Holiday in Death

by J. D. Robb

  Roarke glanced at the can with a hefty sigh. "Can't the department use something with a more pleasant odor?" But he coated his hands, his shoes, then waited for Eve to do the same.

  "Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve entering subject Simon's personal residence, December twenty-four, sixteen twelve. Investigating officer accompanied by Roarke, civilian, in capacity of temporary aide."

  She entered, ordered lights, then simply stood and studied the room. It wasn't quite so neat now. The CS team had done its work and left a fine sheen on surfaces while checking for prints and trace evidence. The sweepers had shoved furniture out of place, upended cushions, removed art from the walls. The 'link had been disconnected and taken in.

  "Since you're here," she said to Roarke, "poke around. Anything that strikes you, call me. I'm going to do the bedroom."

  She'd barely started on the closet when Roarke came in, holding a disc between his thumb and forefinger. "This struck me, Lieutenant."

  "Where the hell did you find that? They should have swept all the discs into evidence."

  "Holiday help, what can you do? It was sealed inside a hologram frame -- I assume the woman in the holo was his mother. It seemed the sentimental choice of hiding places."

  "I've got nothing to run it on. They took all the electronics. I'll need to go in and ..."

  Her voice trailed off as Roarke took a slim black case out of his pocket, swiveled the lid, and opened it to reveal a small screen. "New toy," he said as she frowned at it. "We weren't able to get all the bugs out for the Christmas market. It'll be ready for the President's Day sales."

  "Is it safe? I can't have that disc damaged."

  "I reworked this unit personally. It's a little jewel." He slipped the disc into a slot, lifted a brow again. "Shall I?"

  "Yeah, let's see what we've got."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was a rambling and rather pitiful video journal. A year in a man's life when that life shatters into pieces and begins to fall away from the core.

  Eve supposed Mira would have called it a cry for help.

  He referred to his mother a dozen times or more. His true love, whom he canonized in one entry and vilified in the next.

  She was a saint. She was a whore.

  The one thing Eve was certain of at the end was that she had been a burden, one that Simon had never shirked, and never understood.

  Every Christmas she had re-boxed and re-wrapped the gold cuff bracelet she had purchased for her husband, engraved with the words "My True Love," and placed it under the tree for the man who had left her and her young son. And every Christmas she had told her son that his father would be there on Christmas morning.

  For a long time, he believed her.

  For a longer time, he allowed her to believe.

  Then on Christmas Eve the year before, sick of it, revolted by the men she let use her, he'd smashed the box and destroyed her illusion.

  And she hanged herself with the pretty garland her son had strung around the tree.

  "Not a cheerful seasonal tale," Roarke murmured. "Poor bastard."

  "A lousy childhood's not an excuse to rape and murder."

  "No, it's not. But it's a root. We grow our own way, Eve, one choice leading to another."

  "And the choices we make we're responsible for." She dug out an evidence bag and held it open. After a moment, Roarke ejected the disc and dropped it inside.

  Taking out her communicator, Eve called McNab.

  "No luck on his hidey-hole, Dallas. I traced the father. He relocated to Nexus Station nearly thirty years ago. Got a second wife, two kids, grandchildren. I've got data if you want to contact."

  "What's the point?" she murmured. "I've got a video diary from Simon's place. The crime scene techs and the sweepers missed it. I'll transmit to EDD. Go in and file it, will you, McNab? Then you're off duty. Relay that same status to Peabody. Both of you remain on call as long as subject is at large."

  "That's affirmative. Hey, he's got to come out sometime, Dallas. Then we'll have him."

  "Right. Go hang your stocking, McNab. Let's hope we all get what we want for Christmas. Dallas out."

  Roarke watched her pocket the communicator. "You're too hard on yourself, Eve."

  "He'll have to move tonight. He'll need to move. And he's the only one who knows where. And who." She turned back to the closet. "He's got his clothes organized -- color, fabric. Even more obsessive about it than you."

