The In Death Collection 06-10 (60 page)

“You just threatened to ditch me.”

“I did not. I offered you the option of assignment elsewhere.”

Peabody’s voice wavered, so she clamped down. “I felt, and still feel, that you overstepped the boundaries last night in reference to my relationship with Charles Monroe.”

“Yeah, you made that clear.”

“It was inappropriate for my superior officer to criticize my choice of escort. It was a personal matter, and—”

“Goddamn right it was personal.” Eve’s eyes went dark, but not, Peabody noted with shock, in anger. There was hurt. “I wasn’t speaking as your superior officer last night. I never considered myself addressing my aide. I thought I was talking to a friend.”

Shame washed up from Peabody’s toes to the top of her head. “Dallas—”

“A friend,” she barreled on, “who was sloppy-eyed over
an LC. An LC who was a suspect in an ongoing investigation.”

“But Charles—”

“Low on the list,” Eve snapped, “but still on it, as he’d been matched with one victim and with one of the attempts.”

“You never believed Charles was the killer.”

“No, I believed it was Rudy, and I was wrong. I could have been wrong about Charles Monroe, too.” And the possibility clawed at her. “Take the vehicle back to Central. Update Captain Feeney and Commander Whitney on the latest data regarding our current case. Advise them that I remain in the field.”

“But—”

“Take the fucking vehicle into Central,” Eve snapped. “That’s an order from a superior officer to her aide.” She turned and pushed her way through the crowd. This time she didn’t come back.

“Oh shit.” Peabody slumped down on the hood of the car, ignoring the bad-tempered horns, the blast of insidious holiday music pouring out of the storefront on the other side of the packed sidewalk. “Peabody, you’re an idiot.”

She sniffed, reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, then remembered Eve hadn’t given it back. Swiping the back of her hand under nose, she climbed into the car and prepared to follow orders.

By the time Eve reached the corner at Forty-first, she’d blown off enough steam to realize she wasn’t going to walk another thirty blocks to the lab to pick on Dickie.

One glance at the jammed humanity crammed onto the overhead people glides convinced her she wasn’t about to go that route, either.

A new wave of pedestrians caught her full in the back and swept her another half block before she could manage to dig in and shove her way clear. She choked on the steam of a glide-cart doing a brisk business on grilled soy dogs, blinked
the resulting tears out of her eyes, and dug for her badge.

She clawed her way out to the curb, risked life and limb by stepping directly into the path of an oncoming cab, then slapped her badge on the windshield.

Climbing in, she tried to rub the stress of the last few minutes off her face, then dropped her hands into her lap and met the driver’s miserable eyes in the mirror.

Recognizing Detective Brinkleman from the four-one’s cousin, she let out one short bark of laughter. “It just figures, doesn’t it?”

“It’s been a crap day altogether,” he muttered.

“I hate Christmas.”

“I ain’t too fond of it myself right at the moment.”

“Get me down to Eighteenth. I’ll take it from there.”

“You could walk quicker.”

She took another look at the teeming sidewalk. “Go over and punch it. You get tagged, I’ll handle it with Traffic.”

“You’re the boss, Lieutenant.”

He took off like a lightning bolt, and Eve closed her eyes, admitting that the headache scrambling in her temples wasn’t going to vacate the premises without a chemical shove.

“You going to get grief over the bumper?” she asked him.

“The way these units get banged around? Nah.” He angled over the corner at Eighteenth. “I shouldn’t oughta’ve disrespected you, Lieutenant. This holiday traffic, it can turn you mean.”

“Yeah.” She dug out credits, slipped them through his pay slot. “We’ll call it even.”

“Appreciate it. Anyway, Merry freaking Christmas.”

Her laugh was a little looser as she got out. “Same to you.”

Pedestrian traffic was light in the sector that held crime labs and morgues and holding stations. Not a hell of a lot to buy, she mused as she jogged the half block over.

She turned into the ugly steel building that had been some idiot architect’s vision of high-tech economy, crossed the soulless lobby, and went through the security arch.

The droid on duty nodded to her as she slapped her palm on the plate, recited her name, rank, code, and destination. Cleared, she took the glide down, and frowned when she saw the hallways and offices empty. Middle of the afternoon, middle of the week, she thought. Where the hell was everybody?

She cleared herself into the lab. And found a hell of a party going on.

Music blasted over wild laughter. Someone shoved a cup with a suspicious green fluid swimming inside it into her hand. A woman wearing nothing but a lab coat and microgoggles danced by. Eve managed to snag the sleeve of the coat and spin her back.

“Where’s Dickie?”

“Oh, around and about. I gotta get me a refill.”

“Here.” Eve shoved the cup into her hand and worked her way through bodies and equipment. She spotted Dickie sitting on top of a sample table with his hand well up a drunk technician’s skirt.

At least Eve assumed the tech was drunk. How else could she let those spidery fingers between her legs?

“Hey, Dallas, join the party. Not as classy as your little get-together, but we try.”

“Where the hell are my reports? Where are my results? What the fuck’s going on around here?”

“Hey, it’s Christmas Eve. Lighten up.”

Her hand snapped out, grabbed him by the shirtfront, and yanked him off the table. “I’ve got four bodies and a woman in the hospital. Don’t you fucking tell me to lighten up, you little cross-eyed son of a bitch. I want my test results.”

“Lab closes two o’clock Christmas Eve.” He tried to shove her hand away, but didn’t budge it. “That’s official. It’s after three, hotshot.”

“For Christ’s sake, he’s out there. Did you see what he did to those people? Do you want me to show you the goddamn videos he took while he was doing it? You want to wake up tomorrow morning and find out he did it again because you
couldn’t do the job? Can you swallow your Christmas goose over that?”

