ODD, EVE THOUGHT, HOW LITTLE SHE REMEMBERED him. He was, essentially, the first child near her own age she’d ever known.
They’d lived in the same house for months, and it had been a series of firsts for her. The first time she’d ever lived in a house, or stayed in one place night after night with a bed of her own. The first time she’d been around another kid.
The first time she hadn’t been beaten or raped.
But she could only see him vaguely the way he’d been—the pale blond hair cut short over a wide, almost chubby face.
He’d been shy, and she’d been terrified. She supposed it wasn’t that odd that they hadn’t bonded.
Now, here they were, in a bland hotel room with grief and death fouling the air.
“I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m very sorry about what’s happened.”
“I don’t know what happened.” His eyes were ravaged, and he clung to Zana’s hand as they sat together on the side of the bed. “No one will tell us anything. My mother . . . my mother.”
“Do you know why she came to New York?”
“Of course.” When Zana made a little whimpering sound, Bobby took his hand from hers so he could wrap his arm tight around her shoulders. “She wanted to see you. And we haven’t had a vacation in a while. She was excited about coming to New York. We’ve never been. And seeing you, and shopping for Christmas. Oh, God.” He dropped his head onto his wife’s shoulder, then just dropped it into his hands. “How could this have happened to her? Who could’ve done it?”
“Do you know anyone who was bothering her? Who had threatened her?”
“No. No. No.”
“Well . . .” Zana bit her lip, then pressed them tight together.
“You thought of someone?” Eve asked her.
“I, well, it’s just that she’s got that feud going with Mrs. Dillman next door?” She knuckled tears away. “Mrs. Dillman’s grandson’s over there and out in the backyard all the time with that little dog he brings over, and they do carry on. Mama Tru and Mrs. Dillman had more than a few words over it. And Mrs. Dillman said she’d like to slap Mama Tru silly.”
“Zana.” Bobby rubbed and rubbed at his eyes. “That isn’t what Eve meant.”
“No, I guess not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
“What have you been doing in New York?” Eve asked. “What sort of things?”
Zana looked at Bobby, obviously expecting him to take the lead, but he just kept his head in his hands. “Um, well, we got in. It was Wednesday, and we walked around, shopped a little bit, and we went to see the show at Radio City. Bobby got tickets from a man right out on the street. They were awfully expensive.”
Scalped tickets generally were, Eve thought.
“It was wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Mama Tru said we didn’t have very good seats, but I thought they were just fine. And we went and had an Italian dinner after. It was awfully nice. We came back sort of early, because it’d been a long day with all the traveling.”
She began to rub a hand up and down Bobby’s back as she spoke. The gold band of her wedding ring glinted dully in the poor light. “Next morning, we had breakfast in a cafe, and Mama Tru said how she was going to see you, and she wanted to go by herself this first time. So Bobby and I went to the Empire State Building, ’cause Mama Tru said she didn’t want to stand in those lines anyway, and—”
“You’ve been doing the tourist thing,” Eve interrupted, before she got more play-by-play. “Did you see anyone you knew?”
“No. You’d almost think you would, because it doesn’t feel like there could be anyone left out in the rest of the world with all these people.”
“How long was she gone, out on her own?”
“That day? Um.” Zana went back to biting her lip, creasing her forehead as she thought. “I guess I don’t know for sure, because Bobby and me didn’t get back until almost four, and she was here already. She was a little upset.”
Zana glanced at Bobby again, took one of his hands and squeezed it. “I guess things didn’t go as well with you as she’d hoped, and she was a little upset and irritated that we weren’t here when she got back.”
“She was spitting mad.” Bobby finally lifted his head. “It’s all right to say so, Zana. She was hopping because you’d brushed her off, Eve, and she felt put upon because we weren’t waiting for her. Mama could be difficult.”
“Just got her feelings hurt, that’s all,” Zana soothed, brushing her hand over his thigh. “And you fixed it all up, like always. Bobby took her right back out, bought her a real nice pair of earrings, and we went all the way downtown for a fancy dinner. She was feeling just fine after that.”
“She went out on her own the next day,” Eve prompted, and Bobby’s expression turned puzzled.
“That’s right. Did she come to see you again? I told her to leave it alone, at least for a while. She didn’t go to breakfast with us, said she was going to be lazy, then go out for some retail therapy. Shopping always made her happy. We were booked for dinner that night, but she said she didn’t feel like going out. Said she was feeling tired, and she’d have something in her room. She didn’t sound like herself.”
“How’d she look?”
“I don’t know. She was in her room. When she didn’t answer the room ’link, I called on hers, and she had the video blocked. Said she was in the tub. I didn’t see her. I didn’t see her again after Friday morning.”
“What about Saturday?”
“She called our room, about nine, I guess. Zana, you talked to her that time.”
“I did. She had the video blocked again, now that I think of it. She said we should go on with whatever we wanted to do. She wanted to be on her own. Truth is, I thought she was sulking a little, and I tried to talk her into coming out with us. We were going to take one of the sky trams, and we had a ticket already for her, but she said no. Maybe she’d go walking. She wasn’t feeling that well anyway. I could tell she was upset—didn’t I say, Bobby? ‘Your mama’s irritated, I can tell by her voice.’ But we let her be and went on. And that night . . . You tell it, Bobby.”
“She wouldn’t come to the door. I was getting a little irritated myself. She said she was fine, but still wanted to stay in, watch the screen. We went out to dinner, just the two of us.”
“We had a wonderful meal, and champagne. And we . . .” She slid her eyes toward Bobby in a way that told Eve they’d done some celebrating when they’d gotten back to their room. “We, ah, slept a little late this morning. We tried to call her room, and her ’link, but she didn’t answer. Finally, when Bobby was in the shower, I thought, ‘Well, I’m going down there and knocking ’til she lets me in. I’m just going to make her . . .’ ”
She trailed off, pressed her hand to her mouth.
“And all that time. All that time . . .”
