Glory in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “What can you tell me about his relationship with Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “The actress.” Anna’s eyes went blank before she dabbed at them. “Did he know her? He never mentioned it.”

  It had been a shot in the dark, and hadn’t found a target. “Thank you.” Eve picked up her recorder, logged in the end of the interview. “Counselor, you should advise your client that it would be in her best interest not to mention this interview or any portion of it to anyone outside this room.”

  “I’m a cop’s wife.” Anna neatly tossed Eve’s words back in her face. “I understand the drill.”

  The last glimpse Eve had of the commander as she stepped outside, he was holding his wife and daughter.

  Eve wanted a drink. By the time she’d logged out for the day, she had spent the better part of the afternoon chasing after David Angelini’s tail. He was in a meeting, he was out of contact, he was anywhere but where she looked. Without any other choice, she’d left messages at every possible point on the planet and figured she’d be lucky to hear from him before the following day.

  Meanwhile, she was faced with an enormous, empty house and a butler who hated the air she breathed. The impulse struck as she zipped through the gates. She grabbed her car ’link and ordered Mavis’s number.

  “Your night off, right?” she asked the instant Mavis’s face blipped on screen.

  “You bet. Gotta rest those vocal chords.”

  “Plans?”

  “Nothing that can’t be tossed out for better. What do you have in mind?”

  “Roarke’s off planet. You want to come over here and hang, stay over, get drunk?”

  “Hang at Roarke’s, stay over at Roarke’s, get drunk at Roarke’s? I’m on my way.”

  “Wait, wait. Let’s do it up big. I’ll send a car for you.”

  “A limo?” Mavis forgot her vocal chords and squealed. “Jesus, Dallas, make sure the driver wears, like, a uniform. The people in my building will be hanging out the windows with their eyes popped out.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Eve broke transmission and all but danced up the steps to the door. Summerset was there, just as expected, and she sent him a haughty nod. She’d been practicing. “I’m having a friend over for the evening. Send a car and driver to 28 Avenue C.”

  “A friend.” His voice was ripe with suspicion.

  “That’s right, Summerset.” She glided up the stairs. “A very good, very close friend. Be sure and tell the cook there’ll be two for dinner.”

  She managed to get out of earshot before doubling over with laughter. Summerset was expecting a tryst, she was sure. But it was going to be even more of a scandal when he got a load of Mavis.

  Mavis didn’t disappoint her. Though for Mavis, she was conservatively dressed. Her hair de jour was rather tame, a glittery gold fashioned in what was called a half-swing. One glistening side curved to her ear while the other half skimmed her shoulder.

  She’d only worn perhaps a half dozen varied earrings—and all in her ears. A distinguished look for Mavis Freestone.

  She stepped out of a torrential spring downpour, handing a speechless Summerset her transparent cloak strung with tiny lights, and turned three circles. More, Eve thought, in awe of the hallway than to show off her skin-hugging red body suit.

  “Wow.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Eve said. She’d hovered near the hallway waiting, not wanting Mavis to face Summerset alone. The strategy was obviously unnecessary, as the usually disdainful butler was struck dumb.

  “It’s just mag,” Mavis said in reverent tones. “Really mag. And you’ve got the whole digs to yourself.”

  Eve sent Summerset a cool, sidelong glance. “Just about.”

  “Decent.” With a flutter of inch-long lashes, Mavis held out a hand with interlinking hearts tattooed on the back. “And you must be Summerset. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Summerset took the hand, so staggered he nearly lifted it to his lips before he remembered himself. “Madam,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh, you just call me Mavis. Great place to work, huh? You must get a hard charge out of it.”

  Unsure if he was appalled or enchanted, Summerset stepped back, managed a half bow, and disappeared down the hall with her dripping cloak.

  “A man of few words.” Mavis winked, giggled, then clattered down the hall on six-inch inflatable platforms. And let out a sensual groan at the first doorway. “You’ve got a real fireplace.”

  “A couple dozen of them, I think.”