“Damn it, Dallas. I got next to nothing new anyway. Let go of me.” With surprising dignity, he smoothed down his shirt when she released him. “We’ll take a look in the side lab. No use spoiling everybody’s good time.”

He snaked through the crowd and unlocked the door of a side room. “Jesus, Feinstein, you can’t go banging her in here. Take her into storage like everybody else.”

Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes as a busily copulating couple unlinked, and sputtered as they grabbed discarded clothes. Was everybody insane this time of year? Eve wondered as they darted by giggling like loons.

“We mixed a hell of a brew,” Dickie explained. “All legal stuff, but it’s a punch with real punch.” He dropped down at the computer station and called up the file.

“We got his prints this time, but you already know that. No question on the ID. Same disinfectant traces on scene. The enhancements left behind match those used on the prior victims. The suit and shit you had sent down is consistent with the fibers already identified. You got your guy, Dallas. This goes to court, he’s cooked.”

“What about the sweep? I need something to find him, Dickie.”

“Sweep of scene didn’t turn up anything you wouldn’t expect. The one of his digs? We didn’t get much. This guy’s a clean fanatic. Everything’s been wiped and scrubbed and sucked. But there were fibers again—match the suit, a couple of stray hairs that are consistent with those from the last murder and the beard he left on scene last night. You get him, bring him down, I got plenty to help you lock the cage. That’s all I can give you.”

“Okay. I need you to shoot this to my unit at Central. Copy Feeney.”

Since they both knew he should have already done so, Dickie just jerked a shoulder.

“Sorry I took you away from the fun and games.”

“City’s going to close down in an hour or two anyway, Dallas. People need their holiday. They’re entitled.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a woman spending her Christmas in a hospital bed. She’s entitled, too.”

She went outside to let the cold air clear her head, wished she’d thought to ask Dickie for something potent enough to block the thudding behind her eyes. The light was already going, she realized. These were the long nights, the black month of December where the daylight barely bounced to earth before it bounced away again.

She pulled out her porta-’link and called home. “You’re working,” she said when Roarke picked up his private line and she saw the laser fax behind him spewing out paper.

“Just a bit longer.”

“I’ve got a couple of more things to do. I don’t think I’ll be home for a couple of hours anyway.”

He could see the headache in her eyes. “Where are you heading?”

“I want to do a follow-up on Simon’s apartment. I never did a search-through personally. Maybe the team missed something. I need to look, Roarke.”

“I know.”

“Listen, I sent Peabody off with my vehicle. The apartment’s closer to home. Can you send a car or something to that location?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll call back when I’m done there, let you know when I’ll make it home.”

“Do what you need to do, but take a blocker for that headache, Eve.”

She smiled a little. “I don’t have one. Let’s drink lots of wine after I get home, okay? And make love like animals.”

“Well, I had planned on a quiet evening of trilevel chess, but if that’s what you really want to do . . .”

It felt awfully good, Eve thought as she broke transmission, to really laugh.

So it shouldn’t have surprised her to find not only the car but Roarke there when she got to Simon’s building. “You could’ve sent it with a droid.”

“Did you think I would?”

“No.” She pushed a hand at her hair. “And I don’t think you’re going to agree to wait in the car until I’m done in there either.”

“See how well we know each other.” He reached in the pocket of his gorgeous topcoat, took out a small enameled box, and removed a tiny blue pill. “Open up.”

When she frowned and firmed her lips into an uncooperative line, he only lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a simple blocker, Eve. You’ll think more clearly without the headache.”

“No funny stuff?”

“None. Open.” He took her chin when she opened her mouth, then used his hand to close it again after he’d dropped the pill on her tongue. “Swallow it, there’s a good girl.”

“Bite me.”

“Darling, I’ve thought of nothing else all day. I brought your backup field kit.”

“Well, one of us is thinking clearly. Thanks,” she said when he got it out of the car. “I’ve got him cold,” she added as they started into the building. “Physical evidence, eyewitness, motivation, opportunity, the works.”

“You can add the fact that the enhancement case he left behind in Piper Hoffman’s apartment is a one of a kind. He ordered it custom-made.” Roarke ran a hand over the back of Eve’s neck, rubbing lightly to help the blocker along. “My company offers that option to licensed cosmeticians.”

“Great. Now all I have to do is find him.”

“He hasn’t checked into a hotel.” Roarke smiled at her. “McNab’s been very busy. No hotel, and no private lodging—at least that he could access on a day where no one wants to work.”

“Tell me about it. I walked into an orgy at the lab.”

“And we weren’t invited. That’s insulting.”

“I have a feeling an invite might have included the rare treat of seeing Dickhead naked.” She took out her master and bypassed the police seal and block on the door of 35. “That’s something I really don’t want for Christmas. You gotta seal up if you’re coming in.”

Roarke glanced at the can with a hefty sigh. “Can’t the department use something with a more pleasant odor?” But he coated his hands, his shoes, then waited for Eve to do the same.

“Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve entering subject Simon’s personal residence, December twenty-four, sixteen twelve. Investigating officer accompanied by Roarke, civilian, in capacity of temporary aide.”

She entered, ordered lights, then simply stood and studied the room. It wasn’t quite so neat now. The CS team had done its work and left a fine sheen on surfaces while checking for prints and trace evidence. The sweepers had shoved furniture out of place, upended cushions, removed art from the walls. The ’link had been disconnected and taken in.

“Since you’re here,” she said to Roarke, “poke around. Anything that strikes you, call me. I’m going to do the bedroom.”

She’d barely started on the closet when Roarke came in, holding a disc between his thumb and forefinger. “This struck me, Lieutenant.”

“Where the hell did you find that? They should have swept all the discs into evidence.”