Divided in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “It’s a good place to start. Did he, or Felicity, ever visit Reva at work?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I’ll find out. They’d never have been admitted into the lab—not this lab—but there are visitors’ areas, so I’ll see about that. I’ll also have a look, personally, at the security of the project, and the personnel assigned.”

  She knew that icy, controlled tone of voice. “No point in getting pissed off until you know you’ve got a leak.”

  “Just getting a jump on it. You’ll want to talk to Reva again, and press her on how her husband might have known something of this project.”

  “Like I said, it’s a place to start.”

  “She might talk to me more freely.”

  “Her boss? The man who hired her, pays her, and trusted her with the responsibility of a Code Red? Why should she?”

  “Because I’ve known her since she was in bloody university,” he said with some impatience. “And if she lies to me, I’ll know it.”

  “You’re on EDD duty on this,” she reminded him. “You wanted the gig, and you’ve got it. It looks to me as if we’re going to make some use of you in that area. I’ve got to call for a pickup here of all electronics. And I want the gallery and the studio swept. So that’s going to take a little time. I’ll give you ten minutes with her, then she’s mine.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re still pissed off.”

  “At least I’m polite about it.”

  “If she leaked it—” She held up a hand to stop his automatic denial. “If she leaked it, how much of the fallout lands on you?”

  He wanted a cigarette, and denied himself that small weakness out of principle. “She’s mine, so it’s my responsibility. We’ll take a hit, a hard one. There are a number of other contracts pending. If this blows up in my face, I’d estimate seventy percent of them—and that’s optimistic—will cancel.”

  She couldn’t estimate the real value of seventy percent of pending contracts. Millions? Billions? But more, she knew, would be the damage to his pride, and his rep. So she kept her face sober. “Does that mean we won’t be able to afford live-in help?”

  Appreciating her, he angled his head, then gave her a quick poke with his finger in the belly. “We’ll muddle through somehow. I’ve a bit put by for a rainy day.”

  “Yeah, a couple of continents, I imagine. Just like I imagine your rep will stand the hit, if it comes. It will,” she repeated when he said nothing. “And I’d make book you’ll fast talk your way into keeping the bulk of those pendings.”

  The first gush of anger cooled. “That’s considerable faith in me, Lieutenant.”

  “Considerable faith in that Irish guile of yours, ace.”

  She pulled out her communicator and called for an EDD pickup. She stepped into the studio from the bedroom area as Peabody stepped in from the gallery.

  “Got the interview—the really long, rambling, theatrical interview with McCoy. Due to which, I just took a departmentally approved blocker for the amazing headache.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I let her go. She’s planning to lay prostrate in bed in her apartment, and permit herself to be swept away by the rising tide of her grief. That’s a direct quote. I did a standard run on her while she was babbling,” she added, and brightened considerably when Roarke stepped out. “She’s twenty-one, as advertised. Still working on her art and theater degrees, big surprise there. Employed here for the last eight months. No criminal. Born in Topeka.” She tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. Was Farm Queen her senior year of high school, another shocker. Moved here at eighteen to attend Columbia, partial scholarship. She comes up as clean and green as a Kansas wheat field.”

  “Do a second-level run on her anyway.”

  “On her?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way. You come in your own transpo?” she asked Roarke.

  “I did. I’ll follow you over.”

  “Good enough. Since you’re civilian consultant for EDD, contact Feeney and bring him up to date.”

  “Yes, sir.” He winked at Peabody as they stepped into the elevator. “You look tired, Detective.”

  “I’m whipped. It’s what . . . fourteen hundred. Twelve hours on the clock, on no sleep to speak of. I don’t know how she does it.”

  “Just focus,” Eve ordered. “I’ll give you an hour’s personal in the crib at Central after this.”

  “A whole hour.” Peabody gave up and yawned again. “Boy, that ought to set me up.”

  By the time they were double-parked in front of Caro’s building, Peabody’s droopy eyes were back on alert.