“Did you hear or see anything last night, anything unusual?”
Bobby only sighed. “It’s loud here, even with the windows closed. And we’d had a bottle of champagne. We put on music when we got back, never turned it off. It was still playing when we got up this morning. And we . . . made love when we got back last night, and again this morning.”
His color came up as he spoke. “The fact is, I was annoyed with her, with my mother. She pushed to come here, and she wouldn’t contact you by ’link before we came, no matter how much I talked to her about it. Then she started holing up in her room—sulking, I figured, because you weren’t playing the role she wanted you to play, I guess. I didn’t want Zana’s trip spoiled because of that.”
“Oh, honey.”
“My feelings were, ‘Fine, she wants to pout in there, she can stay in until we leave on Monday. I’m going to do the town with my wife.’ Oh hell. Oh hell,” he repeated and wrapped his arm around Zana. “I don’t know why somebody’d hurt her like that. I don’t understand it. Did they . . . was she—”
Eve knew the tone, knew the look in the survivor’s eye. “She wasn’t raped. Did she have anything of value with her?”
“She didn’t bring much of her good jewelry.” Zana sniffled. “Said it was asking for trouble, though she loved wearing it.”
“I see you’ve got your window closed and locked.”
Bobby glanced over. “It’s noisy,” he said absently. “And there’s that emergency escape out there, so it’s best to . . . Is that how they got in? Through her window? I told her to keep that window shut, keep it locked. I told her.”
“We haven’t determined that yet. I’m going to take care of this, Bobby. I’m going to do everything I can. If you need to talk to me, either of you, you can contact me at Central.”
“What do we do now? What do we do?”
“Wait, and let me do my job. I’m going to need you to stay in New York, at least for the next few days.”
“Yeah, okay. I . . . I’ll get in touch with my partner, tell him—tell him what happened.”
“What do you do?”
“Real estate. I sell real estate. Eve? Should I go with her? Should I go with Mama now?”
He was no good to anyone now, Eve thought. He and his baffled grief would only be in the way. “Why don’t you give that some time? There’s nothing you can do. Other people are taking care of her now. I’ll let you know when there’s something more.”
He got to his feet. “Could I have done something? If I’d made the manager open the door last night, or this morning, could I have done something?”
And here, she thought, she could do the one thing, the single thing, that soothed. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
When Eve and Peabody walked out, she drew a clear breath. “Take?”
“Comes off a decent guy. Shocky right now. So’s she. One holds up ’til the other goes down. Want me to run them?”
“Yeah.” Eve rubbed her hands over her face. “By the book.” She watched as the morgue unit rolled out the body bag. Morris came out behind them.
“One-twenty-eight A.M. on time of death,” he said. “On-scene examination indicates the fatal blow was a head wound inflicted with our old favorite—the blunt object. Nothing in the room, at my scan, matches. The other bodily injuries are older. Twenty-four hours or more. I’ll get you more exact once I’ve got her in my house.” His eyes stayed level on hers. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I’ll let you know what I know when I know it.”
“Thanks.” Eve walked back into the crime scene, signalled one of the sweepers. “I’m looking, particularly, for a pocket or hand ’link, her personal communication device.”
“Haven’t got one yet.”
“Let me know when and if.” She moved straight to the window, glanced back at Peabody. “We’ll go down this way.”
“Oh, man.”
Eve ducked through and out the window, dropped lightly on the narrow evac platform. She hated heights, freaking hated them, and had to wait a moment for her stomach to stop rolling. To give her system time to adjust, she concentrated on the platform itself.
“Got blood.” She hunkered down. “Nice little dribble of a trail. Over the platform.” She hit the release, watched the steps jut out. “And down.”
“Logical route out and away,” Peabody commented. “Sweepers will get samples, and we’ll know if it’s the vic’s.”
“Yeah.” Eve straightened, studied the access to other rooms on the floor.
Tricky, she decided, with the gaps, but not impossible if you were athletic or ballsy enough. A good strong jump would do it, which she’d have preferred over the tiptoe route along the skinny spit of ledge. Which meant the killer could have come from inside or outside the hotel.
But logic said in and out the emergency route. Down and away, to ditch the weapon just about any damn where.
She looked down, breathed through her teeth as her head went light. People crawled along the sidewalk below. Four floors, she thought. She probably wouldn’t pull a Tubbs if she fell, and kill some innocent pedestrian.
Then she crouched, examining a splat of pigeon dung. She cocked her head up as Peabody stepped out beside her. “See this flying rat shit.”
“What a lovely pattern, abstract yet compellingly urban.”
“Looks smeared to me, like somebody caught the side of it with a shoe.” She poked her head back in the window. “Yo! Got some blood and some pigeon crap out here. I want it scraped up and bagged.”
“We get all the class work,” one of the sweepers commented.
“Mark it, Peabody,” Eve ordered, then started down the zig-zagging stairs. “I want the hotel’s recyclers, and any recyclers in a four-block radius, searched. We got some luck there, it being Sunday.”
“Tell that to the team pawing through the garbage.”
“Emergency evac makes basically every room this side of the building accessible to the other. We’re going to want to take a look at the copy of the registration disc.”
“No security cams in the hallways, stairways,” Peabody added. “If it’s an inside job, why not just go out the door when you were finished?”
“Yeah, why not? Maybe you don’t know there aren’t any cams.” Her boots clanged on metal as she went down, and her stomach began to level out. “Maybe you’re really careful and don’t want to chance being seen by Mr. and Mrs. Tourist, who may be strolling in from a night on the town.”
At the last platform, she hit the second release, and the short ladder rattled out. Steady now, she swung out, used the rungs, then dropped to the sidewalk.
Peabody clambered down after her.
“Couple of things,” Eve began as they skirted around to the front of the building. “Lombard went to Roarke’s office on Friday to try to shake him down.”
“What? What?”
