”

“Corridor to the left, the door’s marked.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve watched while the consultant drew her
client away, telling her that ten minutes in the Desert Room would make her a new woman.

It took all Eve’s willpower not to shudder.

When the corridor forked, she saw the large bubbling spa framed with miniature weeping cherry trees. Three women were already relaxing in it, breasts bobbing cheerfully on the surface of the sugar-pink froth.

Another woman drifted alone, submerged to the chin in the thickened green fluid of a sensory tube. Just beyond it, in what Eve supposed was the wet area, was a narrow pool called the Plunge, where the sharply blue water was held at a temperature of thirty-six degrees. Even looking at it made her teeth chatter.

She turned left. After a quick knock on the Easter-egg-blue door marked Three, she stepped in. It was a toss-up who was more surprised, herself, Simon, or McNab, who reclined in a relaxation chair with his face coated with what appeared to be black mud.

“This is a treatment area.” Hands flapping, Simon rushed to block her way. “You’re not allowed in here while I’m consulting. Out, out, out.”

“I need to talk to you. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

“I’m working here.” Simon spread his hands, sending a few blobs of mud sailing.

“Two minutes,” she said and had to clamp down on the urge to laugh as McNab rolled his eyes dramatically behind Simon’s back.

“Out, out,” he said again, snagging a towel. “I do apologize,” he said to McNab. “Your slather needs to set in any case. Please, just relax, let your mind rest. I’ll just be a moment.”

“No problem,” McNab muttered.

“No, no, shh!” With a benign smile, Simon tapped a finger to his lips. “No talking. Let your face relax completely, let your mind empty. This is your time. Now, close your eyes, imagine all impurities flowing out. I’ll be just outside.”

His smile fell away the minute he shut the door and looked
at Eve. “I won’t have you disturbing my clients.”

“Sorry. But one of your clients was really disturbed last night. He won’t be coming in for his standing monthly anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Holloway. Brent Holloway. He’s dead.”

“Dead? Brent?” Simon leaned back against the glossy wall. The hand he hadn’t quite wiped clean pressed against his heart. “But I saw him only a few days ago. There must be a mistake.”

“I saw him this morning, in a drawer at the morgue. There’s no mistake.”

“I can’t . . . breathe.” Cape fluttering, Simon dashed down the hall. Eve found him in a plush waiting area, collapsed on a silk settee, his head between his knees.

“I didn’t know you were that close.”

“I’m his—was his consultant. No one, not even a spouse, is more intimate.”

She tried to think of intimacy with Trina and had to block off another shudder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Simon. You want something. Water?”

“Yes, no. Oh dear God.” He lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand to engage the pop-up refreshment screen on the table beside him. His face was a sickly gray framed by the brilliant red of his hair. “I need a soother. Camomile, chilled.” Then he leaned back, shut his eyes. “How did it happen?”

“We’re investigating. Tell me about him, tell me who he was involved with.”

“He was a very exacting man. I respected that. He knew precisely how he wanted to appear, and was dedicated to maintaining his face, his body. Oh God.” He snagged the tall, slim glass from the server droid the minute it scooted in. “I’m sorry, dear heart. Give me just a moment.”

He drank deeply, taking slow, even breaths between sips. Some of the color that had washed away from his face came
back. “He never missed an appointment, and sent me many referrals. He appreciated my work.”

“Did he hook up with anyone around here on a personal level? Stylists, consultants, other clients?”

“Our staff isn’t permitted to date the clientele. As to other clients, I don’t recall him mentioning any. He enjoyed women. He had a varied and satisfying sexual life.”

“He told you about that?”

“What is discussed between consultant and client is absolutely sacred.” Simon sniffed once, then set his empty glass aside.

“Did he go for men, too?”

Simon’s mouth flattened. “He never mentioned an interest in same-sex relationships. I don’t feel comfortable with these questions, Lieutenant.”

“Holloway’s not real comfortable now either.” She waited a beat, saw Simon pause, take it in, then nod.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. I apologize. It’s just such a shock.”

“Did any of your male staff members show an interest in him, a romantic or sexual interest?”

“No. At least . . . I honestly never noticed any signals or vibrations, if you will. Such behavior is soundly discouraged here. We’re professionals.”

“Right. Who have you got on staff who does freehand tattoos?”

He sighed long and loud. “We have several consultants who are excellent freehand body artists.”

“Names, Simon.”

“Ask Yvette at the desk. She’ll give you what you need. I must get back to my client.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I can’t allow my personal feelings to interfere with my work. Lieutenant . . .” Simon dropped his hands back into his lap, and his eyes were dark and damp. “Brent had no family. What will happen to his . . . What will happen to him?”

