Memory in Death edahr-25

by J. D. Robb

  “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 thelittle plastic string?”

  “Yeah, I hate those.”

  “Everyone does. You got to cut them apart, and who’s got a knife or scissors handy when you want to wear your new socks?” Harvo snapped the gum in her mouth and circled a finger in the air. The nail was painted Christmas red with little green trees. “Freaking nobody. So you—” She fisted her hands together, twisted. “And half the time you snag the socks, or end up with a little bit of plastic inside that stabs you in the foot.”

  “Pisser.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about the tag?”

  “It’s your lucky day—the sweepers were thorough and brought in the contents of the trash can. Came from the bathroom. I took it since I was doing the fibers anyway.”

  She scooted, showed Eve the tag.

  “It was balled up, like you do, and a piece of it torn. Fibers stuck to the gummy side. Anyways, got it straightened out, put together, and you can see our handy bar code, and the type.”

  She tapped the protective shield over the evidence.

  “Women’s athletic socks, size seven to nine. Which is another pisser on my personal bitch list. See I wear a seven myself, and when I buy socks like this, I always got too much length in the foot. Why can’t they just make them fit? We have the technology, we have the skill. We have the feet.”

  “That’s a puzzler,” Eve agreed. “Prints?”

  “Vic’s, tag and sock. Got another on the tag. Ran it.” She bumped back to the screen. “Hitch, Jayne. Employed by Blossom Boutique on Seventh, sales clerk. I don’t know, call me crazy, but I bet Jayne sold the vic a pair of socks recently.”

  “Nice job, Harvo.”

  “Yeah, I awe myself regular.”

  * * *

  It was a simple matter to track down Jayne. She was behind the counter at the boutique ringing up sales with the focused determination of a soldier on the front lines.

  The shop was jammed with customers, drawn, Eve imagined, by the big orange sale signs on every rack, table, and wall. The noise level, punched upward by incessent holiday music, was awesome.

  You could shop online, Eve thought, if you were desperate to shop. Why people insisted on pushing into retail outlets with other people who probably wanted the same merchandise, where the lines roped around in endlessly confusing misery and torture, and where the sales clerks were bitter as raw spinach, was beyond her.

  When she said the same to Peabody, her partner’s answer was a chipper “Because it’s fun!”

  To various consumers’ annoyance and objections, Eve cut the line and muscled her way up front.

  “Hey! I’m next.”

  Eve turned to the woman all but buried under piles of clothing, and held up her badge. “This means I go first. Need to talk to you, Jayne.”

  “What? Why? I’m busy.”

  “Gee, me, too. Got a back room?”

  “Man. Sol? Cover register two. Back here.” She thumped her way on two-inch-thick airsoles down a short corridor. “What? Listen, we were having a damn party. Parties get loud. It’s Christmas, for God’s sake. My across-the-hall neighbor is a primo bitch.”

  “Next time ask her to the party,” Peabody suggested. “Hard to complain if you’re part of the noise.”

  “I’d rather eat worm shit.”

  The back room was loaded with stock, boxes, bags. Jayne sat down on a stack of underwear. “Anyway, I’m off my feet for a minute. It’s lunacy out there. Christmas makes people insane. And that bit about goodwill toward men? It sure as hell doesn’t apply to retail.”

  “You sold a pair of socks to a woman sometime between Thursday and Saturday,” Eve began.

  Jayne ground her fist into the small of her back. “Honey, I sold a hundred pairs of socks between Thursday and Saturday.”

  “Lieutenant,” Eve said and tapped her badge. “White athletics, size seven to nine.”

  Jayne dug in her pocket. She seemed to have a dozen of them between her black shirt and black pants. She pulled out a piece of hard candy, unwrapped it. Her fingernails, Eve noted, were as long as ice picks and painted like candy canes.

  Yeah, Christmas made people insane.

  “Oh, white athletic socks,” Jayne said sourly. “That’s a real tip-off.”

  “Take a look at a picture, see if you remember.”

