Memory in Death (13 page)

"You've been busy," Eve said. "How did you manage to fit in sex?"

"Sex? I don't know what you're talking about. I bet you want coffee." She darted to the AutoChef, then whirled back. "How do you know I had sex? Do you have sex radar?"

"Your shirt's not buttoned right, and you've got a fresh hickey on your neck."

"Damn it." Peabody slapped a hand to the side of her neck. "How bad is it? Why don't you have a mirror in here?"

"Because, let's see, could it be because it's an office? You're a disgrace. Go do something about yourself before the commander—" Her interoffice 'link beeped. "Too late. Step back. Step the hell back so you're not on-screen. Christ."

Her head might have dropped in shame as she eased out of range, but a smile tugged at Peabody's mouth. "We made up."

"Can it. Dallas."

"Commander Whitney would like to see you in his office, immediately."

"On my way." She clicked off. "Give me the salient, make it fast."

"I'll come. I just need to—"

"Give me the salient, Detective. Then write your report."

"Sir. The sweepers found no evidence in the rooms vacated by Bobby and Zana to tie them to the murder under investigation. Zana Lombard's handbag was located by canvassing officers inside a bar called Hidey Hole on Ninth between Thirty-nine and Forty. The officers entered the premises when it was noted that the security was off, and the lock disengaged. The officers sealed the building, and sweepers are responding."

"Name of the owner of the bar, the owner of the building."

"I intended to obtain that information after bringing you up to date."

"Do it now. Run the names. I want the data and your written report within thirty."

Eve let the steam of temper carry her out of her office, through the bull pen, into the elevator, where for once she didn't have to use her elbows to maintain a little personal space.

Good thing, she decided. She might've broken some asshole's ribs.

Then she shut it down, turned it off. She would show Whitney nothing but control and professionalism. She'd use them, and whatever else she needed, to keep the case.

He was waiting, sitting back in his chair behind his desk. His wide, dark face showed no more than hers what was inside his head. His hair was salt and pepper, with the salt liberally dashed. There were lines carved in his face, around the eyes, around the mouth, etched there by time and, she was sure, the burden of command.

"Lieutenant, you've named yourself as primary in a homicide investigation that is now in its second day, and this office has not been so informed by you."

"Sir, the investigation came into my hands yesterday morning. Sunday morning, sir, when both of us were off duty."

He acknowledged that with a slight dip of his head. "Yet you took charge of this matter while off duty, utilizing departmental personnel, and equipment, neglecting to inform your superior."

No point in bullshit, she decided. "Yes, sir, I did. I believed the circumstances warranted my actions, and am fully prepared to report said circumstances and actions at this time."

He lifted a hand. "In the 'better-late-than-never' category?"

"No, sir. In the 'immediate-need-to-secure-the-scene-and-gather-evidence' category. Respectfully, Commander."

"The victim was known to you."

"She was. I haven't seen or had contact with the victim for over twenty years until two days before her death, when she came to my office."

"You're entering a boggy area, Dallas."

"I don't believe so, sir. I knew the victim briefly when I was a child. Therefore—"

"You were under her care for several months when you were a child," he corrected.

Okay, she thought, screw it. "The term 'care' is inaccurate, as she gave none. I would have passed her on the street without recognizing her. There would have been no further contact between us after her visit to me this past Thursday if she had not gone to my husband's office the following day and attempted to shake him down for two million dollars."

His eyebrows winged up. "And this is not boggy territory?"

"He showed her the door. Captain Feeney has the security discs from Roarke's office, was requested to retrieve them by Roarke in order to aid this investigation. She left the same way she came in."

"Sit down, Dallas."

"Sir, I'd do better standing. I went to her hotel room Sunday morning as I felt it necessary to speak with her, to make it clear that she would not blackmail or extort funds from Roarke or myself. That neither of us were concerned regarding her threat to go to the media or the authorities with copies she claimed to have of my sealed files. At that time—"

"Did she have copies?"

"Very likely. None were found at the scene, though a disc holder was recovered. The probability is high that whoever killed her now has possession of them."

"Dr. Mira has spoken to me. She came to see me this morning, as you should have done."