“The city will take care of it, if there’s no one.”

“No, that wouldn’t be right.” He pressed his lips together, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’d like to make the arrangements if that’s allowed. It would be the last thing I could do for him.”

“We can work it that way. You’ll have to come down to the morgue, fill out the paperwork.”

“To the . . .” His mouth trembled, but he drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes, I will.”

“I’ll let them know to expect you.” Because he looked so devastated, she added, “You won’t have to see him, Simon. We’ve done an ID already. You just make the application, and they’ll release the body to whatever mortuary or memorial center you choose.”

“Oh.” His breath came out in a rush. “Thank you. My client’s waiting,” he said dully. “He hasn’t been caring for his skin. Fortunately, he’s young, so there’s a great deal I can do to help. It’s our obligation to present an attractive appearance. Beauty soothes the soul.”

“Yeah. Go take care of your client, Simon. I’ll be in touch.”

She headed back out and was just taking the printout of names from Yvette when Peabody came in. She looked flushed and hollow-eyed. But she gave Eve a quick nod before turning to the desk clerk.

“I have a chit from Personally Yours,” she began. “For the Diamond Day Plan.”

“Oh, that’s our very best.” Yvette beamed at her. “And, honey, you look exhausted. This is just what you need. We’ll fix you right up.”

“Thanks.” She wandered off, ostensibly to study the glass cabinet full of colorful bottles that guaranteed beauty and vitality with regular use. In a fast whisper, she gave Eve her report.

“They were both shaken, tried to cover it. Worked on convincing me I’d misinterpreted.” She bit back a snort. “Went into placate-the-client mode, like it was programmed.
Promised to look into the matter right away, offered me a free second consult and this deal here. I saw the brochure. The Diamond Day goes for five thousand. I didn’t let them off the hook. Told them I was going to take the day to calm down before I spoke to my lawyer.”

“Good work. Talk to as many of the consultants as you can while you’re getting slathered and rubbed. Bring up Holloway’s name. I want reactions, gossip, opinions. Make sure you get some male consultants in there.”

“Anything for the job, sir.”

“Ms. Peabody?”

Peabody turned, and thought her mouth must have hit her shoes as she stared at the polished golden god. “I’m uh . . . Yes?”

“I’m Anton. I’ll be assisting you with your herbal detox. If you’d like to come with me now?”

“Oh yeah.” Peabody managed to shoot Eve one sidelong eyeroll before Anton took her hand and gently led her away.

Hoping for the best, Eve tucked the printout in her bag and headed up to the office level of Personally Yours.

“Rudy and Piper are unavailable,” the receptionist announced with just enough snip in her voice to put Eve’s back up.

“Oh, they’re going to want to become available.” She slapped her badge on the counter. “Trust me.”

“I’m aware of who you are, Lieutenant. Rudy and Piper aren’t available. If you’d care to make an appointment, I’d be happy to schedule one for you.”

Eve leaned companionably on the counter. “Ever hear the term obstruction of justice?”

The woman’s eyes flickered. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Here’s what we’ve got. You clear me through to your bosses now, or I take you down to Cop Central and charge you with obstruction, for impeding an officer, and for being basically stupid. You got ten seconds to decide how you want to play it.”

“Excuse me.” The woman turned, switched on her headset, and murmured into it quickly. Her face was stiff when she turned back. “You’re to go right in, Lieutenant.”

“There, that wasn’t such a tough choice, was it?” Pocketing her badge, Eve strode back through the glass doors, and met Rudy and Piper at the doorway of their office.

“Was it necessary to bully our receptionist?” Rudy demanded.

“Yeah. You got a reason for wanting to dodge me this morning?”

“We’re very busy.”

“You’re about to get busier. You’ll have to come with me.”

“Come with you?” Piper put a hand on Rudy’s arm. “Why? Where?”

“To Cop Central. Brent Holloway was murdered last night, and we have a lot to talk about.”

“Murdered?” Piper swayed and might have fallen if Rudy’s arm hadn’t whipped up to support her. “Oh God. Oh dear God. Like the others? Was it like the others? Rudy.”

“Hush now.” He drew his sister closer while his eyes held Eve’s. “It isn’t necessary to go into Central.”

“Well, that’s where we disagree. Your choice is to come voluntarily, or for me to call a few uniforms up here and have you escorted.”

“You can’t possibly have cause to arrest either one of us.”

“You’re not being arrested or charged at this time. But you’re required to come in, upon demand, for formal interview.”

With Piper trembling against him, Rudy let out a careful breath. “I’m going to contact our attorneys.”