  “Jesus, do you do it in front of the fire? Like in the old flicks?”

  “I’ll leave that up to your imagination.”

  “I can imagine good. Christ, Dallas, that car you sent. A real limo, a classic. It just had to be raining.” She whirled back, sending her earrings dancing. “Only about half the people I wanted to impress saw me. What are we going to do first?”

  “We can eat.”

  “I’m starving, but I’ve got to see the place first. Show me something.”

  Eve pondered. The roof terrace was incredible, but it was raining furiously. The weapon room was out, as was the target range. Eve considered those areas off limits to guests without Roarke’s presence. There was plenty more, of course. Dubiously Eve studied Mavis’s shoes.

  “Can you really walk in those?”

  “They’re air glided. I hardly know I’ve got them on.”

  “All right then, we’ll take the stairs. You’ll see more that way.”

  She took Mavis to the solarium first, amused by her friend’s dropped-jaw reaction to the exotic plants and trees, the sparkling waterfalls, and chattering birds. The curved glass wall was battered with rain, but through it the lights of New York gleamed.

  In the music room, Eve programmed a trash band and let Mavis entertain her with a glass-shattering short set of current favorites.

  They spent an hour in the game room, competing with the computer, each other, and hologram opponents at Free Zone and Apocalypse.

  Mavis did a lot of oohing and ahing over the bedrooms, and finally chose the suite for her overnight stay.

  “I can have a fire if I want?” Mavis ran a possessive hand over the rich lapis lazuli of the hearth.

  “Sure, but it is nearly June.”

  “I don’t care if I roast.” Arms out, she took long swinging steps over the floor, gazed up through the sky dome, and plopped down on the lake-sized bed with its thick silver cushions. “I feel like a queen. No, no, an empress.” She rolled over and over while the floating mattress undulated beneath her. “How do you stay normal in a place like this?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t lived here very long.”

  Still rolling lavishly from one side of the air cushions to the other, Mavis laughed. “It would only take me one night. I’m never going to be the same.” Scooting up to the padded headboard, she punched buttons. Lights flickered on and off, revolved, sparkled. Music throbbed, pulsed. Water began to run in the next room.

  “What’s that?”

  “You programmed your bath,” Eve informed her.

  “Oops. Not yet.” Mavis flicked it off, tried another, and had the panel on the far wall sliding open to reveal a ten-foot video screen. “Definitely decent. Wanna eat?”

  While Eve settled in the dining room with Mavis, enjoying her first full evening off in weeks, Nadine Furst scowled over the editing of her next broadcast.

  “I want to enhance that, freeze on Dallas,” she ordered the tech. “Yeah, yeah, bring her up. She looks damn good on camera.”

  Sitting back, she studied the five screens while the tech worked the panel. Editing Room One was quiet, but for the murmuring clash of voices from the screen. For Nadine, putting images together seamlessly was as exciting as sex. The majority of broadcasters left the process to their techs, but Nadine wanted her hand in here. Everywhere.

  In the newsroom one level down, it would be bedlam. She enjoyed that, too. The scurry to beat the competition to the latest sound bite, the
latest picture, the most immediate angle. Reporters manning their ’links for one more quote, bumping their computers for that last bit of data.

  The competition wasn’t all outside on Broadcast Avenue. There was plenty of it right in the Channel 75 newsroom.

  Everybody wanted the big story, the big picture, the big ratings. Right now, she had it all. And Nadine didn’t intend to lose it.

  “There, hold it there, when I’m standing on Metcalf’s patio. Yeah, now try a split screen, use the shot of me on the sidewalk where Towers bought it. Um-hmm.” Eyes narrowed, she studied the image. She looked good, she decided. Dignified, sober-eyed. Our intrepid, clear-sighted reporter, revisiting the scenes of the crimes.

  “Okay.” She folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “Cue in the voice-over.”

  Two women, talented, dedicated, innocent. Two lives brutally ended. The city reels, looks over its shoulder, and asks why. Loving families mourn, bury their dead, and ask for justice. There is one person working to answer that question, to meet that demand.