"Yes, sir."

"She believes that you're capable of handling this investigation, and further that it's in your best interest to do so." His chair creaked as he shifted his weight. "I've also just spoken with the ME, so I'm not completely in the dark regarding this case. Before you give me your report, I want to know why you didn't come to me. I want it straight, Dallas."

"I felt I would be in a better position to continue as primary if the investigation was ongoing. My objectivity on the matter would be less likely called into question."

He said nothing for a long moment. "You could have come to me. Report."

He'd shaken her, and she had to struggle not to fumble, to take him through clearly from her first contact with the victim to the data Peabody had just given her.

"She self-inflicted in order to bolster her plan for blackmail. Would that be your opinion?"

"It would, given the ME's findings and the current evidence."

"Her partner or accomplice kills her, abducts the daughter-in-law, and through her continues the demand for money, using the threat of exposure of your sealed files."

"I don't believe the killer would be aware that both Roarke and I were in the company of the chief of police and security, and yourself, sir, when the murder took place. It's possible implicating one or both of us is part of the plan at this point."

"It was a good party." He smiled a little. "The numbered account is being traced?"

"Captain Feeney is taking that. With permission, I'd like Roarke to assist in that area."

"I'm surprised he isn't already."

"I haven't brought him fully up to date. It's been a busy morning, Commander."

"It's going to get busier. It'd be a mistake to keep your connection to the victim undercover. It'll come out. Better if you bring it out. Use Nadine."

Eve thought of her media connection. She'd hoped for more breathing room there, but he was right.

Get it done, get it out. Get it spun. "I'll contact her right away."

"And the media liaison. Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

She started toward the door, stopped, and turned back. "Commander Whitney, I apologize for keeping you out of the loop. It won't happen again."

"No, it won't."

She walked out unsure if she'd been given a supportive pat on the back or a rap across the knuckles. Probably both, she decided, as she headed back to Homicide.

Peabody popped up from her desk in the bullpen the minute Eve strode in, and trotted behind her into her office.

"I have the data you requested, Lieutenant, and my report."

"Good. I don't have coffee."

"That abhorrent oversight will be corrected immediately, sir."

"If you're going to lick my boots, Peabody, try to be subtle about it."

"Was my tongue hanging out that far? I deserved the slap—I won't say it wasn't worth it, but I deserved it. McNab and I cleared the air, and straightened stuff out. He thought I was dumping him. Stupid idiot."

It was said with such affection, almost sung, that Eve just dropped her head in her hands. "If you want to wiggle out of another kick in the ass, spare me the details."

"Sorry. Coffee, sir, just the way you like it. Would you like me to get you something from vending?

My treat."

Eve lifted her head, slanted her eyes over toward Peabody. "Just how long were the two of you banging? No, no, I don't want to know. Just get me whatever, then contact Nadine. Tell her I need a meet."

"On that."

As Peabody scooted out, Eve tried Roarke on his personal 'link. She dragged a hand through her hair as she was transferred to voice mail.

"Sorry to bump into your day. There are some complications. Get back to me when you get the chance."

She shrugged her shoulders, hissed, then contacted the dreaded media liaison. With that duty done, she plugged in Peabody's data disc, began the scan as her partner came back.

"I got you a Go Bar, tide you over. Nadine's up for a meet—in fact, she said she had stuff to talk to you about, and wanted lunch."

"Lunch? Why can't she just come here?"

"She's juiced about something, Dallas. Wants you to meet her at Scentsational, at noon."

"Where?"

"Oh, it's a real hot spot. She must be able to pull fat strings to get a reservation. I've got the address. She asked me to come, too, so..."

"Sure, sure. Why the hell not. Just us freaking girls."

11

THOUGH THE SWEEPER'S REPORT ON HIDEY HOLE told her the locks and security had been tampered with, Eve went to the scene herself and met with the owner.

His name was Roy Chancey, and he was just as pissed to be hauled out of bed as he was with the break-in.

"Probably kids. Mostly is." He scratched the paunch of his belly, yawned, and gave her a good whiff of breath that had yet to be refreshed.

"No, it wasn't kids. Give me your whereabouts between seven and nine this morning."

