by J. D. Robb
“Lookie here. Current data on wall screen,” she ordered, then rose, stretching out as she studied the information.
Bebe Petrelli, DOB April 12, 2019. Current address 435 107th Street, Bronx. Parents Lisbeth Carmine, Anthony DeSalvo (deceased). Siblings Francis, Vincente. Married Luca Petrelli (deceased) June 10, 2047. Two children, Dominick Anthony, DOB January 18, 2048, Paul Luca, DOB July 1, 2051.
“Enough, enough, give me the damn criminal.”
Working…
Charged with possession of illegals substance 2042. Probation. Charged with possession with intent to distribute illegals substance 2043, probation on first charge rescinded. Sentenced to three to five, suspended. Licensed Companion license revoked. Community service with mandatory rehabilitation therapy ordered, and completed. Charged with solicitation without a license, assault, and resisting arrest 2045. Assault charges and resisting charges dropped. Served one year Rikers, with completion of anger management program.
“Wonder if it worked. Computer, was subject’s father Anthony DeSalvo of the purported organized crime family?”
DeSalvo, Anthony, father of subject, alleged captain in DeSalvo family, alleged to be Mafia-based with interests in illegals, weapons running, protection. DeSalvo, Anthony, garroted 2044, rival Santini family suspected of ordering his execution. Brief gang war followed with several deaths and/or disappearances of purported members. No arrests or convictions made. Do you want full case files?
“Not at this time.” Eve walked over to Roarke’s doorway. “I’ve got a hot one.”
“I’ve got bleeding nothing. Let’s see yours.”
He walked in, stood as she did, studying the data with his thumbs hooked in his front pocket. “Ah, yes, the feuding DeSalvo and Santini clans.”
“Know any of them?”
“I’ve made the acquaintance of a few over the years. They’ve learned to give me a wide berth.”
The casual way he said it, the utter disregard in his tone, reminded Eve once more how dangerous Roarke could be. Yeah, she thought, she bet the wiser of the wise guys gave him a wide berth.
“In any case,” he continued, “they’re fairly small-time. Bullies and posturers and greedy hotheads. Which is why they’re small-time. This family tree and the bloody roots of it would make your current subject of interest to Ava Anders, I’d think. She comes from a family that murders as part of their standard business practices. She’s had her own bumps with the law, served time. How’d her husband die?”
“Good question. Computer, details on the death of Petrelli, Luca.”
Working…Petrelli, Luca, COD fractured skull. Accompanying injuries: broken jaw, broken nose, broken fingers, both hands, broken leg, arm, shoulder. Severe facial injuries, contributory internal injuries. Body was found in the East River near Hunts Point, June 12, 2047.
“Beat the bastard to death,” Eve commented. “Computer, was Petrelli known to be or suspected of being connected to organized crime?”
No connection known. Suspected due to relationship with Petrelli, Bebe. None found through surveillance or other investigative methods. Petrelli, Luca, owned and operated, with wife, Bebe’s, a restaurant in Hunts Point, Bronx. No criminal record on Petrelli, Luca.
“So she marries clean,” Roarke speculated. “Has a couple of kids, opens a restaurant. Not in Queens, where her family claims its contested turf, but in the Bronx. Away from that. Away from them. Then someone beats her man to death.”
“And with two kids to raise, money tight, a spotted record, the blood ties, it’s hard to make ends meet.” Eve eased a hip down on her desk, absently stroking a hand over the cat when he bumped his head against her arm. “Hard to soldier on. You’d be grateful to someone who offered a hand, who didn’t hold the past against you. Looks like Peabody and I are heading up to the Bronx in the morning. Computer, list Bebe Petrelli as a person of interest, copy all data to file. Send copy of same to Peabody, Detective Delia, home unit.”
“You won’t be stopping there.”
“No, but that sure gave me a boost. I think it’s time we took a break and had ourselves some pie.”
“It’s always time for pie.” He glanced over as the house ’link beeped. “Yes, Summerset?”
“Dr. Dimatto and Mr. Monroe are at the gate.”