  "I see nothing obsessive with organizing your wardrobe."

  "Yeah, especially if you own two hundred black silk shirts. Wouldn't want to pull out the wrong one and make a fashion faux pas."

  "I take that to mean you didn't buy me a black silk shirt for Christmas."

  She glanced over her shoulder, grimaced. "I kind of messed up on the shopping. I didn't understand the deal until Feeney pointed out you're supposed to buy in bulk for a spouse. I've just got this one thing."

  He tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Do I get a hint?"

  "No, you're too good at puzzles." She looked back in the closet. "So puzzle this. You've got shirts and trousers here, white to cream to whatever this color is."

  "I'd say taupe."

  "Fine. Then it goes into blues, greens. All of them hung in order. Now there's a gap, then we pick up browns, grays to black. What color do you suppose is missing?"

  "Best guess is red."

  "Right. No other red in here. Maybe he only wore red for special occasions. He had a backup suit, and he took it with him. Something else the sweepers didn't come up with. The rest of the tokens. Six geese whatever and so on. He's got them, too. He'll be ready for the show. But where has he stashed it all? Where's he keeping it, and himself?"

  She circled the room. "There's no coming back here for him. He knows that. He risked coming back because he's got to finish, and he can't finish without his tools, his costume, his props. But he's too smart, he's too organized, too fucking anal not to have had a place to go."

  "His life was here, with his mother and the memories," Roarke pointed out. "And it was at his work."

  She closed her eyes as it struck. "God, he went back to the building. He's in that building."

  "Then let's find him."

  * * *

  Street traffic was vicious, the road skinned with thin icy patches, but the pedestrian jam had whittled down to a trickle. People rushed over the sidewalk, hurrying home to family, to friends. The few who were desperate for the eleventh-hour gift haunted the handful of shops and stores still open.

  Streetlights blinked on and offered cold pools of light. Eve watched an animated billboard Santa fly in his sleigh and wish Merry Christmas to all.

  And it began to rain ice.

  Perfect.

  When Roarke pulled to the curb, she got out quickly, slipped out her master code, then hesitated. After a brief internal debate, she bent over and unstrapped a weapon from her ankle holster. "Take my clutch piece. Just in case."

  They stepped out of the cold and into the glow of security lights.

  "There were people in and out of the salon, the shops, the health clubs all day. He'd need privacy. There's probably some empty offices, and we can run a check to save time, but my hunch is he'd use Piper's apartment. He'd know she's in the hospital and he'd know Rudy wouldn't leave her, not even to come back here. It would've been safe and quiet. No reason for the cops to go back in after the sweep was done."

  She jabbed the control for the elevator, swore. "Shut down."

  "Would you like me to activate them for you, Lieutenant?"

  "Don't be a smart ass."

  "I'll take that as a yes." He slipped the weapon away and took out a small tool kit. "Just take a moment." He removed the control plate, flicked a few keys on the mother board with his quick, clever fingers. There was a quiet hum, then the light over the glass doors blinked on.

  "Slick work -- for a businessman."

  "Thank you." He gestured, then followed her into the car. "Hoffman apartment."
>
  I'm sorry. That floor is only accessible with a key code or clearance.

  Eve bared her teeth, and started to reach for her master again, but Roarke already had the controls unplated. "Just as quick this way," he said, and neatly overrode the block.

  The elevator rose, smooth and fast and quiet. As it began to slow, Eve shifted, putting her body between Roarke's and the door.

  He narrowed his eyes at her back, waited. When the doors slid open, he bumped her aside, pivoted out, and swept the foyer with his weapon.

  "Don't you ever do that again." She hissed it at him, leaping out to cover his back.

  "Don't you ever use yourself as a shield for me. I'd say we're clear here. Ready for the door?"

  She was still vibrating with outrage. Something else to deal with later, she decided. "I go low," she murmured, bypassing the locks. "That's the way I like it."

  "Fine. On three then. One, two." They hit the door, smooth as a training program.