"In my Christing bed, where d'ya think? Don't close 'til three. Time I get locked up and hit the sheets, it's damn near four. I sleep days. Nothing out there but sun and traffic days anyway."

"You live upstairs."

" 'S'right. Got a dance studio second floor, apartments on three and four."

"Alone? You live alone, Chancey?"

" 'S'right. Look, why'd I wanna break into my own place?"

"Good question. Do you know this woman?" She showed him Trudy's ID photo.

She gave him credit for taking a good look. Cops and bartenders, Eve thought. They knew how to make people.

"Nope. She the one got pulled in here?"

"Nope. She's the one got dead a couple days ago."

"Hey, hey, hey!" His rheumy eyes finally showed some life. "Nobody got dead in my place. Some might mix it up a little now and then, but nobody gets dead."

"How about this one? You know her?" She offered Zana's ID.

"No. Jesus, she dead, too? What's the deal?"

"What time does the dance studio open?"

"Like eight. Closed on Monday, though, thank Christ. Nothing but noise otherwise."

*  *  *

"He's not in it," Peabody said when they stepped outside.

"Nope." On the street, Eve studied the building, the ground-level door, the exterior. "Easy enough to pick out. Locks were crappy, security crappier. Minimal skill required to get in."

She scanned the pedestrian and street traffic. "Midlevel risk to get her in. Guy quick-walking with a woman, her head's down. Who pays attention? She'd drummed up a little spine, makes some noise, resists, maybe she shakes him off."

"Small-town girl, big city, dead mother-in-law." Peabody shrugged. "Not surprising she went along, especially when he gave her that little stick."

"Sloppy, though, whole thing's sloppy. Stupid on top of sloppy. And you're hitting for two million when, as far as you know, the well's a hell of a lot deeper. Chump change."

"You're jaded."

"Yeah, so?"

"No, I mean about money, if you can call two mil chump change."

"I am not." The insult went deep. "You're in for two, then you get bloody. Stakes go up when there's blood, and you ask for more. Smalltime, it's small-time. Has to be another reason he took Trudy out."

"Lover's quarrel, maybe. No honor among thieves. Maybe she was trying to cut him out."

"Yeah, greed always works."

Her 'link beeped on the way to the car. "Dallas."

"Complications?" Roarke said.

"A few." She filled him in. "You're on for ECC status if you want and can fit it in."

"I've a few things to deal with I'd rather not shift, but I'll touch base with Feeney. I should be able to work on it a bit at home this evening. In the company of my lovely wife."

Eve's shoulders automatically hunched together, particularly when she noted Peabody looking her way with fluttering eyelashes. "My day's pretty packed. I'm going to go by the lab now... No, shit, meet first, then lab. Gotta do some media spinning, so I'm tagging Nadine. Appreciate the assist if you manage it."

"Not a problem. Squeeze some food into your schedule."

"I'm having lunch with Nadine at some stupid place."

"Scentsational," Peabody told him, leaning over enough to get a glimpse of his face on the 'link screen.

"Well, now, the world's full of surprises. Let me know what you think of it."

It only took Eve a beat. "Yours?"

"A man's got to keep his hand in. I've a lunch meeting myself. Try the nasturtium salad. It's very nice."

"Yeah, that's going to happen. Later. That's flowers, right?" she asked Peabody when she ended transmission.

"Edible ones."

"In my world, flowers aren't on the menu."

*  *  *

Apparently they were in Roarke's world. They could be sampled, sipped, and sniffed, all in one elaborate setting where the tables rose up on graceful stems and bloomed in a garden of colors.

The air smelled like a meadow, which Eve assumed was supposed to be a good thing.

The floor was some sort of green glass, translucent so the flowers thriving below shimmered in a sophisticated garden. There were various levels, up trios of steps. An arbor arched over the bar, where diners could order flowery or herbal drinks as well as the more pedestrian wines.

Nadine sat at a table near a little lagoon where golden fish swam among water lilies. She'd done something to her hair, Eve noted, straightening its usual waves and fluffs so it was sleek, streaky rain angled around her face.

