Seduction in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Freeze image,” Eve ordered, but Roarke already had.

  “Increase sector twenty through thirty, fifty percent.”

  When Roarke repeated her request, Eve realized the unit was set for his voice command only. Any irritation she might have felt was overpowered by the satisfaction of seeing the ruby ring in full detail. “I want a printout of that.”

  “How many?”

  “Give me a dozen. And transfer this disc run to my office unit and Peabody’s PPC.”

  Peabody opened her mouth, then wisely decided not to ask how a civilian could transfer data to an official unit without pass codes and electronic authorization.

  “Let’s see if we can save some time. Peabody, I want you to do ’link calls to the jewelers. Show them the image of the ring. See if we can tag the shop or craftsman who made it. Is there a place she can set up here, for maybe an hour?” Eve asked Roarke.

  “Of course.” He contacted his executive assistant on the interoffice communicator. “Ariel, Officer Peabody requires a private workspace. She’ll meet you at main.”

  He glanced at Peabody. “Just go out to the main reception this floor. Ariel will take care of it.”

  “Great.” And with visions of another sparkling mango in her future, Peabody headed out.

  “You’ll want to see the rest of this,” Roarke said, and resumed play at normal speed and range.

  On-screen, the killer lined the flutes side by side. He poured a half glass of each, scanning the room as they foamed and bubbled. His hand lifted, hovered over one of the glasses.

  “Freeze. Enhance.”

  She walked to within inches of the screen and saw clearly the trickle of clear liquid spilling from his hand into the glass. “When I get this bastard, the PA’s going to do fucking cartwheels over this disc. Resume play, same enhancement, quarter speed. There, there, look at that. He’s got a vial palmed in his hand. Premeasured or I’m a monkey’s butt.”

  “And I can attest you’re not. Time stamp,” Roarke continued, “shows he’s given himself a few minutes leeway. In case she’s early. He’s filled both glasses now, set the spiked one across the table.”

  “Give me full view again. Look at him. Look at his face. Awful damned pleased with himself. A little private toast. Now he makes the call. His partner. Everything’s in place, can’t wait to get home and tell you how it went. We’ll get a lip reader to study this, see how close I am.”

  “Here she comes,” Roarke commented.

  Moniqua stepped into the lounge. Hesitated. Then her lips curved. “There he is, she’s thinking,” Eve said quietly. “And he’s handsome, just as she hoped he would be. Look, perfect gentleman’s getting up. Takes her hand, a little peck on the knuckles for that romantic touch.

  “Champagne? How delightful. Click glasses. Perfect script. You’d hardly notice that predatory look on his face as she drinks if you didn’t know he was a monster. If you didn’t know, in his mind, he’s killing her right now.”

  “I’ll never know how you do this. Day after day.” Roarke spoke from behind her now, laying his hands on her shoulders to rub at the knots of tension.

  “Because I know, in my mind, I’ll get him. Them. Both of them. They think they’ve covered all the angles, but you never hit them all. There are always mistakes. Little mistakes. He thinks he’s safe, think’s he’s smart. Anybody looking at them would see she’s the one making the moves here. She’s the one sliding closer in the booth, touching his arm, his hair, leaning in. Who’d look at that pretty scene and see rape?”

  “It hurts you. Don’t tell me it doesn’t,” he said, and there was an edge in his voice. “You bandage it, but it hurts you.”

  “It only makes me work harder to stop him. Oh jeez, there’s Charles and Louise.”

  “Is that why you sent Peabody out?”

  “I don’t need her distracted, and I’m not thinking about her weird-ass platonic thing with Charles and her weirder-ass sexual one with McNab because it distracts me. What is it, standard seduction plan A: Champagne and caviar?”

  “You preferred coffee and red meat as I recall.”

  “I’ll take real cow over a bunch of fish eggs any—There! He’s given her a booster. Same little palm deal, new vial. Two doses in her before they get to her place. That’s off. Lab found traces of Whore in the living room glass, Rabbit in the bedroom. But her tox screen didn’t put that much Whore in her system. That’s why she’s not dead.”