  Inside the lights blazed, and the recording system had been switched on to play bouncy Christmas tunes. Though the privacy screens had been pulled tight over the windows, the Christmas tree glowed in front of the glass.

  She pointed toward the left. On the route to the bedroom she noticed small things. The smears and smudges the sweep would have left had been polished away. The air smelled of flowers and disinfectant.

  There was a faint haze of steam over the spa. The water was still hot.

  The bedroom was tidied, the bed made, the spills mopped up.

  Eve tugged up the spread, swore under her breath. "He put on fresh sheets. The bastard slept in the bed where he raped her." With fury edging along her stomach, she yanked open the closet. There among the flowing styles Rudy and Piper preferred, several shirts and slacks were neatly hung.

  "Making himself right at home." She crouched down and opened the trim black suitcase lying on the closet floor. "The rest of his props." Heart thudding, she nudged through the jewelry, muttering the numbers and lyrics. "All the way to twelve -- this hair clip with a dozen guys drumming. They're all here except number five. He's got that with him." She rose. "He took himself a nice relaxing bath, dressed in his suit, packed up his tools, and went out. And he's planning on coming back."

  "So, we wait."

  She wanted to agree. More than she could stand to admit she wanted to be the one to take him down, to look in his face when she did. To know she'd beaten him, and that part of herself she faced in nightmares.

  "I'm calling it in. We'll have a few slobs who'd've drawn duty tonight. I'll need some men on the building, some inside. It'll take an hour or so to set it up. Then we'll go home."

  "You don't want to turn this over to someone else, Eve."

  "No, I don't. Maybe that's why I need to. And..." She turned back to him, thinking of Mira's words. "I'm entitled to the life I've started to carve out for myself. With you."

  "Then make the calls." He reached out to touch her cheek. "And let's go home."

  * * *

  Peabody filed the last of her paperwork, let out a long, self-pitying sigh, then caught sight of McNab in the doorway. "What?"

  "Just passing by. I told you Dallas said you're off duty."

  "I'm off when my reports are finished and filed."

  He smiled blandly as her machine reported filing complete. "Then I guess you're off. Hot date with Mr. Slick?"

  "You're really ignorant, McNab." Peabody pushed away from the desk. "You don't spend Christmas Eve with a guy you've only dated once." Besides, she thought, Charles had already been booked for the evening.

  "Your family's not around here, are they?"

  "No." Stalling, willing him to leave, she fussed around the desk.

  "Couldn't get home for Christmas?"

  "Not this year."

  "Me either. This case has eaten away at my social life. I got no plans, either." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "What do you say, Peabody, want to call a truce, like a Christmas moratorium?"

  "I'm not at war with you." She turned to get her uniform coat from a hook.

  "You look a little down."

  "It's been a long day."

  "Well, if you're not going to spend Christmas Eve with Mr. Slick, why don't you spend it with a fellow cop? It's a bad night to be alone. I'll buy you a drink, some dinner."

  She kept her head lowered as she buttoned her coat. Christmas Eve alone, or a couple of hours with McNab. Neither were very appealing, but she decided alone was worse. "I don't like you well enough for you to buy me dinner." She looked up, shrugged. "We split the check."

  "Deal."

  * * *

  She didn't expect to enjoy herself, but after a couple of St. Nick Specials, she decided she wasn't miserable. At least shoptalk was a way to kill a few hours.

  She picked at the chicken nibbles she knew were going to go straight to her ass. Her diet could just go to hell. "How can you eat like that?" she asked McNab, watching with hate and envy as he plowed through a double-crust pizza with the works. "Why aren't you pig fat?"

  "Metabolism," he said with his mouth full. "Mine's always on overdrive. Want some?"

  She knew better. Fighting off the chunkies was a constant personal battle. But she took half a slice and reveled in it.

  "You and Dallas straighten things out?"

  Peabody swallowed hard and glared. "She talk to you about it?"

  "Hey, I'm a detective. I notice shit."