  “Techno-terrorists, Code Reds, government alliances. Jeez, Dallas, it sort of rocks. It’s like spy stuff.”

  “It’s like murder stuff, seeing as there are two bodies in the morgue.”

  Even as she got out of the car, the doorman, spiffy in hunter green with gold braid, marched over. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t leave your vehicle there. Public parking is available two blocks west, on . . .”

  He trailed off, snapped to attention like a new army recruit faced with a five-star general when Roarke strolled up to join them. “Sir! I wasn’t told you were expected. I was just informing this woman that her vehicle is in violation of the parking code.”

  “This is my wife, Jerry.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs.—”

  “Lieutenant.” She ground it out between her teeth. “Dallas, and that makes this a police vehicle. That means it stays where I put it.”

  “Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll make certain it’s not disturbed.”

  He hustled to the door, opened it with some flourish. “Just call down if you need anything,” he said. “I’m on the door until four.”

  “We’re fine. Nice to see you again, Jerry.”

  “Always a pleasure, sir.”

  Roarke walked directly to the automated security panel that was flanked by two tall urns filled with burnished gold fall flowers. “Why don’t I do it, and save time?” Without waiting for the go-ahead, he placed his palm on the plate, and was immediately cleared.

  Good afternoon, sir! the computer said with the same delighted enthusiasm as Jerry the doorman. Welcome back. What can I do for you?

  “Inform Ms. Ewing that I’m here, along with Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. And clear the elevator.”

  Yes, sir. Enjoy your visit.

  “Now, wasn’t that better than having a pissing match with a machine?” Roarke asked as he led the way to a trio of silver elevator doors.

  “No. I like having pissing matches with machines. It gets my blood moving.”

  He patted her on the shoulder, nudged her into the car ahead of him. “Well, next time, then. Eighteenth floor,” he requested.

  “I guess this is one of your buildings.”

  He smiled over at Peabody. “It is, yes.”

  “Sweet. So, if I ever have any money to invest, would you maybe give me some pointers?”

  “I’d be delighted to.”

  “Yeah, like cops have investment funds.” Eve shook her head.

  “You just start out saving a little bit of each payday check,” Peabody explained. “Then you find the right place to put it, so you can increase the pot. Right?”

  “Exactly so,” Roarke agreed. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll find you a rainbow to bury that pot under.”

  He gestured when the doors opened on eighteen. “Ladies.”

  “We’re on duty. That makes us cops, not ladies.” But Eve stalked out, and to the door of the east corner apartment.

  It opened before she could bother with the buzzer.

  “Is there some news? Has there been a development?” Caro caught herself, drew a breath. “I’m so sorry. Please come in. Why don’t we sit in the living area?”

  She stepped back to welcome them into the spacious apartment with a river view. Twin sofas done in strong blue were grouped into a con
versation area accented with pretty lamps with jeweled shades and glossy tables.

  In what Eve considered a female trait, she’d arranged plump and colorful pillows on the sofas.

  There were fresh flowers in vases, attractive little dust catchers, and books—the sort with pages—grouped on shelves.

  She’d changed, Eve noted, into what she imagined Caro considered around-the-house attire. Both the shirt and pants were bronze; both were meticulously tailored.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee would be lovely,” Roarke said before Eve could reject the offer. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course not. I’ll just be a minute. Please, sit down. Be comfortable.”

  Eve waited until Caro had walked through a doorway. “This isn’t a social call, Roarke.”

  “She needs something to do, something normal. She needs a moment to settle.”

  “This is really beautiful,” Peabody said into the silence. “This place. Simple, classy elegance. Just right, you know. Like her.”

  “Caro is a woman of quiet and unquestionable taste. She’s built a life that reflects her own style and desires, and she’s done it on her own. Something you’d respect,” he said to Eve.

  “I do respect her. I like her.” Am intimidated by her, she thought. “And you know I can’t let that get in the way of the job.”