  “I can barely remember my own face after a day like this one.” The candy made rattling noises against Jayne’s teeth as she played with it. But she rolled tired eyes and took the photo.

  “Jeez, what are the odds? Yeah, I remember her. Talk about primo bitch. Listen,” she said and sucked air through her nose. “She comes in, grabs a pair of socks. One lousy pair, complains we don’t have enough help after she gets to me, and demands the sale price. Now, it’s clear the socks are on sale in lots of three. Says so right on the display. One pair’s nine-ninety-nine. Buy three for twenty-five-fifty. But she’s squawking that she wants the socks for eight-fifty. She’s done the math, and that’s what she’ll pay. She’s got a line clear to Sixth behind her, and she’s busting on me for, like, chump change.”

  She crunched down hard on the candy. “I’m not authorized to cut a price, and she won’t budge. People are going to riot any minute, so I’ve got to call over the manager. Manager caves because it’s just not worth the aggravation.”

  “When did she come in?”

  “Man, it blurs together.” Jayne rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve been on since Wednesday. Straight seven days from hell. I get two off starting tomorrow and I’m going to sit on my ass for most of it. It was after lunch, I remember, because I thought how this asshole woman was going to make me lurch my gyro. Gyro!”

  She snapped her fingers, shot her index up, leading with the festive ice pick. “Friday. Me and Fawn grabbed gyros on Friday. She had the weekend off, and I remember crabbing about it to her.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Who’d hang with that type? If anybody was with her, they stayed back. She strutted out by herself. I watched her go .” She smiled a little. “Shot her the bird behind her back. Couple of the customers applauded.”

  “Have you got security discs?”

  “Sure. What’s this about? Somebody kick her ass? I’d‘ve held their coat.”

  “Yeah, somebody did. I’d like to view the discs for Friday afternoon. We’ll need to make copies.”

  “Wow. Okay. Gee. I’m not in trouble with this, am I?”

  “No. But we’ll need the discs.”

  Jayne shoved herself to her feet. “I gotta get the manager.”

  * * *

  Back at her office, Eve reviewed the disc again. She drank coffee and watched Trudy walk in through the street doors. Sixteen-twenty-eight on the time stamp. Time enough to stew about the result of her visit to Roarke, Eve decided. Time enough to discuss it with a partner, or just walk around until a plan formed.

  Pissed, Eve noted, when she paused, magnified Trudy’s face. She could almost hear the teeth grinding together. Seething anger, not cold deliberation. Not right now, anyway. Impulse, maybe. I’ll show them.

  Had to look for the socks, elbow people out of her way, skirt around tables. But she found what she wanted… and at a bargain price.

  Eve watched Trudy’s teeth bare in a snarl when she yanked the socks from the display. But she frowned at the price, at the sale display, before marching over to stand in li
ne.

  Tapping her foot, glaring at the customers in line ahead of her.

  Impatient. And alone.

  She continued to watch, through the altercation with the clerk, Trudy looking down her nose, fisting her hands on her hips. Digging in. Turning briefly to snap something at the woman behind her in line.

  Making a scene over pocket change.

  Buying her own murder weapon on the cheap.

  She didn’t wait for a bag, didn’t wait for a receipt. Just stuffed the socks in her purse and stalked out.

  Eve sat back, perused the ceiling. Had to get the credits. Nobody carries enough to fill a sock around with them. And the way she’d slung the purse around didn’t indicate it was weighed down.

  “Computer, find and list all banks from Sixth Avenue to Tenth, between… Thirty-eighth and Forty-eighth.

  Working…

  Pushing up, she checked the time. Banks were closed for the day. But Trudy would have had just enough time to get to one, get herself a sackful of credits.

  Check that out tomorrow. “Print out data,” Eve ordered when the computer began to recite a list of banks. “Copy to file, copy to my home computer.”