  “She’s drinking it,” Roarke pointed out.

  “Yeah, giving him a little hand job under the table and swilling it back. He gives her the third dose at her place. How does her system absorb that much? Because it didn’t. She purged. Sicked it up. She’s slim, but not skinny,” Eve mused. “Doesn’t look like the eating disorder type. Probably just got queasy. When she was in the lounge here, or at home. Tossed up some of the wine and fish eggs, and enough of the drug to keep her system from fully overloading.

  “Mistake,” she said. “He didn’t think of that. When he left her she was out cold and he took her for dead. Tells me he’s not a doctor or any sort of med-tech. It’s the other guy who knows that end. This one’s just the computer freak. Run the disc from the second murder. I want to see if I can get a good image of that ring, too.”

  “Kevin, you really are becoming tedious.” There was a mechanical whoosh and a fog of cold air as Lucias unsealed the cryo-unit and selected the desired solution in its freezer pack. “The first time you’re nearly hysterical because the girl died. Now you’re biting your nails because this one didn’t.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill the first one.”

  “And did the second.” With tongs, Lucias set the pack in a slot in a treated glass tray. “I’d say, as far as the game goes, old friend, you’re in the minus column.”

  “You’re the one doing the cooking.” Suspicion, mixed with anger and fear, made Kevin’s voice ugly. “What’s to stop you from playing around with the mix for my bag?”

  “A sense of fair play, of course. Cheating would lessen the satisfaction of winning. We agreed on the honor system, Kev.”

  “She’s very likely to die, so don’t mark your score card quite yet.”

  “That’s the spirit. And again in the interest of fair play, I suggest we consider her hospitalization as five points, as we put death at a full ten. If your little playmate dies before I get home from my date tonight, you’ll actually be in the lead again. Can’t get fairer than that. And if she doesn’t . . .” He shrugged, then slid the tray with its various packs into a thin compartment, programmed time and temperature. “I go ahead. We can increase the stakes with some double booking.”

  “Two in one day?” The horror, and the thrill, of the idea struck Kevin simultaneously.

  “If you’re man enough.”

  “We haven’t prepared. The schedule calls for three nights off after this evening’s round. None of the targets are in line until next week.”

  “Schedules are for amateurs and drones.” Lucias prepared them both a little cocktail. Unblended scotch with a dash of Zoner. “Let’s rack them up, Kev. We’ll both have impressive American scores before we move the game to France.”

  “A picnic in the park,” Kevin considered. “An afternoon rendezvous. Yes, that might be fun. And, it would be best to start mixing up our methods. Toss the police a sudden curve to screw up their probabilities and profiles.”

  “Day games. They have their own special panache, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 13

  “No pops on the rings,” Eve told her team.

  She’d had to pull rank, step on toes, and bribe the scheduling clerk with a block of Swiss chocolate, but she’d managed to hook a conference room.

  Roarke was good for the chocolate and would only smirk a little at the bribery angle.

  “Best we’ve got is they’re not heirlooms. The jewelers Peabody tapped agree that they’re not antiques. If the stones and settings are genuine, the value’s estimated at two hundr
ed fifty k each.”

  “Any guy wears a quarter mil on his finger’s a putz” was Feeney’s opinion. “And a showoff.”

  “Agreed. Putz and showoff percentages are high. I want to take the search on them global, so I’m passing that ball to EDD.” And she’d tap her own personal source on showoff items. Roarke might not wear baubles himself, but he was sure an expert at buying them and draping them all over her.

  “Imaging’s working with the waiter, but it’s slow. He’s a lot clearer on the rings than the guys wearing them. We can access security discs for the last week or two weeks from the Palace, but it’ll take time to pick through them, and luck to home in on our men. I’ll be doing that run personally, but meanwhile, if nothing jumps by morning, I’m going to request our witness agrees to hypnotherapy.”

  “There’s no guarantee they weren’t wearing enhancements when they met for drinks,” McNab pointed out and earned a rare nod of approval from Eve.