“It needs to go in the report. It needs to be out there, up front. He met her, booted her out. End of story, but it needs to be up front. Sometime after that and several hours before she got bashed, she ran into trouble. It’s easy for both Roarke and myself to account for our time and our whereabouts at the time of her death, and should be just as easy to account for the period between her leaving his office and TOD.”
“Nobody’s going to be looking at either of you.”
Eve stopped. “I’d be looking at me if I didn’t know I was alibied. I wouldn’t be above smacking her in the face.”
“Killing her?”
Eve shook her head. “Maybe whoever tuned her up wasn’t the same person who killed her. Maybe she was working with someone, hoping to fall into easy money through Roarke. When she didn’t pull it off, he or she tuned her. It’s something to look at.”
“All right.”
“Here’s the deal.” She turned to Peabody and gave what she considered a statement. “We had a houseful of caterers and decorators and God knows crawling all over the house all day Saturday. All day. When Roarke has outside contractors on the premises, he keeps cams on, full. You’re going to contact Feeney, request that he pick up those discs, examine the equipment, and verify we were both there, all day.”
“I’ll take care of it. I’m going to repeat: Nobody’s going to look at you.” She held up a hand before Eve could interrupt. “Neither would you, Dallas, after five minutes. A face punch, sure. You’re not above it. And so what? But that was more than a punch that left her face messed up. More than a fist, and you are above that. She tries to shake Roarke down? Shit, she had to be bird stupid. He’d scrape her off like, well, like you’d scrape flying rat shit off your shoe. It’s a nonissue. Trust me, I’m a detective.”
“Been a while since you’ve managed to work that into a conversation.”
“I’ve grown mature, and selective.” As they rounded the corner, Peabody dipped her hands into her pockets. “He’s going to have to be interviewed, you know.”
“Yeah.” She could see him leaning up against the side of her vehicle—where had that come from—and working on his PPC. “I know.”
He looked over, spotted her. His eyebrows lifted, and he tucked his PPC away. “Out for a stroll?”
“You never know where cop work’s going to take you.”
“Obviously. Hello, Peabody. Recovered this morning?”
“Barely. It was a hell of a party.”
“Give us a minute, will you?” Eve asked her.
“Sure. I’ll go talk to people, and get those discs.”
When they were alone, Eve gave her vehicle’s tire a little boot. “How did this get here?”
“A bit of sleight of hand. I assumed you’d want your own.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I contacted Mira, let her know what was going on and that you’d be tied up for a while.”
“Mira? Oh, right, right.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “Forgot. Thanks. What do I owe you?”
“We’ll negotiate.”
“I’ve got to ask you for one more. I need you to come down, make an official statement regarding your conversation with the victim on Friday at your office.”
Something sizzled in his eyes. “Am I on your short list, Lieutenant?”
“Don’t pull that. Don’t.” She drew a breath in, slowly. Released it, slowly. “Another investigator catches this, we’re both on the short list until we clear it up. We both had motive to cause her pain, and someone caused her plenty. We’re out regarding the murder. Can’t kill someone in Midtown when you’re partying with the chief of police in another part of town. Still, we’ve both got connections, and the wherewithal to hire somebody to do it.”
“And we’re both smart enough to have hired someone who wouldn’t be quite so obvious and sloppy.”
“Maybe, but sometimes obvious and sloppy is purposeful. Added to it, somebody busted up her face earlier. We need to cover that, too.”
“So, you don’t think I murdered her, but as for beating her up—”
“Stop it.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hitting me with this attitude isn’t helping.”
“Which attitude would you prefer I hit you with? I have several available.”
“Goddamn it, Roarke.”
“All right, all right.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “It just pisses me off, having my wife interview me over assault.”
“Well, cheer up, I won’t be. Peabody’ll handle it.”
“Won’t that be delightful?” He took her arms, turned her so they were toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye. “I want you to tell me—I want you to look at me and tell me, right now, if you believe I put hands on her.”
“No.” There was no hesitation. “It’s not your style, and if you’d lost it enough to jump out of character, you’d have told me already. The fact is, it’s my style, and I’ll be putting her visit to me in my report.”
He swore. “Bloody bitch is as much trouble dead as she was alive. Don’t give me that look. I won’t be lighting a candle for her. You would, in your way. Because for better or worse, she’s yours now, and you’ll stand for her because you can’t do otherwise.”
He continued to hold her arms, and now ran his hands lightly up and down. “I’ll come with you now, and have it done.”
“Crappy way to spend a Sunday.”
“Wouldn’t be the first,” he said and opened the car door.
At Central, Peabody set up in one of the interview rooms. Her movements were a little jerky, and her eyes stayed down.
“Relax,” Roarke advised. “I believe it’s traditional for the subject to be nervous rather than the investigator.”
“It’s awkward. It’s just a formality.” Peabody looked up. “It sucks. It’s a sucky formality.”
“Hopefully, it’ll be quick and painless for both of us.”
“You ready?”
“Go ahead.”
She had to clear her throat, but read the data into record. “Sir, we understand you’re here voluntarily, and we appreciate your cooperation with this investigation.”
“Whatever I can do . . .” He shifted his gaze to the long mirror, to indicate he knew very well Eve was observing from the other side. “For the department.”
“You were acquainted with Trudy Lombard.”
“Not really. I had the occasion to meet her once, when she requested a meeting with me, at my office, this past Friday.”
“Why did you agree to meet her?”
“Curiosity. I was aware that my wife was briefly in her charge many years ago.”
“Ms. Lombard was Lieutenant Dallas’s foster mother for a five-and-a-half-month period in 2036.”
“That was my understanding.”
“Were you aware that Ms. Lombard had made contact with the lieutenant at her office in this facility this past Thursday?”
“I was.”
“And how would you describe the lieutenant’s reaction to that contact?”
“As her business.” When Peabody opened her mouth, shut it again, he shrugged. “My wife had no desire to renew the relationship. Her memory of that time was unhappy, and I believe she preferred to keep it in the past.”