“Let them in. Oh, and we’ll have the pie the lieutenant brought home, with coffee for our guests. In the parlor.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“How come people can drop by out of the blue and get pie?” Eve wondered.
“Because we’re such warm and welcoming hosts.”
“No, that’s you. And it’s my pie. Technically.” She looked over at the work on her desk with the cat currently sprawled over it all. “Well, hell, I wanted to talk to Charles anyway. Computer, send a notification to Detective Peabody. Report, my home office eight hundred—no, strike, seven hundred thirty hours. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
Acknowledged.
“Run next subject, store data.” Eve shrugged. “I’ll get a little jump on it while we’re being warm and welcoming hosts. Anyway, Petrelli was in this fashion show Ava sponsored, attended a number of the one-and two-day mom breaks, one of the five-day retreats just last summer, and both her kids have attended sports camps three years running.”
“Solid connection,” Roarke agreed as they started out of the office.
“Last year both of the kids were awarded Anders scholarships. They’re in private schools now—Anders pays the freight as long as they meet academic standards and stay out of trouble. That’s a lot of motive, a lot of reasons for Petrelli to keep Anders happy. A lot of reasons to be grateful.”
“Use the children, particularly the children.” Such things always burned in his belly. “Here’s what I’ll give your boys, here’s how your boys can be educated, the opportunities they can have if you just do this little thing for me.”
“It clicks pretty good.”
“It clicks. And she would ask herself, wouldn’t she, how or why anyone would connect her to Anders’s murder. How would she ever be brought into it?” Roarke ran a hand down Eve’s back as they descended the stairs. “Because she couldn’t anticipate you. And neither, no matter how well she planned, could Ava.”
Eve stopped at the parlor doorway, winced. Charles and Louise stood inside, wrapped together like pigs in a blanket, sharing a big, sloppy one in front of the parlor fire.
She slipped her hands in her pockets. “You guys need a privacy room?”
“And there’s the warm welcome,” Roarke murmured as the couple eased apart. And his eyebrows rose as they grinned at each other, then at their hosts like a couple of cats with bellies full of cream.
“Sorry to drop by so late,” Charles began. “I got your message that you needed to speak to me, and since we were out—”
“And that’s not the reason at all.” With her cheeks flushed and glowing, Louise laughed and leaned against Charles. “We wanted to share our news, and used the ’link message as an excuse.”
“Congratulations.” Roarke crossed over to shake Charles’s hand, to kiss Louise’s cheek.
“We haven’t told you the news yet,” Louise complained.
“You don’t have to, not with that rock you’re wearing blinding us.” Eve stood where she was, studying them both. “When did all this happen?”
“Tonight, a couple of hours ago.” Louise shot out her hand with the diamond sizzling. “Look, look, look.”
The woman was a doctor, Eve thought. A tough-minded, strong-spined woman with a solid core of sense. And she was bouncing like a spring over a chunk of rock. But Eve walked over, let Louise hold the ring up to her face. “Shiny,” Eve said.
“It’s exquisite.” Roarke poked a finger into Eve’s ribs. “I have all her taste in jewelry. Ah, Summerset, we’ll keep the pie,” he said as his man wheeled in a cart, “but we’ll want to switch out the coffee for champagne. We’re celebrating Charles and Louise’s engagement.”
“B
est wishes. I’ll see to it right away.”
“I feel like I’ve already had a couple bottles. I’m so giddy!” Louise threw her arms around Eve, squeezed. “We’re thinking May, late May or early June. Something small, sweet. But I’m getting ahead of it. Tell them the rest, Charles.”
“We’ll be moving into a house in the West Village.”
“Oh, God, it’s fabulous. One of those amazing old brownstones, wonderfully rehabbed. It even has a courtyard garden in the back. Working fireplaces, three levels. I’ve already earmarked a room on the third floor for my home office. And the lower level is perfect for Charles’s clients.”
Eve opened her mouth, slammed it back shut. But apparently some sound had snuck out before she zipped it.
“Not those clients.” Charles shot Eve a look. “Part three of the news is I’ve retired, and am about to begin a new career in psychology, specializing in sex therapy.”