  “Freeze,” Nadine ordered, “Bleed to Dallas, exterior courtroom shot. Bring up audio.”

  Eve’s image filled the screens, full length, with Nadine beside her. That was good, Nadine, thought. The visual lent the impression they were a team, working together. Couldn’t hurt. There had been the faintest of breezes, ruffling their hair. Behind them, the courthouse speared up, a monument to justice, its elevators busily gliding up and down, its glass walkway crowded with people.

  My job is to find a killer, and I take my job seriously. When I finish mine, the courts begin theirs.

  “Perfect.” Nadine fisted her hand. “Oh yes, just perfect. Fade it there, and I’ll pick it up on live. Time?”

  “Three forty-five.”

  “Louise, I’m a genius, and you’re not so bad yourself. Print it.”

  “Printed.” Louise swiveled away from the console and stretched. They’d worked together for three years and were friends. “It’s a good piece, Nadine.”

  “Damn right it is.” Nadine angled her head. “But.”

  “Okay.” Louise released her stubby ponytail and ran a hand through her thick, dark curls. “We’re getting close to retreading here. We’ve had nothing new in a couple of days.”

  “Neither has anybody else. And I’ve got Dallas.”

  “And that’s a big one.” Louise was a pretty woman, soft-featured, bright-eyed. She’d come to Channel 75 direct from college. After less than a month on the job, Nadine had scooped her up as her main tech. The arrangement suited them both. “She’s got a solid visual and an excellent throat. The Roarke factor adds a gold edge. That’s not including the fact she’s got a rep as a good cop.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m thinking,” continued Louise, “until you get some new bites on this, you might want to splice in some of the business from the DeBlass case. Remind people our lieutenant broke one of the big ones, took a hit in the line of duty. Build up confidence.”

  “I don’t want to take the focus off the current investigation.”

  “Maybe you do,” Louise disagreed. “At least until there’s a new lead. Or a new victim.”

  Nadine grinned. “A little more blood would heat things up. Another couple of days, we’ll be out of the sweeps and into the June doldrums. Okay, I’ll keep it in mind. You might want to put something together.”

  Louise cocked a brow. “I might?”

  “And if I use it, you get full on-air credit, you greedy bitch.”

  “Deal.” Louise tapped the pocket of her editing vest, winced. “Out of smokes.”

  “You’ve got to stop that. You know how the brass feel about employees taking health risks.”

  “I’m sticking with the herb shit.”

  “Shit’s right. Get me a couple while you’re at it.” Nadine had the grace to look sheepish. “And keep it to yourself. They’re tougher on the on-air talent than you techs.”

  “You’ve got some time before the midnight recap. Aren’t you going to take your break?”

  “No, I’ve got a couple of calls to make. Besides, it’s pouring out.” Nadine patted her perfectly coiffed hair. “You go.” She reached into her bag. “I’ll pay.”

  “Good deal—since I have to go all the way to Second to find a store that’s licensed to sell smokes.” Resigned, she rose. “I’m using your raincoat.”

  “Go ahead.” Nadine passed her a handful of credits. “Just put my share in the pocket, okay? I’ll be in the newsroom.”

  They walked out together, with Louise bundling into the stylish blue coat. “Nice material.”

  “Sheds water like a duck.”

  They crossed the rampway, passed a series of editing and production rooms, and walked toward a descending people glide. Noise began to filter through, so Nadine pitched her voice over it.

  “Are you and Bongo still thinking of taking the big step?”

  “Thinking hard enough that we’ve started looking at apartments. We’re going the traditional route. We’ll give living together a try for a year. If it works, we’ll make it legal.”

  “Better you than me,” Nadine said with feeling. “I can’t think of a single reason why a rational person would lock themselves to another rational person.”

  “Love.” Louise put a dramatic hand to her heart. “It makes reason and rationality fly out the old window.”

  “You’re young and free, Louise.”

  “And if I’m lucky, I’m going to be old and chained to Bongo.”