“But you agreed to meet with Ms. Lombard, at your office in Midtown.”
“Yes, as I said, I was curious.” His gaze tracked to the mirror again, and, he was sure, met Eve’s. “I wondered what she wanted.”
“What was it she wanted?”
“Money, naturally. Her initial pitch was to play on my sympathy, to enlist me to help her soften the lieutenant. Her claim was that my wife was mistaken in her feelings toward her, and her memory of that portion of her life.”
He paused, looked at Peabody, and nearly smiled. “As the lieutenant is, as you know, rarely mistaken on such matters, I didn’t find the woman’s claims credible, and wasn’t sympathetic. I suggested that she leave things as they were.”
“But she wanted you to pay her?”
“Yes. Two million dollars was the suggestion. She would go back to Texas for that amount. She was unhappy when I informed her that I had no intention of paying her any amount, at any time.”
“Did she threaten you in some way?”
“She was no threat, to me or mine. She was an irritant at worst. A kind of leech, you could say, who’d hoped to suck a bit of blood out of what was a difficult time in my wife’s childhood.”
“Did you consider her request for money blackmail?”
Tricky area, Roarke thought. “She may have hoped I’d see it that way—I can’t say. For myself, I considered it ridiculous, and nothing that I, or the lieutenant, should concern ourselves with.”
“It didn’t make you angry? Somebody comes into your office, tries to hose you down? It’d tick me off.”
He smiled at her, wished he could tell her she was doing a good job of it. “To be frank, Detective, I’d expected her to try me. It seemed the most logical reason for her contacting the lieutenant after all these years.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Angry? No. On the contrary, I got some satisfaction out of the meeting, by letting her know, unmistakably, that there would be no payment. Now or ever.”
“How did you make that clear?”
“By telling her just that. We spoke in my office for perhaps ten minutes, and I sent her on her way. I requested that my admin inform Security, to make certain she’d left the building. Oh, there’s a record of her entering and exiting the building, and my office. Standard security measures. I took it upon myself to contact Captain Feeney of EDD, and ask that he personally retrieve those discs so that you have them for your files. I thought that would be best.”
“Good.” Peabody’s eyes went wide. “That’s good. Um, did you have contact with Ms. Lombard after she left your office on Friday?”
“None. The lieutenant and I spent the evening at home on Friday, and she and I hosted a large holiday party on Saturday at our home. We were quite busy throughout the day with preparations. There are also security discs for that period, as we had numerous outside contractors in our home. Captain Feeney will also retrieve those. And, of course, Saturday evening we were among more than two hundred and fifty friends, acquaintances, and business colleagues from approximately eight P.M. until after three in the morning. I’m happy to provide you with the guest list.”
“We appreciate it. Did you have any physical contact with Trudy Lombard, at any time?”
His voice remained neutral, but he allowed just a hint of disgust to show on his face. “I shook her hand when we met. That was quite enough.”
“Could you tell me why you and the lieutenant were at the West Side Hotel this morning?”
“We’d decided it would be best if the lieutenant spoke to Lombard face-to-face, to inform her that she—my wife—had no desire for further contact, and that neither of us intended to pay for the privilege of choice.”
Peabody nodded. “Thank you. Again, we appreciate your cooperation in this matter. Interview end.”
She heaved out a breath, went comically limp in her chair. “Thank God that’s over.”
He reached over to pat her hand. “How’d we do?”
“She’ll let us know, believe me, but my take? You were forthcoming, articulate, and gave the details. You’re alibied up to your gonads—Oh, sorry.”
“Not a problem, I like knowing that part of my anatomy is protected.” He glanced over as the door opened. “Now this one may bring out the rubber hoses. But I could learn to like it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d contacted Feeney?” Eve demanded.
“I believe I just did.”
“You could’ve—never mind. Peabody, let’s start those runs, and do a quick check of the other guests at the hotel. I’ll be a minute.”
“See you later,” Peabody said to Roarke.
“I’m going to—”
“Be a while.” Roarke finished Eve’s sentence. “I can find my way home.”
“It’s good you did this. Good it’s done and out of the way. She could’ve pushed a little harder, but she got the details, and that’s what counts.”
“All right, then. About what you owe me? I’ve got my price.”
She pursed her lips in thought. “We’ve probably got some rubber hoses in the basement somewhere.”
And he laughed. “There’s my girl. Go by Mira’s when you’re done.”
“I don’t know how long—”
“It won’t matter. Go talk to Mira, then come home to me.”
“Where else would I go?”
“The gifts? They’re in the boot of your car.”
“That’s trunk in the U. S. of A., mick-boy.”
“Right.” He grabbed her arms, yanked her forward, kissed her good and hard. “I’ll be waiting.”
He would, she thought. She had someone waiting for her, and that was her miracle.
At her desk with an oversized mug of black coffee, Eve studied the official data on Lombard, Bobby. Not Robert, she noted. He was two years her senior, the product of a legal cohab that had dissolved when he’d been two. His father, when she did a cross-run, was listed as Gruber, John, married since 2046, and residing in Toronto.
Bobby himself had graduated from business college and been employed at Plain Deal Real Estate from that time until eighteen months earlier, when he’d gone into partnership with a Densil K. Easton to form L and E Realtors, in Copper Cove, Texas. He’d married Kline, Zana, a year later.
No criminal.
Zana was twenty-eight, originally from Houston. No paternity listed on her record. She’d been, apparently, raised by her mother, who had died in a vehicular accident when Zana was twenty-four. She, too, had gone to a business college, and was listed as a C.P.A. One, Eve noted, who’d been employed by L and E Realtors almost from the onset.
So she moved to Copper Cove, and married the boss, Eve thought.
No criminal, no previous marriage or cohab.
Officially, they came off as what they seemed, she decided. A couple of simple, ordinary people who’d had some extreme bad luck.
Finally, she pulled up Trudy Lombard.
She skimmed over what she already knew, and lifted her eyebrows at the employment record.