  “That’s right, but we detail the image anyway. We keep building the box until we lock them inside. Progress on the rental unit?” She glanced at Feeney. “And don’t crawl up my ass.”

  “Funny you should ask. We cleaned out most of the chatter. You wouldn’t believe the shit people send through rentals. Porn sites win ten to one.”

  “It’s so good to have my view of the general citizenship reinforced.”

  “After that you got your entertainment and amusement sites, then your financials. Personal e-mail comes after. Most promising user name is Wordsworth. All his transmissions are cloaked. You get through one layer of the cloak and the sucker bounces you to another locale. He shot the goods from the cyber-joint to Madrid. Start picking there and it bounces to Delta Colony. Then—”

  “I get the picture. What did you find?”

  Feeney sulked a little, crunched on nuts. “I uncloaked one transmission so far. Looks like he did three, maybe four more. The one I stripped down went to an account registered to Stefanie Finch. A lot of mushy stuff.”

  “Shoot the mushy stuff and her address to my units. You’re a cyber-wizard, Feeney.”

  That soothed his ruffles. “Yeah, don’t I know it. I gotta take a couple hour’s medical, get a quick eye fix. Detective Cyber-Wiz here’ll keep on it.”

  “I’m in the field. Peabody, with me. Peel off,” she ordered as she strode out and toward a glide. “Snag me an energy bar or something, meet me in the garage in ten. I need to stop by my office first.”

  “There’s vending right outside the bullpen.”

  “The vending machines around here hate me. They steal my credits and laugh in my face.”

  “You’ve had your vending privileges suspended again for kicking the equipment, haven’t you?”

  “I didn’t kick it, I punched it. And just get me the damn bar.” Without waiting for a response, Eve hopped the glide and flipped out her communicator to check in with the imaging tech.

  Peabody merely sighed and backtracked to the closest food vender. She was perusing the choices, debating between energy or chemical sweetener for herself when McNab came up behind her.

  Since their session the night before, she expected him to go for a little pinch or grab. But he dipped his hands into two of the twelve pockets in his butter yellow trousers and just stood there.

  “You doing okay?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, just ordering up a few boosts.” Figuring Dallas could have them both in the field for hours yet, she went for energy and sweetener.

  “I figure you’re bent about what happened. You shouldn’t be. Stuff like that doesn’t mean anything.”

  Thinking of pizza, and the frantic bout of sex on her living room floor, the second, more thorough session in her bed, she felt her stomach tighten. “Right. Who said it meant anything?”

  “I’m just saying you shouldn’t be like, embarrassed or upset.”

  She turned to him, kept her face absolutely stone still. “Do I look embarrassed or upset to you?”

  “Look, you don’t want to talk about it, fine with me.” His personal sense of outrage leaped up, snagged him by the throat. Charles had all but rubbed his new lady in Peabody’s face, and she still couldn’t see him for what he was. “Everybody knows it was never going anywhere. If you thought otherwise, then you deserve just what you get.”

  “Thanks for the bulletin. And you can just . . .” She searched for something, and settled on Eve’s favored suggestion. “Bite me.” Shoving him aside with her elbow, she marched to the nearest glide.

  “Fine.” He kicked the vending machine, storming off as it issued the standard warning. If she wanted to get twisted up over having her pet LC trot another woman out under her nose, why the hell should he care?

  By the time Peabody made it to the garage she’d eaten her energy bar and started on the candy. And she was steaming. Already in the vehicle, Eve merely held out a hand. Then hissed when Peabody slapped the bar into her palm sharply enough to burn.

  “I should have kicked his ass. Just mopped the floor with his skinny, bony ass.”

  “Christ.” In defense, Eve shot out of her slot. “Don’t start.”

  “I’m not starting, I’m finished. Pig bastard wants to stand there and tell me I shouldn’t be embarrassed, shouldn’t be upset because last night didn’t mean anything?”

  I will not listen, I will not listen, I will not listen, Eve repeated over and over in her head. “Finch lives on Riverside Drive. Alone. Employed as shuttle pilot for Inter-Commuter Air.”