She looked sharper, somehow honed, suited up in pansy purple. She wore an earpiece, and spoke softly into it between sips of something very pink and very frothy.

"Gotta go. Hold everything for the next hour. Yes, everything." She tugged off the earpiece, dropped it into her purse. "Isn't this a place? I've been dying to come here."

"Your hair looks absolutely mag," Peabody told her as they sat.

"You think? First time I've taken it for a spin." In the way of women, Nadine combed her hand through the angled ends. "I'm trying it out."

A waiter, decked out in leafy green, poofed beside their table like magic. "Welcome to Scentsational, ladies. I'm Dean, and I'm your server today. Can I get you a cocktail?"

"No," Eve said even as Peabody's eyes brightened. She kept hers bland as Peabody's dimmed. "Got Pepsi?"

"Of course, madam. And for you?"

"Can I get what she's got?" Peabody gestured to Nadine's drink. "Virgin."

"Absolutely."

"Fantastic party the other night, by the way," Nadine began when the waiter went off to fill the order. "I'm still recovering. Didn't have a lot of time to talk to you then, and I didn't think it was the right time and place for what I need to talk about. So—"

"Hold that, will you? I've got something going, and I need some spin."

Nadine's eyebrows shot up. "You've got a hot one already? Why haven't I heard?"

"Female vic, skull cracked, hotel room on the West Side."

"Mmmm." Nadine shut her eyes a minute. "Yeah, I got some wind on that. Tourist, bungled break-in. What's the big?"

"I found the body. I knew her. It wasn't a burglary gone wrong."

"Let me get this down."

"No, keep it in your head. No record, not now."

"You never make it easy. All right." Nadine sat back, gestured with her glass. "Shoot."

Eve gave her the basics, quick and pointed. "The department feels it would be in the best interest of the investigation if my connection, however slight, with the victim was made known straight off. I'd appreciate some..." She couldn't think of the right word. "... I guess delicacy. I don't want big drums banging about the whole foster business."

"I won't, others might. Are you going to be prepared to deal with that?"

"Not much choice. The point is—and the point that should be banged is—a woman was murdered, police are investigating. Evidence indicates that the victim knew her assailant."

"We do a one-on-one, you can put it in your own words. Get your face out there while you do. The public hasn't forgotten the Icove business, Dallas, believe me. Seeing you, hearing you, reminds them.

Oh yeah, there's that cop who busted those crazy doctors. And when I wrap the story with that tag, that's what they'll focus on more than your negligible connection to a recent murder victim."

"Maybe. Maybe." Eve paused as their drinks were served and the waiter began his litany of the day's specials and chef's recommendations.

Because the descriptions were long and rapturous—Jots of "infused with" or "scented with" and "delicately swathed in"—she tuned him out and turned over Nadine's suggestion.

"Give me the pasta thing," Eve said when it was her turn to order. "How soon can you do the one-on-one?"

"I'll get a camera, do it right after lunch if we cut the meal a little short. I need to skip dessert anyway."

"All right. Good. Thanks."

"You're always good for ratings. Speaking of which, mine are currently through the stratosphere. One of the things I wanted to discuss with you. I had the front line with the Icove story—thanks—and I'm raking in the offers. Book deals, vid deals, and the big one, for me... Drum roll, please," she said while her face lit up. "... I'm getting my own show."

"Your own show!" Peabody all but bounced on her seat. "Wow! Mega-wow! Congratulations, Nadine. This is beyond uptown."

"Thanks. A full hour weekly, and I can call my own shots. I'm going to have a staff. Jesus, I can't get over it. My own staff, my own show." Laughing, she patted her heart. "I'm sticking with the crime beat, it's what I know and what I'm known for. We're calling it Now, as I'm going to deal with what's happening up to the minute we air, every week. Dallas, I want you to be my first interview."

"Nadine, congrats and blah-blah. Seriously. But you know I hate that crap."

"It'll be great, it'll be good. You can take us into the mind of the NYPSD's hottest cop."

"Oh, shit."

"How you work, how you think, the routine. The steps and stages of an investigation. We'll talk about the Icove case—"

"Hasn't that horse been beaten dead yet?"