  Acknowledged. Working…

  She could see it. She’d have to find the bank, verify, but she could see it. Closest one to the boutique, that’s the one it would be. Stride in, still steaming. Used cash if she was thinking, Eve decided. No point in having a transaction like that popping on a credit or debit report, so you use cash. And you dispose of the bank bag before you go back to the hotel.

  Alone, she thought again.

  Comes to the station alone, then to Roarke’s office. No sign anyone’s waiting for her in the lobby.

  Makes a call maybe, uses her ‘link once she’s outside the building. No way to check that when the ’link’s gone. Smart to take the ‘link from the murder scene.

  She paced, ordered more coffee.

  Scared when she leaves Roarke. Contacts her pal, her cohort. Cries the blues. Could’ve cooked up the next part together.

  She turned to her murder board, studied the photos of Trudy’s face.

  “What does it take to do that to yourself?” Eve muttered. “Plenty of motivation. Plenty of anger. But how the hell did you expect to prove you got tuned up by me or Roarke, or somebody we sicced on you?”

  Back to stupid, she thought with a shake of her head. That was leading with anger, that was impulse and fury. Smarter to have gotten one or both of us out of the house on some pretext, somewhere we wouldn’t be easily alibied. Stupid to assume we wouldn’t have one. Sloppy.

  A memory nudged at her, nearly faded once more. Eve closed her eyes, pressed and focused.

  Dark. Can’t sleep. Too hungry. But the door of her room was locked from the outside. Trudy didn’t like her to wander around the house— sneaking around, getting into trouble.

  She was being punished anyway.

  She’d talked to the boy across the street, a couple of his friends. Older boys. Taken a ride on one of their boards. Trudy didn’t like the boy across the street, or his friends.

  Hoodlums. Delinquents. Vandals. And worse. And you, nothing but a slut. Nine years old and already putting out. That’s nothing new for you, is it? Get upstairs, and you can forget about supper. I don’t feed trash in my house.

  Shouldn’t have talked to the boy. But he’d said he’d show her how to use the board, and she’d never ridden one before. They could do tricks on theirs—loops and wheelies and spins. She liked to watch them. The boy had seen her watching, and grinned at her. Motioned her over.

  Shouldn’t have gone—hell to pay. But he’d held that colorful board out, said she could take a breeze. He’d show her how.

  And when she’d shot off on it, he’d whistled through his teeth. His friends had laughed. He’d said she had balls.

  It was—she thought it was—the happiest, most liberating moment of her life at that time. She could remember, even now, the odd way the smile had fit on her face. The way her cheeks had stretched out, and the laugh that had rumbled up in her throat and hurt her chest a little. But a good hurt, like nothing she’d ever experienced.

  He’d said she could go again, that she was a natural.

  But Trudy had come out, came streaming out with that look on her face. That hell-to-pay look. She had yelled, screamed at Eve to get off that damn thing.

  Didn’t I tell you to stay in the yard. Didn’t I say? Who gets the blame if you breaks your fool neck?

  You ever think of that?

  She hadn’t. Had only thought of the thrill of riding the board for the first time.

  Trudy had screamed at the boys, too, told them she’d call the police. She knew what they were up to. Perverts, hoodlums. But they’d just laughed and made rude noises. The one whose board she’d ridden had called Trudy an old bitch, right to her face.

  Eve had thought it was the bravest thing she’d ever seen.

  He’d given Eve a quick grin, a quick wink, and told her she could have another ride whenever she shook the old bitch loose.

  But she’d never ridden it again. She’d stayed away from him, and his friends.

  And she’d paid for the momentary thrill with an empty gut.

  Later, with stomach growling, she had stood at the window of her room. And she’d seen Trudy go out of the front door below. Had watched her take rocks and smash the windshield of her car, then the side windows. Had watched her spray paint on the hood—and made out the gleam of the letters in the dark.

  OLD BITCH

  Trudy had then marched across the street, had wiped the can on a rag, and then tossed it into the bushes in front of the boy’s house.

  She’d been smiling, a bared-teeth snarl of a smile as she’d walked back toward the house.