  “Who the hell wants to be chained to anybody named Bongo?” Nadine muttered.

  “Me. Catch you later.” With a quick salute, Louise continued on the descent while Nadine stepped off toward the newsroom.

  And thinking of Bongo, Louise wondered if she’d be able to get home before one A.M. It was their night at her place. That was a little inconvenience that would end once they found one suitable apartment rather than shifting back and forth between his rooms and hers.

  Idly, she glanced over at one of the many monitors lining the walls, playing Channel 75’s current broadcast. Right now it was a popular sitcom, a dead medium that had been revived over the past couple years by talent such as Yvonne Metcalf’s.

  Louise shook her head over that thought, then chuckled a little as the life-sized actor on screen mugged outrageously for the viewing audience.

  Nadine might have been married to the news, but Louise liked sheer entertainment. She looked forward to those rare evenings when she and Bongo could cuddle up in front of the screen.

  In Channel 75’s wide lobby there were more monitors, security stations, and a pleasant sitting area ringed with holograms of the station’s stars. And, of course, a gift shop stocked with souvenir T-shirts, hats, signed mugs, and holograms of the station’s biggest stars.

  Twice a day, between the hours of ten and four, tours were guided through the station. Louise had taken one herself as a child, had gawked with the best of them, and had, she remembered with a smug smile, decided then and there on her career.

  She waved to the guard at the front entrance, detoured to the east end, which was the shortest route to Second. At the side door for employees, she passed her palm over the handplate to deactivate the lock. As the door swung open, she winced at the heavy sound of drumming rain. She almost changed her mind.

  Was one sneaky smoke worth a two-block sprint through the cold and damp? Damn right, she thought and flipped up the hood. The good, expensive raincoat would keep her dry enough, and she’d been stuck in Editing with Nadine for more than an hour.

  Hunching her shoulders, she bolted outside.

  The wind kicked so that she broke her stride just long enough to secure the coat at the waist. Her shoes were soaked before she reached the bottom of the steps, and looking down at them, she swore under her breath.

  “Well, shit.”

  They were the last words she spoke.

  A movement caught her attention and she looked up, blinking once to
clear the rain from her eyes. She never saw the knife, already in an arching slash, glint wetly in the rain then slice viciously across her throat.

  The killer studied her for only a moment, watched the blood fountain, the body collapse like a puppet cut from its strings. There was shock, then anger, then a quick, jittering fear. The gored knife hurried back into a deep pocket before the darkly clad figure ran off into the shadows.

  “I think I could live like this.” After a meal of rare Montana beef accented with lobsters harvested from Icelandic waters, washed down with French champagne, Mavis lounged in the lush indoor lagoon off the solarium. She yawned, blissfully naked and just a little drunk. “You are living like this.”

  “Sort of.” Not quite as free-spirited as Mavis, Eve wore a snug one-piece tank suit. She’d cozied herself on a smooth seat made of stone, and was still drinking. She hadn’t allowed herself to relax to this extent in too long to remember. “I don’t really have a lot of time for this part of it.”

  “Make time, babe.” Mavis submerged, popped up again, perfect round breasts gleaming in the showy blue lights she’d programmed. Lazily, she paddled over to a water lily, gave a sniff. “Christ, this is the real thing. Do you know what you’ve got here, Dallas?”

  “Indoor swimming?”

  “What you’ve got,” Mavis began as she frog kicked her way over to the float that held her glass, “is a grade one fantasy. The kind you can’t get from the top-line VR goggles.” She took a long sip of icy champagne. “You’re not going to get all weirded out and blow it, are you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you. You’ll pick it apart, question everything, analyze.” Noting Eve’s glass was empty, Mavis did the honors. “Well, I’m telling you, pal. Don’t.”

  “I don’t pick things apart.”

  “You’re the champion picked—pick it part—damn it, pick it aparter. Whew. Try saying that five times fast when your tongue’s numb.” She used a bare hip to nudge Eve over and squeezed in next to her. “He’s crazy about you, isn’t he?”