She’d been a health care assistant, a receptionist in a manufacturing firm. She’d applied for professional mother status after the birth of her son, and had worked part-time—reporting an income just under the legal limit to retain that status.
Retail clerk, Eve scanned. Three different employers. Data cruncher, two employers. Domestic coordinator? What the hell was that? Whatever it was, it hadn’t lasted either.
She’d also lived in four different places, all in Texas, over a six-year period.
On the grift, Eve thought. That’s what the pattern told her. Run the game, wring it dry, move on.
She’d applied for, tested for, and been approved for foster parenting. Had applied and been granted the retention of full pro-mom status under the fostering waiver—make every penny count, Eve thought. Austin area, Eve noted, for a full year, before she’d moved again, applied again, been approved again.
Fourteen months in Beaumont, then another move, another application. Another approval.
“Itchy feet? You know what, Trudy, you bitch? I don’t think so. Then I came along, and look here, you pulled up stakes again three months after I went back inside. More applications, more approvals, and you just grifted your way around the big-ass state of Texas, taking the fostering fees, right up until Bobby graduated from college and your pro-mom status was up.”
She leaned back, considered.
Yeah, it could work. It was a good game. You’ve got your license and approval, in state. So you just move from location to location, pick up more kids, more fees. Child Services, busy agency. Always understaffed, underfunded. Bet they were pleased to have an experienced woman, a pro-mom, willing to take on some charges.
Trudy had settled in one place after her professional mother status elapsed, and she’d gone out of the fostering business. Kept close to her son, Eve mused. Another handful of short-term jobs. Not a lot of income for a woman who supposedly liked to shop, and had jewelry valuable enough, reportedly, to leave home when traveling.
Interesting, Eve thought. Interesting. And she’d bet a pound of real coffee beans that she hadn’t been the only child Trudy Lombard had traumatized.
SHE WISHED ROARKE HADN’T MADE HER FEEL obliged to go by the Miras. She was tired, and there was still a lot of work on her plate, a lot of thinking time to put in.
Now she’d have to visit. Sit around, drink something, make conversation. Exchange presents. The last always made her feel stupid, and she didn’t know why. People seemed to have this unstoppable need to give and receive stuff they could easily afford to go out and get for themselves anyway.
Now here she was, standing outside the pretty house in its pretty neighborhood. There was a holly wreath on the door. She knew holly when she saw it now, after her experience with the decorators. There were candles in the windows, pretty white lights glowing calm against the dark, and through one of those windows she could see the sparkle of a Christmas tree.
There would be presents under it, probably a considerable haul as Mira had grandchildren. She’d also learned that if one present wasn’t enough to give a spouse for the holiday, a half dozen didn’t come up to snuff for a kid.
She happened to know Peabody had already bought three—count them, three—presents for Mavis’s baby, and the kid wasn’t due to be born for over a month.
What the hell did you buy for a fetus, anyway? And why did nobody else think that was kind of creepy?
Roarke had shipped a damn cargo freighter of gifts to his relatives in Ireland.
And she was stalling. Just standing out in the cold and dark, stalling.
She shifted the packages under her arm, rang the bell.
It was Mira who answered moments later. Mira in her at-home wear, soft sweater, trim pants, bare feet.
“I’m so glad you came.”
Before Eve could speak, she was being drawn inside, into warm, pine- and cranberry-scented air. There was music playing, something quiet and seasonal, and more candles flickering.
“Sorry it’s so late.”
“It doesn’t matter. Come into the living room, let me take your coat.”
“I’ve got these things. Just some things I picked up.”
“Thank you. Just sit. I’m going to get you some wine.”
“I don’t want to hold you up from—”
“Please. Sit.”
She laid the gifts on the coffee table beside a big silver bowl full of pine cones and red berries.
She’d been right about the mountain of gifts, Eve noted. There had to be a hundred packages under the tree. How many was that each? she wondered. How many of the Miras were there, anyway? They were kind of a horde. Might be almost twenty of them altogether, so . . .
She got to her feet as Dennis Mira strolled in.
“Sit, sit, sit. Charlie said you were here. Just came in to see you. Wonderful party last night.”
He was wearing a cardigan. Something about the scruffy look of it with one of its buttons dangling from a loose thread turned her heart to mush.
He smiled, and since she continued to stand, walked to stand beside her and turned that dreamy smile toward the tree. “Charlie won’t go for fake. Every year I tell her we ought to buy a replica, and every year she says no. I’m always glad.”
He stunned Eve by draping an arm over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Nothing ever seems too bad, too hard or too sad when you’ve got a Christmas tree in the living room. All those presents under it, all that anticipation. Just a way of saying there’s always light and hope in the world. And you’re lucky enough to have a family to share it with.”
Her throat had snapped shut. She found herself doing something she’d never have believed, and even as she did it, she couldn’t see herself doing it.
She turned into him, pressed her face to his shoulder, and wept.
He didn’t seem the least surprised, and only stroked and patted her back. “There now. That’s all right, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day.”
She hitched in a breath, drew away, appalled. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s . . . I should go.”
But he had her hand. However soft and sweet he appeared, he had a grip like iron. “You just sit down here. I’ve got a handkerchief. I think.” He began patting his pockets, digging into them with that vague and baffled expression.
It settled her more than a soother. She laughed, rubbed her face dry. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. I really need to—”
“Have some wine,” Mira said, and crossed the room with a tray.
As it was obvious she’d seen the outburst, Eve’s embarrassment only increased.
“I’m a little off, that’s all.”
“Hardly a wonder.” Mira set the tray down, picked up one of the glasses. “Sit down and relax. I’d like to open my present, if that’s all right.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Um . . .” She picked up Dennis’s gift. “I came across this, thought you might be able to use it.”
He beamed like a ten-year-old who’d just found a shiny red airbike under the tree. And the twinkle didn’t fade when he drew out the scarf. “Look at this, Charlie. This ought to keep me warm when I take my walks.”