"Not as long as people are interested, and they are. I'm going to start working with a writer on the book, and the vid script. I need you to meet with her."

Eve lifted a finger, slashed it through the air. "Line drawn."

Nadine's smile was sly. "It's going to get done with or without you, Dallas. You want to make sure it's done right, don't you?"

"Who's playing you in the vid?" Peabody wanted to know, and attacked the orange blossom chicken on her plate the minute it was in front of her.

"Don't know yet. We're just getting started."

"Am I in it?"

"Sure. The young, steady detective who hunts murderers alongside her sexy, seasoned partner."

"I'm going to boot," Eve muttered, and was ignored.

"This is too frosty! Entirely. Wait 'til I tell McNab."

"Nadine, this is good for you. Another round of big congrats and all that." Eve shook her head. "But it's not the kind of thing I want to get tangled in. It's not what I do, what I am."

"Be iced if we could do some of the shoot for the show and the vid at your house. Dallas at home."

"Not in this lifetime."

Nadine grinned. "Figured as much. Think about some of it, anyway, will you? I'm not going to push it on you."

Eve sampled pasta, gave Nadine a wary look. "No?"

"No. I'll nag a little, finagle where I can, but I won't push. Here's why," she said, tapping her fork in the air. "Remember that time you saved my life? When that psycho Morse had me in the park, ready to slice me to pieces?"

"I have a vague recollection."

"This is bigger." Nadine signaled the waiter. "Another round here. So I'm not going to push," she continued. "Much. But if you could catch a juicy case mid-February when we debut, it wouldn't hurt."

"Mavis is due then," Peabody commented.

"God, that's right. Mama Mavis," Nadine added with a laugh. "Still can't get around it. You and Roarke started your coaching classes yet, Dallas?"

"Shut up. Never mention it again."

"They're dragging butt over it," Peabody told her. "Procrastinating."

"The word's 'avoiding,'" Eve corrected. "People always want you to do stuff that's not natural."

"Childbirth's natural," Peabody put in.

"Not when I'm involved."

*  *  *

Going to the lab to boot some ass, Eve thought. That was natural. She found Dick Berenski, of the spidery fingers and egg-shaped head, at a work station, slurping coffee through his flabby lips.

"Gimme data."

"It's always 'gimme' with you cops. Always think your shit's the priority."

"Where are my fibers?"

"In the fiber department." He snorted, obviously amused with himself as he rolled on his stool to a screen, gave a few taps. "Harvo's working on it. Go hound her. She did your hair already. Out of the drains, out of both the rooms. Must not clean out the pipes in that shithole but every decade. Got the vic's, and other unidentified—for now—on crime scene. No Wood traces in the drains of the second room, just the vic's on crime scene, bathroom sink. ID'd hair from vic, son of vic, daughter-in-law of vic, hotel maid, couple of former tenants already listed on your report. All the blood on crime scene was the vic's. Surprise, surprise."

"In other words you can't tell me anything I don't already know."

"Not my fault. I can only work with what you give me."

"Let me know when you've compared hair and prints from the hotel scene and the bar."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Cheery today," Peabody muttered as they headed through the glass-wall maze of the lab.

They found Harvo at her station studying the screen. Her red hair was stiff with spikes that contrasted with her pale, almost translucent skin. There were little Santas dangling from her ears.

"Yo," she said.

"That my fiber?"

"One and the same. Hair's turned in."

"Yeah, I got that from Dickhead. I thought you were the Queen of Hair, not fiber."

"Queen of Hair," Harvo agreed with a snap of her chewing gum. "Goddess of Fiber. Fact of it is, I'm just fucking brilliant."

"Good to know. What've we got?"

"Synthetic white poly with traces of elastizine. Same constitution as the particles found in the unfortunate vic's bone and gray matter. What you're looking for is either a sock or a tummy tamer. But I'd say not a girdle—not enough elastizine."

"Sock," Eve said.

"And you'd win the prize. Compared fibers to a lone white sock taken from the scene. You got your match. New sock, never worn, never washed. Still traces of gum on the lone one, from the tag, and I got me a tiny bit of plastic jammed in the toe. You know how they snap the socks together with the little plastic string?"