The In Death Christmas Collection

by J. D. Robb

  “A definite fuck-you.”

  “Precisely. The anger was personal and intense, but controlled. Absolute rage? You’d expect more violence. And I agree with your conclusion in your report that he knew his killer, had no fear, no time to defend. He was a very strong and fit individual. But there were no signs of struggle, no offensive or defensive wounds on the body, just the killing blows and the postmortem stab wound. And nothing taken?”

  “Not that the ex-girlfriend knew. Plenty of easy money in electronics and jewelry, so not robbery, no. I can’t know if the killer gave him something the ex didn’t know about, then took it. Jewelry again or more cash. But he was packing to go out of town, and let this person in the apartment, and by the evidence at the scene, let this person into the bedroom.”

  “He was fully dressed when killed.”

  “Dressed, yeah. The blood spatter on the sweater from the head wound. I don’t think the killer came for sex, or Ziegler was looking for sex. He should have left for AC about thirty minutes after TOD, and he wasn’t fully packed.”

  “Are you thinking one of the women he raped learned what he’d done?”

  “I’ve got Peabody talking to a short list right now. Could be that. Could be a husband, a boyfriend, especially since you say he wouldn’t have considered it rape, wouldn’t see the wrong in it.”

  “More, the wrong in it wouldn’t have mattered to him.”

  “Right. Or it could’ve been a competitor,” Eve added. “I’ve got one guy I need to talk to. One of the top competitors for the stupid award – and Ziegler had sex with his barely of age, impaired at the time, sister.”

  “Again, I’m going to agree with you. Any one of those types could have killed him in this way, at this time. That isn’t a great deal of help.”

  “It helps that I don’t lean too heavy on it being a woman. The bedroom as the killing field. It leaned woman to me. The killer was about the same height, but even a shorter woman in heels would fill the bill. But the way you’ve profiled him, I can see him letting some annoyed guy back there while he packed. It’s like another slap, isn’t it? I’m busy, got places to go. You can have a couple minutes of my valuable time.”

  “He must have been an infuriating individual. Yet he accumulated clients, and short-term girlfriends. He knew how to be charming and attentive. Most narcissists can be, particularly if it gains them admiration and attention.”

  “He got plenty of both. The murder weapon. It’s probably an impulse – something right at hand – but you can’t miss the irony.

  “Thanks for squeezing me in. I’d better go catch up with Peabody.”

  “Dennis and I are really looking forward to tomorrow night. It’s one of the highlights of our holiday season.”

  “Really?”

  “You and Roarke throw a marvelous party, Eve, in your gorgeous home. And there are always so many people there we enjoy. I also know that while at least part of you would be thrilled never to host or attend another party in your lifetime, you’ll enjoy it, too.”

  “I had to make a deal with the devil and agree to help with the prep.”

  Mira laughed. “Not Roarke – Summerset.”

  “That’s why you’re the head shrink around here. Yeah.” She pushed to her feet. “As if they need me to tell somebody where to put a pot of flowers or whatever.”

  “I’m sure Summerset could run the preparations seamlessly. But, Eve, your participation is valued.”

  “Yeah? Let’s hear him say that after I screw it up.”

  Eve caught up with Peabody on the corner of West Twelfth and Broadway after squeezing her car into a skinny, overpriced lot a couple blocks north. The walk through the brisk winter air gave her a little more time to think.

  “How many did you talk to?” Eve asked.

  “The first three, so only one more on Trina’s hot list. But there’s still more on the overall client list.”

  “We’ll talk to the last on Trina’s, then hunt up Rock Britton. He’s probably at his gym, and it’s not that far.”

  “Okay. Oh, look, there’s a cart. We could grab a couple of dogs, and I could fill you in before we talk to the last woman. Kira Robbins.”

  “You’re thinking about filling your stomach more than filling me in.”

  “Two birds, one dog. Each.”

  Amused, Eve headed for the cart. “Still short, right?”

  “Just till payday. We started this savings program – McNab and me. We’ve almost got enough put away to give to Roarke.”

  Eve stopped at the cart. “Why would you give money to Roarke? He already has almost all the money in all the known universe.”

  “To invest for us. He said he would, and who would you trust more to do that than Roarke, who has almost all the money in all the known universe?”

  “Good point.” She held up two fingers at the cart operator. “Loaded,” she added. “And smart,” she added for Peabody.

  “We figured, in a couple years maybe we could buy a place. That’s a kind of investment from an investment, so we put some away each payday, and it’s like gone.” She swiped her palms together. “I mean it’s something we agreed not to dig out except for emergencies. Not for Christmas presents and going to the vids and stuff like that.”