“And it looks just like you. And, oh! Look at this.” Mira lifted out the antique teapot. “It’s gorgeous. Violets,” she murmured, tracing a finger over the tiny painted flowers that twined around the white china pot. “I love violets.”
She actually cooed over it, Eve realized, as some women tended to do over small, drooling babies.
“I figured you’re into tea, so—”
“I love it. I absolutely love it.” Mira rose, rushed over and kissed Eve on both cheeks. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“I think I’m going to try my gift out right now, have myself a little walk.” Dennis rose. He walked over, bent down to Eve, tapped her chin. “You’re a good girl and a smart woman. Talk to Charlie.”
“I didn’t mean to run him off,” Eve said after Dennis left the room.
“You didn’t. Dennis is as astute as he is absentminded, and he knew we needed a little time alone. Will you open your gift?” She took a box from the tray, held it out to Eve.
“It’s pretty.” She never knew the right thing to say, but that seemed appropriate when holding a box wrapped in silver and gold and topped by a big red bow.
She wasn’t sure what it was—something round, with open scrollwork and small glittering stones. As it was on a chain her first thought was that it was some sort of necklace, though the disk was wider than her palm.
“Relax,” Mira said with a laugh. “It’s not jewelry. No one could compete with Roarke in that area. It’s a kind of sun catcher, something you might hang at the window. In your office, I thought.”
“It’s pretty,” Eve said again, and looking closer, made out a pattern in the scrollwork. “Celtic? Sort of like what’s on my wedding ring.”
“Yes. Though my daughter tells me the symbol on your ring is for protection. This one, and the stones with it, are to promote peace of mind. It’s been blessed—I hope you’re all right with that—by my daughter.”
“Tell her I appreciate it. Thanks. I’ll hang it in my office window. Maybe it’ll work.”
“You don’t catch much of a break, do you?” Roarke had filled Mira in on the afternoon’s work.
“I don’t know.” She studied the disk, ran her thumb over it. “I guess I was feeling sorry for myself, before, when Dennis put his arm around me. Standing there with him, looking at the tree, the way he is, the way the house smells, and the lights. I thought, I just thought if once—just once—I’d had someone like him . . . Just once. Well, I didn’t. That’s all.”
“No, you didn’t, and that shame lies in the system. Not in you.”
Eve lifted her gaze, steadied herself again. “Wherever, it’s the way it was. Now Trudy Lombard’s dead, and she shouldn’t be. I had to have my partner interview my husband. I have to be prepared to answer personal questions, put those answers on record if they apply to the investigation. I have to remember what it was like with her, because knowing her helps me know her killer. I have to do that when, a few days ago, if you’d asked me, I could barely remember her name. I can do that,” Eve said, fiercely now. “I’m good at pushing it out, shoving it down. And I hate when it jumps up and kicks me in the face. Because she’s nothing, nothing to who I am now.”
“Of course, she is. Everyone who touched your life had a part in forming it.” Mira’s voice was as soft as the music that wafted through the air, and as implacable as iron. “You overcame people like her. You didn’t have a Dennis Mira, bless him. You didn’t have the simplicity of home and family. You had obstacles and pain and horrors. And you overcame them. That’s your gift, Eve, and your burden.”
“I fell apart when I first saw her in my office. I just crumbled.”
“Then you picked yourself up and went on.”
Eve let her head fall back. Roarke had been right—again. She’d needed to come here, to say it out loud to someone she trusted. “She made me feel afraid, sick with fear. As if just by being there, she could drag me back. And it wasn’t even me she cared about. If I wasn’t hooked to Roarke, she wouldn’t have given me a second thought. Why does that bother me?” She closed her eyes.
“Because it’s hard not to matter, even to someone you dislike.”
“I guess it is. She wouldn’t have come here. Not much to squeeze out of a cop, unless that cop happens to be married to billions.”
She opened her eyes now, gave Mira a puzzled look. “He has billions. Do you ever think of that?”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes, this kind of time, and I can’t really get a handle on it. I don’t even know how many zeros that is because my brain goes fuzzy. And I don’t know the number that goes ahead of them because once you have all those zeros it’s just ridiculous anyway. She tried to shake him down.”
“Yes, he gave me the basics. I’m sure he handled it appropriately. Would you have wanted him to pay her off?”
“No.” Her eyes went hot. “Not one cent out of the billions. She used to tell me I didn’t have a mother or a father because I was so stupid that they’d tossed me away because I wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Mira lifted her wine, sipped, to give herself a chance to push back her own anger. “She should never have passed the screening. You know that.”
“She was smart. I look back now, and I see she was smart, the way you have to be to run long cons or quick scams successfully. She played the system, figured the ins and outs. I think, well, you’re the head doctor, but I think she believed her own bullshit. You have to believe the lie to live it, to make others see you the way you need to be seen.”
“Very possibly,” Mira agreed. “To have lived it for so long.”
“She had to figure she deserved the money, had earned it. Had to believe she’d worked and sacrificed, and given me a home out of her humanitarian nature, and now, hey, how about a little something for old times’ sake? She was a player,” Eve said, half to herself. “She was a player, so maybe she played too deep with somebody. I don’t know.”
“You could pass this off. In fact, you may be asked to do so.”
“I won’t. I think I’ve got that covered. I’ll call in favors if I have to, but I’m going to see it through. It’s necessary.”
“I agree. That surprises you?” Mira asked when Eve stared at her. “She made you feel helpless and worthless, stupid and empty. You know better than that, but you need to feel it, to prove it, and to do that you’ll need to take an active part in resolving this. I’ll say just that to Commander Whitney.”
“That has weight. Thanks.”
When she stepped through the door of her home, Summerset was looming like a black crow in the foyer, fat Galahad at his feet. She knew by the gleam in his beady eyes he was primed.
“I find myself surprised,” he said in what she figured he considered droll tones. “You’re out for several hours, yet you return—dare I say—almost fashionably dressed, with nothing torn or bloodied. A remarkable feat.”