  “He’s the one who came knocking on my door with his pitiful pizza and big sloppy smile.”

  “She’s twenty-four,” Eve said desperately. “Single. Perfect fit for target profile of killer number one.”

  “And who’s everyone? Who the hell is everyone?”

  “Peabody, if I just agree that McNab is a pig bastard, that you should kick his ass, even give you my solemn word that I will help you kick the pig bastard’s ass at the first reasonable opportunity, can we pretend we’re focused on this investigation?”

  “Yes, sir.” Peabody sniffed. “But I’d appreciate it if you would not speak the pig bastard’s name in my presence ever again.”

  “That’s a deal. We’re going to Finch’s. Once I get a sense of her, we’ll see if she can stand up as bait or needs to be removed to protective custody. Next on the list is McNamara. We pin him down today, on or off planet. If McNab . . . the pig bastard,” she corrected when Peabody’s head snapped around, “manages to uncloak any more target accounts, we move on them immediately. The civilian targets are priority.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Check in with the officer on duty at the hospital. We’re more likely to get word from our own first on any change in the victim’s condition than we are from medical staff.”

  “Yes, sir. Can I say one more thing about the pig bastard? Absolutely the last thing I have to say on the subject.”

  “The last thing? Well then, I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “I hope his balls shrivel up like overbaked prunes then fall off in useless husks.”

  “A very pleasant final image. I applaud you. Now tag the guard.”

  Shuttle pilots, Eve decided, pulled in a fine, fat per annum. The apartment building was swank and silver, a shining spear ringed by glides that allowed residents and guests private exterior access if they were cleared.

  As she’d already had her height quota for the next little while, Eve chose the interior access. The electronic greeting station requested her business, her name, and destination in a pleasant and no-nonsense tone.

  “Police business. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and aide to see Stefanie Finch.” She held her badge up to the security screen, listened to the faint hum as it was scanned and verified.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Dallas, Ms. Finch is not in residence at this time. You may leave a message for her by requesting visitor voice mail.”

  “When is she expected back?”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Dallas, I am no
t authorized to give that information without a warrant.”

  “I bet Roarke owns this place,” Peabody commented as she gazed around the spacious black-and-silver lobby. “It’s his style. I bet if you told it you’re his wife—”

  “No.” It irritated her just to think about it. “I want to see the resident or residents in apartment 3026.”

  “Next-door neighbor. Good thinking.”

  “One moment, Lieutenant Dallas. Mrs. Hargrove is in residence. I’ll submit your request for visitation.”

  “Yeah, you do that. How do people stand being closed up in these places?” Eve wondered. “Like little ants in a hive.”

  “I think it’s bees in a hive. Ants are—”

  “Shut up, Peabody.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mrs. Hargrove will allow visitation, Lieutenant Dallas and aide. Please use elevator bank five. Enjoy your visit, and the rest of your day.”

  Alicanne Hargrove turned out to be not only willing but thrilled at the visit.

  “Police.” She all but pulled Eve into her apartment. “So exciting. Has there been a robbery?”

  “No, ma’am. I’d like to speak to you regarding Stefanie Finch.”

  “Stef?” The animation on Alicanne’s pretty face faded. “Oh my goodness. She’s all right, isn’t she? She just left this morning for a shuttle run.”

  “As far as I know she’s fine. You and Ms. Finch are friendly?”

  “Yes, very. Oh, I’m sorry, sit down.”

  She gestured to the painfully modern living area with its trio of gel-sofas. To Eve, they looked big enough, squishy enough to swallow any number of household pets. “Thanks, but this won’t take long. Can you tell me if you know if Ms. Finch is seeing anyone socially?”

  “Men? Stef sees a lot of men. She’s a dynamo.”

  “Anyone named Wordsworth?”

  “Oh, the poet. She’s been having a romance with him through e-mail. I think they’re scheduled to meet when she gets back from her shuttle run. Day after tomorrow. She’ll be based in London until then. It seems to me she said they’d made a tentative date for next week. Drinks at the Top of New York. But the way Stef juggles men, I can’t be sure.”