  “No. But you might add it into the equation.”

  “If you get overprotective and defensive, this isn’t going to work.”

  “I’m only asking for you to go gently with her.”

  “And here I was planning on smacking her around.”

  “Eve—”

  “Please, don’t quarrel over me.” Caro stepped back in, carrying a tray. “This is a very difficult situation we find ourselves in. I don’t need or expect special handling.”

  “Let me take that.” Roarke took the tray from her. “You should sit down, Caro. You look worn out.”

  “Not very flattering, but certainly true. I’m a little worn at the edges.” She made herself smile as she sat. “But I’m perfectly capable of handling the tough stuff, Lieutenant. I’m not fragile.”

  “No, I’ve never thought of you as fragile. Formidable.”

  “Formidable.” Now her smile warmed. “I’m not sure that’s flattering either. You take yours black, as Roarke does. And you, Detective?”

  “I’ll have it light, thanks.”

  “I need to speak with your daughter,” Eve began.

  “She’s resting. I browbeat her into taking a soother a couple hours ago.” As she poured, Caro pressed her lips together. “She’s grieving for him. Part of me is angry that she could grieve for him, under the circumstances. She’s not fragile either. I didn’t raise a fragile child. But she’s damaged by this—by all of it. And afraid. We’re both afraid.”

  She passed the coffee around, then a plate of thin golden cookies.

  “You must have some questions you need to ask me. Couldn’t you interview me first, give her just a little more time to rest?”

  “Tell me what you thought of Blair Bissel.”

  “What I thought of him, before this morning?” Caro lifted her cup. It was a pretty floral pattern. “I liked him, because my daughter loved him. Because by all appearances he loved her. I never felt as much for him as I’d hoped to feel for my daughter’s choice of mate, which sounds . . . convenient under the circumstances, but doesn’t make it less true.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you like him as much as you’d hoped to?”

  “That’s a good question, and difficult to answer with specifics. I’d imagined when she married, that I’d love her husband, much as I might’ve loved a son. But I didn’t. I found him pleasant and amusing, considerate and intelligent. But . . . cool. On some inner level, cool and distant.”

  She set her cup down again, without drinking. “It was my hope that I’d have grandchildren, when they were ready. And my secret hope, one I never shared with Reva, that when the grandchildren came I’d find that love for Blair.”

  “And his work?”

  “It’s necessary to be honest now, isn’t it?” There was, for just an instant, a twinkle in her eyes. “I could never be honest before. Preposterous, occasionally offensive, and very often unseemly. Art should often be surprising, and even unseemly, I suppose. But I’m more traditional in my tastes. He did very well, though.”

  “Reva strikes me as an urbanite. What’s she doing in a house in Queens?”

  “He wanted it. A big house, in his own style. I admit it broke my heart a little to have her move even that far away. We’ve always been very close. Her father hasn’t been part of our lives since she was twelve.”

  “Why?”

  “He preferred other women.” She said it without any trace of bitterness. Without, Eve noticed, any trace of anything. “It seems my daughter was attracted to the same kind of man.”

  “She lived farther away from you at one time, during her time with the Secret Service.”

  “Yes. She needed to spread her wings. I was very proud of her, and extremely relieved when she retired and moved back, went into R and D. Safe, I thought.” Caro’s lips trembled. “So much safer for my girl.”

  “Did Reva ever talk about her work with you?”

  “Hmm? Oh, from time to time. We were often involved, in our different ways, in the same projects.”

  “Has she discussed with you the project she’s involved with now?”

  Caro picked up her cup again, but Eve had seen the quick widening of her pupils. “I imagine Reva’s involved in a number of projects at the moment.”

  “You know the one I’m talking about, Caro.”

  This time there was a faint line of confusion between her eyebrows, and a quick glance at Roarke. “I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the projects in development through Roarke Industries. Even with you, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s all right, Caro. The lieutenant is aware of the Code Red.”