“I find myself surprised that no one’s bothered to beat you into a pulpy mass just on the general principle of your ugliness. But the day’s young yet, for both of us.”
She whipped off her coat, dumped it on the newel post just because she could, and strutted up the stairs. The quick and habitual sally made her feel marginally better. It was just the thing to take Bobby’s devastated face out of her head, at least temporarily.
She went straight to her office. She would set up a murder board here, set up files and create a secondary base, on the off chance Whitney vetoed both her and Mira. If she was ordered to step aside, officially, she intended to be ready to pursue the work on her own time.
She engaged her ’link to touch base with Morris.
“I’m going to come by in the morning,” she told him. “Am I going to get any surprises?”
“Head blow did the job, and was incurred about thirty hours after the other injuries. While those were relatively minor in comparison, it’s my opinion they were caused by the same weapon.”
“Got anything on that?
“Some fibers in the head wounds. I’ll be sending them over to our friend Dickhead at the lab. A weighed cloth sack would be my preliminary guess. Tox screen’s come back positive for legal, over-the-counter pain meds. Standard blockers. She took one less than an hour before death, chased it with a very nice Chablis.”
“Yeah, there was a bottle of that in her room, and blockers on the bed table.”
“She had some soup, mostly chicken broth, and some soy noodles about eight, and some soft meat in a wrap closer to midnight. Treated herself to some chocolate frozen dessert, more wine with her late supper. She was, at time of death, nicely buzzed on wine and pills.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll catch you in the morning.”
“Dallas, are you interested in the fact that she’s had several sculpting procedures over the last, I’d say, dozen years? Face and body, tucks and nips. Nothing major, but considerable work, and good work at that.”
“Always good to know the habits of the dead. Thanks.”
She ended the transmission, sat back at her desk to study the ceiling.
So she’d gotten herself roughed up sometime Friday after leaving Roarke’s office. Doesn’t, by their statements, tell her son or daughter-in-law, doesn’t report same to the authorities. What she does, apparently, is hole up with wine and pills and easy food.
Either leaves her window unlocked, or opens the door to her killer.
Now why would she do that if the killer had already played a tune on her the day before? Where was her fear, her anger? Where was her survival instinct?
A woman who could run a game on CPS for over a decade had damn good survival instincts.
Even if you’re in some pain, why would you get buzzed alone in a hotel room when someone’s hurt you, and obviously can hurt you again? Especially when you have family right down the hall.
Unless it was what was down the hall that hurt you. Possible, she thought. But if so, why stay where they could so easily get to you, hurt you again?
She glanced over as Roarke came in through his adjoining office.
“You get yourself beat up,” she began, “you don’t want the cops involved.”
“Certainly not.”
“Right, okay, I get that. You don’t tell your son?”
“I don’t have one to tell at the moment.” He eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “But pride might very well prevent me.”
“That’s guy thinking. Think like a woman.”
“A stretch for me,” he said with a smile. “How about you?”
“If I’m thinking like this woman, I whine ASAP to anyone who’ll listen. But she doesn’t, which gives me a couple of possibilities.”
“One, she doesn’t have to tell her son, because her son’s the one who used her as a punching bag.”
“That’s one,” she agreed. “One that’s not fitting so well into my memory of their relationship. If that relationship soured since, why does she stay where he can get to her again?”
He picked up the little statue of the goddess, a symbol of mother, he thought, from her desk. He toyed with it idly as he spoke. “We both know relationships are thorny areas. It’s possible that he made a habit out of knocking her about. She was used to it, and didn’t consider telling anyone, or getting out of his way.”
“There’s the daughter-in-law. No marks on her, no typical signs of an abusive relationship there. A guy who pounds on Mommy is likely to smack the little woman around, too. It doesn’t fit very well for me.”
“If you bump that down the list”—he set the statue back on her desk—“what leapfrogs over it?”
“She doesn’t want anyone to know. Which isn’t pride, it’s planning, it’s precaution. She had an agenda, a personal one.” And yeah, Eve thought, she liked that a lot better.
“But it doesn’t explain why she drank a lot of wine, took blockers, got herself impaired.”
She shuffled the close-up still of Trudy’s face to the top of her pile. And took a hard look at it. “That doesn’t say fear to me. She’s afraid, she uses her son as a shield, she locks herself up tight, or she runs. She didn’t do any of those things. Why wasn’t she afraid?”
“There are some who enjoy pain.”
Eve shook her head. “Yeah, there’s that. But she liked being tended to. Run me a bath, get me a snack. She’d used the tub, and I got a prelim sweeper’s report that tells me there was some blood in the bathroom sink, in the drain. So she washed up after she got tuned.”
Missing towels, she remembered, and made another note of it.
“And she turns her back on her killer. Blow came from behind. She’s not afraid.”
“Someone she knows and mistakenly—as it turns out—trusts.”
“You don’t trust somebody who smashes your face the day before.” Love them, maybe. She knew there was a kind of love that ran to that. But trust was different. “Morris thinks the same weapon was used throughout, but I’m thinking two different hands on it, two different times. You’ve got the run from your building security.”
“A copy, yes. Feeney has the original.”
“I want to see it.”
He took a disc from his pocket. “Thought you might.”
She plugged it in, ordered the review on the wall screen.
“I’ve had the whole business put on here,” he said as Eve watched Trudy enter Roarke’s Midtown building. She crossed the acres of marble, passed animated screens, rivers of flowers, sparkling little pools, and moved straight to the information desk that handled the offices.
That suit, she noted, had been in the closet of the hotel room. Neatly hung. The shoes had been tucked in there, too. She hadn’t been wearing that outfit when she was beaten.
“Done her research,” Eve mused. “No fumbling around, no looking around to get her bearings.”
“She presses at information, as you see. ‘No, I’ve no appointment, but he’ll want to see me,’ and so on. Look confident, look friendly, and as though you belong. She’s very good.”
