Memory in Death edahr-25

by J. D. Robb

  “Here’s our facial wound. Let’s enhance it a bit.”

  “Similar ridged pattern. Same weapon.”

  “And the same on the abdomen, torso, thighs, left hip. But something interests me here. Look closely at the facial wound again.”

  “I’d say the attacker was close in.” She paused, puzzled. “From the bruising, the angle, it looks like an uppercut.” She turned to Morris, swung up toward his face, and had him blink and jerk his head back a fraction as her fist stopped a hairsbreadth from his skin.

  “Let’s use the program, shall we?”

  She couldn’t quite stop the grin. “I wouldn’t have tapped you.”

  “Regardless.” He moved back to the screen, cautiously keeping it between them. He pulled up his program, showing two figures. “Now, you see the angles and movements of the attacker, programmed to recreate the injuries we see. The facial injury indicates a left-handed blow, uppercut, as you said. It’s awkward.”

  Eve frowned as she watched the screen. “Nobody hits like that. If it’s a leftie coming at her that way, he’d‘ve swung out, caught her here.” She flicked fingers on her own cheekbone. “If he swung up, he should’ve caught her lower. Maybe right-handed, and he… no.”

  She turned from the screen and back to the body. “With a fist, maybe, maybe you get bruising like that. But with a sap, you’ve got to swing it, even close in, you’ve got to lead with it.”

  Her brows drew together, and her eyes narrowed. Then she lifted them to Morris. “Well, for Christ’s sake. She did it to herself?”

  “I ran that, and got a probability in the mid-nineties. Have a look.” He brought up the next program. “One figure, a two-handed swing, right taking the weight, cross-body to the face.”

  “Sick bitch,” Eve said under her breath.

  “And a motivated one. The angles of the other injuries—save the head—could all be self-inflicted. Probability hits 99.8, when we factor in the facial injuries as self.”

  She had to wipe away previous theories, get her head around the self-inflicted. “No defensive wounds, no sign she struggled or was restrained.”

  While her mind whirled, Eve put the goggles on yet again, moved back to examine every inch of the body. “The bruising on the knees, the elbows?”

  “Consistent with a fall, timing coordinates with the head wounds.”

  “Okay, okay. Somebody clocks you in the face like this, comes at you to beat on you some more, you run, or you fall, you put your hands up to try to ward them off. Should be bruising on her forearms at least. But there isn’t, because she’s beating on herself. Nothing under her nails?”

  “Now that you mention it…” Morris smiled. “A couple of fibers, under the index and ring fingers of her right hand, under the index of her left.”

  “They’re going to be the same as what you found in the head wound.” Eve closed her right fist. “Digs into the cloth, gets her courage up. Crazy bitch.”

  “Dallas, you said you knew her. Why would she do this?”

  Eve tossed the goggles aside. She’d found her anger now, and it soaked into her bones. “So she could say someone else did. Me, maybe Roarke. Maybe go to the media with it,” she said as she began to pace. “No, no, you’re not going to get big fat piles of money that way. Attention, sure, and some dough, but not a bakery full. Blackmail. Figured she could go back on us. Pay up, or I go public, show people how you hurt me. But it turned back on her. Whoever she was working with decided they didn’t need her anymore. Or she got greedy, tried to cut them out.”

  “Takes some brass ones to try to blackmail a cop like you, or a man like Roarke.” He looked back at the body. “Takes some sick need to do this to yourself for money.”

  “Got paid back, didn’t she?” Eve said quietly. “All the way back.”

  * * *

  Peabody took a detour. Dallas would roast her if she got wind, but she didn’t intend to be long. Besides, the sweepers hadn’t found anything so far in the rooms vacated.

  She wasn’t even sure McNab would be in-house. He could be out in the field for all she knew. Since he hadn’t bothered to leave her a message. Men were such pains in the ass, she wondered why she bothered to keep one. She’d been doing okay solo. It wasn’t as if she’d gone out looking for somebody like Ian McNab. Who would?

  Now she was cohabbing, with a lease in both their names. They’d bought a new bed together—a really uptown gel. And that made it theirs instead others , didn’t it? Which she hadn’t thought about until now. Which she wouldn’t have to think about now, except he’d been such a complete dick.

  And technically, he’d been the one to walk out, so he should be the one to make the first move. She hesitated, nearly jumped off the glide. But the box Dallas had given her was burning a hole in her pocket— and the idea that maybe she’d been partly to blame was burning one in her gut.

  Probably just indigestion. She shouldn’t have grabbed that soy dog on the corner.

  She stalked into EDD, her chin jutted up. There he was, in his cube. How could you miss him when even in the rainbow hues of the division his green zip pants and yellow shirt vibrated.

  She sniffed, then stomped over to jab him sharply on the shoulder twice. “I need to talk to you.”

  His eyes, cool and green, flicked to her face, away again. “Busy here.”

  The back of her neck sizzled at the dismissal. “Five minutes,” she said between her teeth. “Private.”

  He shoved back from his station, swiveled around fast enough to make his long tail of blond hair swing. He gave a jerk of the shoulder to indicate she should follow him, then strode off on his shiny yellow airboots.

  Color, from anger and from embarrassment, rode her cheeks as she wove through the clicks and clacks of EDD. The fact that no one paused long enough to hail her or send her a wave told her McNab hadn’t kept their situation to himself.

  Well, neither had she. So what?