  “I see.” But it was clear to Eve that she didn’t. “I’m privy to certain details on any project with this level of sensitivity. As Roarke’s admin, I assist in meetings and review contracts, evaluate personnel. These are part of my duties. So yes, I’m aware of the project Reva’s heading.”

  “And the two of you have discussed it.”

  “Reva and I? No. We wouldn’t speak of this, any details of it. With Code Red, all data—verbal, electronic, holographic—all files, all notes, all intel remains top level. I’ve discussed this with no one, until now, but Roarke himself. In the office. This is global security, Lieutenant,” she said with brisk disapproval in her tone. “It isn’t coffee talk.”

  “I’m not bringing it up to juice up the cookies.”

  “They’re great cookies,” Peabody piped up, and earned a scowl from Eve. “I bet you get them from a bakery.”

  Caro smiled a little. “Yes, I do.”

  “We always had fresh cookies in the house when I was a kid. Now that we’re grown up, my mom still has them around. Habit,” Peabody said, and took another bite. “You probably always had them around when Reva was a kid.”

  “I did.”

  “I guess especially when you’re raising a kid on your own, you tend to be close, and a mom gets to be even more protective.”

  “Probably.” The stiffness in Caro’s voice, in her body language relaxed. “Though I’ve tried, always, to give her room. Independence.”

  “Still worry, like you said. Like when she was with the Secret Service. Probably worried some, too, like moms do, when she got serious about Blair.”

  “Yes, a bit. Still, she was a grown woman.”

  “My mom always said we can get as old as we want, she’s still our mom. Did you run Bissel, Ms. Ewing?”

  Caro started to speak, then flushed and stared hard at the window. “I . . . she’s my only child. Yes. I’m ashamed to say I did. I know I asked you specifically not to,” she said to Roarke. “Made a point of it, even an issue of
it with you.”

  “I did two levels anyway.”

  “Well, of course. Of course, you did.” Her hand fluttered to her face, then fell back into her lap. “She was an employee, after all.” She sighed now. “I knew you would do that much. You have to protect yourself, your holdings.”

  “I wasn’t only thinking of myself, Caro, or my holdings.”

  She reached out, touched his hand. “No, I know that. But I also knew, because I asked—well, demanded, really—you wouldn’t go deeper than that. And I swore to myself I wouldn’t. I absolutely would not interfere in such an underhanded way with my daughter’s life. Then I did. Another full level. And I used your resources to do it. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Caro.” He picked up her hand, kissed her fingers gently. “I was perfectly aware of what you did. I had no problem with it.”

  “Oh.” She let out a shaky laugh. “How foolish of me. Remarkably.”

  “How could you do that, Mom?” Reva stepped into the room. Her eyes were ravaged, her hair disordered from sleep. “How could you go behind my back that way?”

  5 ROARKE GOT TO his feet and moved so smoothly, so subtly between mother and daughter, Eve wondered if anyone noticed that he’d placed himself as Caro’s shield.

  “For that matter, Reva, so did I, go behind your back, as it were.”

  “You’re not my mother.” She bit the words off as she stepped forward, and Roarke simply shifted his body without seeming to move at all.

  “Which would mean, all in all, I had less of a right.” He spoke easily, drawing his cigarette case out of his pocket. The gesture, Eve noted, distracted Reva. If only for a moment. “Do you mind, Caro?” he asked, very pleasant.

  “No.” Flustered, she looked around, then rose. “I’ll get an ashtray.”

  “Thanks. Of course you could say I did the basic run on Blair as your employer. And that would be true.” He lit the cigarette. “True enough, but not fully true. You’re a friend of mine, as is your mother, so that was another factor.”

  Color was riding high in Reva’s cheeks, a full temper strike at the flashpoint, made no less volatile by the fact she was bundled into a petal pink robe and wearing thick gray socks. “If I can’t be trusted to—”