“She got upstairs, anyway.”
“They called through, got to Caro, who passed the request on to me. I had them make her wait a bit. I’m good as well. She doesn’t care for it, as you can see by the way her face tightens up, but she has a seat in one of the lobby waiting areas. Unless you want to watch her twiddle her thumbs for the next bit of time, you can move forward.”
Eve did, then slowed it down when a young woman approached Trudy.
“Caro, who knows the ropes, sent one of the assistants down to escort her up on one of the public elevators. Takes her round about, up to my level, through outer areas, down the skyway. A goodly hike, and when she arrives, well, she can wait a bit more. I’m a busy man, aren’t I?”
“She’s impressed,” Eve commented. “Who wouldn’t be? All that space, the glass, the art, the people at your beck and call. Good job.”
“Here you see Caro coming to get her at last, to walk her back. Then Caro goes out, shuts the doors, and we have our little chat.”
Eve ran the disc forward, marked the time elapsed at twelve minutes before Trudy came hurrying out.
And there was fear, Eve noted, a hint of wildness in the eyes, a jerkiness to the walk that was nearly a trot.
“She was a bit annoyed,” Roarke said with a wide, wide grin.
Eve said nothing, simply watched as Trudy was escorted down, and quickly made her way out of the building.
“Unharmed, as you see, and where she went from there, I couldn’t say.”
“She wasn’t afraid of her killer.” Eve’s gaze met his. “But she was afraid of you.”
He held up his hands, palms out. “Never laid a hand on her.”
“You don’t have to,” Eve replied. “But you’re clear. You had a record going inside your office. You would have.”
He lifted a shoulder. “And your point?”
“You didn’t offer that to Feeney, to the investigation.”
“It’s private.”
She took a careful breath. “And if it comes to a squeeze?”
“Then I’ll give it to you, and you can decide if it’s needed. I said nothing to her that I’m ashamed of, but it’s your privacy. It’s ours, and we’re bloody well entitled to it.”
“If it has weight in the investigation—”
“It doesn’t. Damn it, Eve, take my word and let it go. Do you think I had her done, for Christ’s sake?”
“No. But I know you could have. I know a part of you could want that.”
“You’re wrong.” He braced his hands on the desk, leaned forward until their eyes were level. And his were cold as arctic ice. “If I’d wanted her done, I’d have given myself the pleasure of seeing to it personally. That’s who you married, and I’ve never pretended otherwise. It’s for you to deal with.”
He straightened, turned, started for the door.
“Roarke.”
When he glanced back, she had her fingers pressed to her eyes. It tugged at his heart even as temper and pride burned at his throat.
“I know who I married.” She lowered her hands, and her eyes were dark, but they were clear. “And you’re right, you’d have done it yourself. The fact that you could and would do that, for me—the fact that you wouldn’t, didn’t do that, again for me, well, sometimes it’s a hell of a jolt.”
“I love you, beyond all reason. That’s a hell of a jolt for me as well.”
“She kept me afraid, the way I think a dog’s afraid of the boot that kicks him, again and again and again. It’s not even a human fear, it’s more primal, it’s more . . . sheer. I don’t know how to say it.”
“You have.”
“She played on that, she used that, kept me down in the fear until there was nothing but just getting through one day to the next. And she did it without the boot. She did it by twisting what was inside me until it was all there was. Until, I swear I’d have ended myself, just to get out.”
“But you ran instead. And got out, and did more than anyone could expect.”
“This, all this, makes me remember too well what it was like to be nothing but fear.” The fact that her breath shuddered out told her the memory was very close to the surface. “I have to see this through, Roarke. I have to end this the way I am now. I don’t think I can if you walk away from me.”
He came back, took her hand, gripped it. “I never walk very far.”
“Help me. Please? Will you help me?”
“What do you need?”
“I need to see the run from your office.” She tightened her hand on his. “It’s not mistrust of you. I need to get into her head. I need to know what she was thinking, feeling, when she left. It can’t have been many hours after that she got beat up. Where did she go, who did she go to? It might help me figure it out.”
“All right then, but it’s not going into the file. Your word on that first.”
“You’ve got it.”
He left her to go back into his office. When he returned, he handed her a fresh disc. “There’s audio as well.”
With a nod, she plugged it in. Looked and listened.
She knew him, the ins and outs of him, and still, his face, his tone even more than his words, made her belly jitter.
When the run ended, she took the disc out, gave it back to him. “It’s a wonder she didn’t piss herself and ruin your expensive chair and carpet.”
“Would’ve been worth it.”
Eve rose, paced around the room. “She had to be working with someone. But if it was Bobby . . . nothing I have on him clicks for this. It takes a certain type to punch out your own mother. I don’t like him for it. Someone else.”
“She was an attractive enough woman. A lover, perhaps.”
“Logical, and lovers are notorious for using fists and weapons. So, she’s scared, scared bad, maybe wants to drop the whole thing and head back to Texas, and this pisses him off. She had a job to do, a part to play, and she didn’t pull it off. He slaps her around to remind her what’s at stake. When he comes to see her later, she’s whiny, she’s half-drunk. I want to go home. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to do this anymore. And he’s pissed again, and kills her.”
“Logical.”
Yeah, logical, she thought. But shook her head. “I don’t like it. She doesn’t give up that easy. Plus, while you scared her, he hurt her. Maybe she’s caught between the two—fear and pain. But she’s not running from either. And why kill her?” She lifted her hands. “Wait until she’s calmed down. With her dead, you’ve got nothing.”
“He lost control.”
She brought the murder scene, the body, back into her head. “But he didn’t. Three blows. Three deliberate blows. He loses control, he’s drunk or juiced or just plain murderous, he beats the shit out of her, he smashes her face. He whales on her, but he doesn’t. He just bashes the back of her head, and leaves her.”
She rolled her shoulders. “I’m going to set up a board. I have to start putting this in order.”
“Well then, let’s have a meal first.”