  The two drinks had loosened her tongue just enough. "She's really pissed at me."

  "You screw up?"

  "I guess. So did she," Peabody said, brow furrowing. "But I screwed up bigger. I don't know if I can make it right again."

  "You got somebody who'd go to the wall for you and you screw it up, you fix it. In my family we yell, then we brood, then we apologize."

  "This isn't family."

  He laughed. "Hell it isn't." And he smiled at her. "You going to eat all those nibbles?"

  She felt something loosen around her heart. The man might be a pain in the ass, she thought, but when he was right, he was right. "I'll trade you six nibbles for another slice of pizza."

  * * *

  Eve made an effort to put the surveillance operation out of her mind. She had good, experienced officers in place, electronic scans set up in a four-block radius. The minute Simon entered the perimeter, he'd be tagged.

  She couldn't wonder, couldn't question, couldn't think of where he was, what he was doing. If someone else would die. It was out of her control.

  Before the night was out, they'd have him. Her case was solid, and he'd go into a cage. Never come out. It had to be enough.

  "You said something about wine."

  "Yeah, I did." It was easier to smile than she'd expected. The simplest of matters to take the glass Roarke handed her.

  "And making love like animals."

  "I recall suggesting that."

  It was simpler yet to put the wine aside and jump him.

  * * *

  Peabody stayed out later than she'd intended, enjoyed herself more than she'd imagined. Of course, she thought, as she clomped up the stairs to her apartment, that was probably the result of the liquor and not the company.

  Though, she could admit, McNab hadn't been as much of an asshole as usual.

  Now that she was pleasantly oiled, she thought she'd like to bundle into her ratty robe, turn on her tree, and curl up in bed to watch some sappy Christmas special on screen. At midnight, she'd call her parents and they'd all get sloppy and sentimental.

  It had turned out to be a halfway decent Christmas Eve after all.

  She turned at the top of the stairs and, humming a bit, walked toward her door.

  Santa Claus stepped around the corner with his big silver box in hand, and beamed at her out of mad eyes. "Hello, little girl! You're out late. I was afraid I'd miss giving you your Christmas present."

  Oh, Peabody thought. Oh shit. She had a split second to make up her mind. Run or stand. Her stunner was s
trapped inside her coat, and her coat was buttoned. But the communicator was in the pocket, within reach.

  She opted to stand. Straining for a smile, she slid her hand into her pocket, engaged the unit. "Wow, Santa Claus. I never expected to run into you right here in front of my apartment door. Bearing gifts, too. I don't even have a chimney."

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  * * *

  Eve groaned, rolled over, and stretched. They'd never made it to the bed, but had torn into each other on the floor. She felt bruised, used, and fabulous.

  "That was pretty good for starters."

  Beside her Roarke chuckled and slid a fingertip down her warm, damp breast. "I was just thinking the same thing. But I want my Christmas present."

  "Wasn't that it?" But she laughed, sat up, and rubbed her hands over her hair. "But next year -- "

  She broke off as she heard Peabody's voice coming out of a pile of discarded clothes.

  Wow. Santa Claus. I never expected to run into you right in front of my apartment door.

  "Oh my God. Oh God." She was already up, ripping at the clothes, dragging on trousers. "Call it in, call it in. Officer needs assistance. Oh Jesus, Roarke."

  He was pulling on his pants one-handed and snatching his porta-'link with the other. "Let's move. Go. We'll call on the run."

  * * *

  "I've been waiting for you," Simon told her. "With something very special."

  Stall, stall, stall. "Do I get a hint?"

  "Something someone who loves you chose just for you." He started toward her, and she kept the smile in place as she frantically flipped open the buttons of her coat.

  "Yeah? Who loves me?"

  "Santa loves you, Delia. Pretty Delia."

  She saw his hand come up, caught a glimpse of the pressure syringe palmed in it. Pivoting, she brought up her elbow to block, fighting to get past the stiff wool to her weapon.