  Chapter 12

  EVE HAD ONE MORE CHORE BEFORE SHE WENT off duty, and took it solo.

  The hotel Roarke had provided for Bobby and Zana was a step up from the previous location. No big surprise there. Still, it was moderate, short on frills. Just the sort of place tourists or business-people on a budget might choose.

  Security was subtle, but it was there.

  She was stopped on her way across the tidy lobby before she could access the elevators.

  “Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?”

  The woman who tapped her shoulder had a pleasant face, an easy smile. And the faint bulge of a stunner under the armpit of her smart jacket.

  “Police.” Eve held up her right hand, reached for her badge with her left. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. My people are in five-twelve. I’m going up to check on them and the uniform on duty.”

  “Lieutenant. Orders are to scan ID. So…”

  “Good.” They were her own orders, after all. “Go ahead.”

  The woman took out a hand scanner—jazzier than any police issue—verified. She tapped a button, brought Eve’s ID photo onto the scanner’s screen. Satisfied, she handed Eve her badge.

  “Go ahead up, Lieutenant. Do you want me to call the uniform on duty and tell him you’re on your way?”

  “No. I like surprising them.”

  Fortunately for the uniform, he was at the door. They knew each other by sight, so rather than ask for ID, he simply sucked in his stomach, straightened his shoulders. “Lieutenant.”

  “Bennington. Status?”

  “Quiet. All the rooms this level are occupied except five-oh-five and five-fifteen. Few people in and out—shopping bags and briefcases. Not a peep out of five-twelve since I came on shift.”

  “Take ten.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. I’m relieved in thirty, so I can stand until.”

  “Good enough.” She knocked, waited while someone inside checked the security peep. Zana opened the door.

  “Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d be by today. Bobby’s in the bedroom talking to D.K. Do you want me to get him?”

  “No need.” Eve stepped inside the little parlor, Roarke had provided what she supposed was termed an ‘executive suite,�
� with a jut of kitchenette off a cozy sitting area. The bedroom was separated by a pair of pocket doors, currently shut.

  “How you doing?” Eve asked.

  “Better, thanks. Better.” Her cheeks pinked a little. She fluffed nervously at the long waves of her sunny hair. “It occurred to me that you’ve mostly seen me hysterical. I’m not usually. Really.”

  “You had reason.” Eve scanned. Privacy screens engaged. Good. Entertainment screen on some sort of girlie talk show. No wonder Bobby had the doors shut.

  “Can I get you something? The kitchen’s got a good supply.” She smiled wanly. “No need to run out for bagels. I can get you coffee or—”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “It’s a nicer room than the other. Terrible way to get it.”

  “No point in being uncomfortable and uneasy.”

  “No. No, I guess not.” She turned her wedding ring around and around on her finger. Another nervous habit, Eve thought. There was a ring with a little pink stone on her right hand, and the same pink stone, as studs, in her ears.

  They matched her lip dye, Eve noted. How—and why—did women think of that kind of detail?

  “I’m so glad you got my purse back. It had all my stuff, pictures and ID and this new lip dye I just bought, and… God.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Want to sit down?”

  “For a minute. You’ve known Bobby and D.K. awhile.”

  “Since I started working for them. Bobby, he’s just the sweetest thing.” She sat, brushed at the thighs of her pants. “I fell right off. He’s a little shy, you know, with women. D.K. was always teasing him.”

  “Bobby mentioned that D.K. and Trudy didn’t get along.”

  “Oh, well.” Zana’s color resurfaced, just a little. “Mostly D.K. just kept his distance. Kind of a personality clash, I guess. Trudy, she’d just say what she was thinking, right out. And sometimes, well, people got a little offended.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “She’s—she was—the mother of the man I love. And she raised him single-handed.” Her eyes went starry. “Raised such a good man. I didn’t mind her giving me advice. I’ve never been married before, after all, or kept a home. Anyway, Bobby knew just how to handle her.”