“That’s what you were doing with Mira.” Eve punched his shoulder.
“Yes. Ouch. She’s been an enormous help to me in the transition. A lot of LCs are married, or get married, and manage very well. I didn’t want to be one of them.”
“Well, good, because that’s just screwy. I can say that,” Eve complained when Roarke poked her again, “because he’s not doing the screwy. Jeez, like you weren’t thinking it.”
“Excellent timing,” Roarke announced when Summerset brought in the champagne. He popped the cork himself, and began to pour while Louise wandered over.
“Wow, look at that gorgeous pie. Look how beautiful the lemon is against the white meringue.” She scanned over to Eve. “You’d look good in a lemony yellow.”
“I’m more interested in eating the lemony yellow.”
“I’m thinking wedding again—matron of honor dress. Charles and I want the two of you to stand up for us. We met through you.”
“We’d be absolutely honored.” The quick glance Roarke sent Eve was the equivalent of a poke. He passed around champagne, lifted his glass. “To your happiness, and the life you’ll make together.”
“Thank you.” Charles laid a hand on Roarke’s arm, then leaned over to kiss Eve, very softly on the lips. “Thank you.”
“This is so…” Louise blinked at tears. “Everything. I’m so happy, so beyond happy. And now there’s champagne and pie.”
“Don’t drip on it,” Eve advised and made Louise laugh.
“I’m so glad you called Charles, so glad you gave us the excuse to come over. I can’t think of a better way to cap off the best night of my life.”
“About that,” Eve began, then wondered why her brain didn’t explode from the laser beam Roarke shot out of those wild blue eyes. “It can wait.”
“It’s all right,” Charles told her. “You want to ask me something more about Ava.”
Friendship, she thought, was always screwing with procedure. “Tomorrow’s fine.”
“It’s all right,” Louise echoed. “If Charles can help, we both want him to. Really,” she said to Roarke. “It’s another, less giddy reason we stopped in.”
“I’ve thought about it—about Ava,” Charles began. “There’s been so much going on in my head it’s been hard to squeeze it in. But I have thought about it.”
“Ah…maybe we could go up to my office for a couple minutes.”
“Dallas, I know you can’t quite get a handle on how I can look at Charles’s work—his prior work,” Louise added, “as separate from our relationship. But I can. I have. It’s not a problem for me. So if you have a question about the LC–client relationship, just ask it.”
“I talked to her first husband. Did she ever mention him to you?”
Charles shook his head. “No. I knew she’d been married before. I do a check on any potential client. For safety, and to give myself a sense of them. A fairly early, fairly brief marriage, if I’m remembering right.”
“He’s an operator. Struck me that way. A womanizer with more money than morals and a really high opinion of himself. Nothing like the type I’d have put her with.”
“She was young. Younger,” Charles said.
“She walked away from the marriage with a nice financial settlement, after she caught him with another woman. One she’d introduced him to, and according to him, then provided him with ample opportunities to bang. She never brought that up?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“He also told me that Ava was enthusiastic in bed. Or good in it anyway. I tend to go with that, as his type would be more than happy to say she was a lousy lay. You indicated she was on the shy and cool side. Lights-off type.”
“That’s right. Sexual levels, preferences, abilities, they all can change. Inhibitions can set in for a lot reasons.”
“And women can fake enthusiasm, or lack thereof. It’s tougher for a guy, seeing as you wear your enthusiasm or lack thereof between your legs.”
“She has such a way with words,” Roarke commented. “And imagery.”
“She ever fake it with you, Charles? You’ve been in the game long enough. You’d know. You’re too professional not to.”
“No, she didn’t, and yes, you’re right, I would’ve known. Clients do, occasionally, and it would be my job to determine whether to let it go, or to explore the reasons why they didn’t, or couldn’t orgasm.” His brow knitted as he sipped champagne. “And now that you bring it up, I expected her to have some trouble there, at least the first time or two. Nerves, shyness. But she responded easily.”