  He opened the door to a small break room where two detectives were arguing in the incomprehensible terms of e-geeks. McNab simply jerked a thumb toward the door. “Need five.”

  The detectives took their argument and a couple of cherry fizzies out the door. One paused long enough to glance back at Peabody with a look of sympathetic understanding.

  Of course, Peabody thought, the look came from a female.

  McNab got himself a lime fizzy, probably color-coordinating his outfit, Peabody thought nastily. She closed the door herself as he leaned back against the short counter.

  “I’ve got something cooking, so make it fast,” he told her.

  “Oh, I’ll make it fast. You’re not the only one who’s got something cooking. If you hadn’t snuck out of the apartment this morning, we could’ve dealt with some of this before shift.”

  “I didn’t sneak.” He took a long drink, eyeing her over the neon tube. “Not my fault you sleep like a corpse. Plus, I didn’t feel like slamming up against your attitude first thing in the morning.”

  “My attitude?” Her voice came out in a squeak that would have mortified her if she’d noticed it. “You’re the one who said I was selfish. You’re the one who said I didn’t care.”

  “I know what I said. So if this is just a replay—”

  Peabody planted her feet. For once she was happy to know she outweighed him. “You make a move to that door before I’m done, I’ll flatten your bony ass.”

  Now temper flashed in his eyes. “Say what you’ve got to say, then. Odds are it’ll be more than you’ve had to say to me for the past week.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “You’ve always got something to do.” He slammed down his drink, and true to its name, lime-colored liquid fizzed over the lip. “Always got something going. Every time I try to talk to you, it’s ‘We’ll get into it later.’ You’re going to dump a guy, you could have the decency to wait until after the holidays. Wouldn’t fucking kill you.”

  “What? What? Dump you? Have you lost what little brain
power you had?”

  “You’ve been avoiding me. Coming in late, heading out early, every damn day.”

  “I’ve been Christmas shopping, you moron.” She threw her hands in the air as her voice pitched toward a shout. “I’ve been going to the gym. And I’ve been up at Mavis and Leonardo’s because… I can’t tell you why. And if I’ve been avoiding you, it’s because all you want to talk about is going to Scotland.”

  “We’ve only got a couple of days left to—”

  “I know, I know.” She slapped her hands to her head and squeezed.

  “I’ve got a line on some side work I can do, help pay for it. I just want to… You weren’t going to dump me?”

  “No, but I should. I should dump you right on your pointy head and save myself all this aggravation.” She dropped her hands, sighed. “Maybe I was avoiding you because I didn’t want to talk about going to Scotland.”

  “You always said you wanted to go one day.”

  “I know what I said, but that’s when I didn’t think we’d ever go. Now you’re pinning me to it, and I’m nervous. No, not nervous. Terrified.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of meeting your family—all at once. Of being the one you bring home for Christmas, for God’s sake.”

  “Jesus, Peabody, who the hell do you want me to bring home for Christmas?”

  “Me, you idiot. But when you bring somebody home for Christmas, it’s a big. It’s a real big. They’re all going to be looking at me and asking me questions, and I can’t lose a stupid goddamn five pounds, because I’m nervous, so I eat. And I figured if we could just stay home I wouldn’t have to worry about it until whenever.”

  He just stared at her in the baffled way men had stared at women across the ages. “You took me home for Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s different. It is ,” she said before he could object. “You’d already met my parents, and we’re Free-Agers. We feed anybody and everybody on Thanksgiving. I feel fat and clunky, and they’re going to hate me.”

  “Dee.” He only called her Dee when he was particularly tender, or especially exasperated. This, from his tone, seemed to be some of both. “It is a real big to take someone home for Christmas. You’re the first I have.”

  “Oh, God. That just makes it worse. Or better. I don’t know which.” She swallowed, pressed a hand to her belly. “I think I feel sick.”

  “They’re not going to hate you. They’re going to love you because I do. I love you, She-Body.” He gave her the smile, the one that made her think of little puppy dogs. “Please come home with me. I’ve been waiting a long time to show you off.”

  “Oh, wow. Oh, boy.” Sentimental tears sprang to her eyes as she jumped him. His hands clamped on her ass.

  “I’ve got to lock the door,” he muttered as he bit cheerfully at her ear.

  “Everybody’ll know what we’re doing.”

  “I love being the object of envy. Mmm, I missed you. Let me just—”

  “Wait, wait!” She shoved back, dug into her pocket. “I forgot. God. It’s our present from Dallas and Roarke.”

  “I’d rather have one from you right now.”

  “Look. You’ve got to look. They’re giving us the trip,” she said as she opened the box, showed him the cards inside. “Private shuttle, ground transpo. The works.”

  Since his hands dropped off her ass, she figured he was as stunned as she’d been. “Holy shit.”

  “All we have to do is pack,” she said with a watery smile. “You don’t have to take the side job, unless you want it. I’m sorry I was such a freak about this. I love you, too.”

  She threw her arms around him, locked lips. Then eased back with a wicked wiggle of eyebrows. “I’ll lock the door.”

  * * *

  Minutes after Eve stepped into her office to coordinate her next move, Peabody rushed in.

  “I’ve got the initial sweeper’s report on the room the Lombards vacated—nothing,” Peabody said hurriedly. “Canvassing cops found the bar—one block east, two south of the hotel. Door was unlocked. Zana’s purse was inside on the floor. I have a team heading there now.”

  “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.

&nbs
p; 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?”