“You said you get a nice percentage of clients through recommendations, referrals. Did she ever send anyone to you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I think she sent a couple clients. One-timers. I don’t remember right off, but I can look it up for you.”
“Do that.” She brooded a moment, trying to think if there was any angle she’d missed. “Okay. Back to pie.” She took a good forkful, sampled. “Holy hell. Speaking of orgasms.”
“A subject of which I never tire.” Roarke took a bite himself. “Well now, this is miraculous. Where did you get it?”
“This kid’s granny baked it. Talk amongst yourselves. The pie and I are busy.” She got down to it, bite by tart and frothy bite. Until some bit of conversation intruded on her concentration.
“An option for you,” Roarke continued. “As you consider the where and when of it.”
“A wedding here? In the gardens? I don’t know what to say. Charles?”
He smiled at Louise. “Bride’s choice.”
“Then I know exactly what to say. Yes. It’s my second best yes of the night! Yes, thank you so much.”
“That’s fine then. Come around whenever you like to have a look around. Summerset would be a help to you there. It’s a lovely spot for a wedding.” Roarke looked over at Eve. “And, I think, a lucky one.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty damn lucky.”
When the happy couple left, Eve walked back up with Roarke. “One question,” she began. “Does having a wedding here mean I have to do stuff?”
“Stuff, as in?”
“Screw around with caterers and florists and decorators.”
“I believe Louise will want full control there.”
“Thank God.”
“Of course, as matron of honor, you’ll have certain duties.”
“What? Duties? You stand there in a fancy dress, probably holding a bunch of flowers.”
He patted her shoulder as they turned into her office. “You keep thinking that, darling, for as long as it comforts you.”
She scowled, pulled at her hair. “It’s like Mavis having a baby, isn’t it? I have to do all this stuff because they’re doing all this stuff, which is completely—when you think about it—their stuff, but it gets to be my stuff because somehow or other they got to be my stuff.”
“The fact I followed that clearly from point to point proves you’re my stuff.”
“I’m not thinking about it. I’m just not. It makes the backsides of my eyes ache. Computer, disp
lay last run.”
Blowing out a breath, she dropped down at her desk to get back to murder. That was the stuff she understood.
Shortly after one A.M., she roused when Roarke slid an arm under her knees. “Damn it, I dropped out. Just for a minute. You don’t have to…” But when he picked her up, she shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, what the hell. I got two more possibles. Not as strong as Petrelli, but possibles.
“Mmm.” Her voice was slurry, a sign she’d not only hit the wall but slid bonelessly under it.
“Need interviews, then could run some probabilities. Gotta hammer the crack,” Eve continued.
“Absolutely. I’ll fetch you a nice big hammer first thing in the morning.”
“Got hundreds left to run. Longer it takes, longer she has to patch up the damn hole. Not going to run though, no sir, not going to run.”
“No, indeed.” He carried her up to the bed, laid her down. As he started to unbutton her jeans, she sat up, patted his hand away.
“I can do it. You get ideas.”
“Yet somehow I can resist them when my wife’s all but comatose. Heroic of me.”
She smiled sleepily as she wiggled out of the jeans. “Better not forget that, ’cause I’m sleeping naked.” She tossed aside the sweatshirt, then climbed under the fluffy duvet. “Gonna nail it down,” she murmured as she snuggled in. “It’s coming around, I can feel it, and I’m going to nail it down.”
“There’s that hammer again.” He slid in beside her, draped an arm around her waist. “Pick it up tomorrow, Lieutenant. Time to lay the tools down for the night.”
“Bet she sleeps like a baby. I bet she…Shit!” She flopped over in bed so quickly, Roarke had to shoot down a hand to catch her knee.
“Mind the jewels, then.”
“He had traces of over-the-counter sleep aid in him.”
“A lot of people take sleep aids routinely. In fact, on nights such as this it’s a wonder I don’t.”
“Didn’t think about them overmuch as the trace matched with what he had in his bathroom. Just a standard. But I asked Ben and the house manager, and neither of them can confirm he was a routine user. So what if she planted them there? What if she found a way to get some into him that night.”