  “That’s pretty… adult.”

  “I know! It’s a little scary.”

  “Tube of Pepsi,” Eve told the vendor, glanced at Peabody.

  “I already had a fizzy. Damn. Make mine a Diet Pepsi.”

  “Okay.” With the dogs in hand, Eve turned back to Peabody. “Report,” she said and took her first bite.

  “Louanne Parsons,” Peabody began as they started to walk. “I tapped her at work. She and a friend own a gift boutique in SoHo, not that I could afford anything in there. Anyway, she denied, initially, any sort of sexual encounter with the vic. She’s in a long-term monogamous relationship. But with a little prodding, she admitted to it. One time, she said. Just one time. She’d hurt her shoulder, and Ziegler came over to do a massage.”

  “With tea.”

  “You got it. Long and short, when I filled her in, she didn’t get mad, she started to cry. Just sat there, tears streaming. She didn’t strike me, Dallas. I didn’t get the tiniest buzz from her.”

  “Alibi?”

  “At the boutique until five, both her partner and a clerk verified. Says she went home, boyfriend got home from work around five-thirty, and they stayed home until eight. Went out, met friends for dinner. She said she was going to tell her boyfriend, all of it, and didn’t know what he’d think or do. They’ve been together six years. She asked if I’d give her time to do that before we told him.”

  “We’ll toggle her down for now, and take a pass at the boyfriend. Maybe he found out, took care of Ziegler himself. Next?”

  “Teera Blankhead. On her second marriage, money on both sides. Big converted loft in Greenwich Village. Three kids. One from his first, one from her first, one together. She admitted it, was pissy. What the hell business was it of mine? She went out of orbit when I told her the details. Cried, too, but she was raging while she cried.”

  Peabody took another bite of her soy dog. “Man, why are street dogs so good? Anyway, Blankhead has a pretty sweet gym in her house, though she goes to the fitness center twice a week. She had Ziegler come over, twice a month for a personal session. He had the tea iced, called it an energy/detox blend. They ended up finishing the session by doing it on her yoga mat. Said she was pissed at herself after, that she and her first husband had both cheated, and she’d gone into this second marriage promising herself she wouldn’t, no matter what. She stopped the personal sessions after that, and kept it to the fitness center.”

  Peabody sucked down soda. “She has a temper, and she’s tall – about your height – strong. She was believable, but I could see her picking up a blunt object and bashing Ziegler in a rage.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Charity lunch deal until about three. She says she opted to wal
k home, did some window-shopping. Older two kids had after-school activities, husband dinner and a basketball game with a couple friends, and the nanny had the youngest at a holiday party. She was alone at home until after seven, when the kids started coming in.”

  “Then we keep her high on the list for now.”

  Peabody stopped in front of a trim, whitewashed building. “Robbins lives here. Forty-two, currently single. Two previous cohabs, no marriages. She’s a writer. Fashion blogs and books. She has the entire fifth – top – floor of the building. I found an article on her,” Peabody explained as they walked to the entrance.

  The building didn’t boast a doorman, but it did include door and lobby security. At the swipe of Eve’s master, a computerized voice requested her badge number for verification. Once she’d given it, the same tinny voice asked the nature of her business.

  “It shouldn’t be any of yours,” Eve shot back. “Police business. We’re here to speak with Kira Robbins.”

  Thank you for your cooperation. Ms. Robbins will be notified of your visit. Please wait.

  “It just pisses me off on principle,” Eve said, moving across the polished concrete floor to the polished silver of the elevator. “Having a bunch of chips and circuits tell me what to do.”

  She jammed the up button, scowled when the voice said:

  One moment please. Ms. Robbins requests the nature of your business.

  “You can tell Ms. Robbins that if she doesn’t engage this elevator, we’ll come back with a warrant and a lot more cops.”

  Thank you. Your message will be relayed.

  “Fucking A,” Eve replied, but seconds later, the elevator door opened. Inside, before she could order the fifth floor, the voice spoke again.

  This car will now take you directly to Ms. Robbins’s residence, where she is expecting you. Please enjoy your visit and the rest of your day.

  “Good God, do they ever shut up?” Eve wondered as the elevator smoothly rose. “I don’t get why people tell you to enjoy your day, much less machines. If they don’t know you, what the hell do they care?”

  “No man is an island?” Peabody suggested.

  “Why would anybody say that? An island’s a scoop of land floating around on a bunch of water.”

  “I think it means – never mind,” Peabody decided as the doors opened onto a wide foyer with a bunch of tall potted trees.

  Kira Robbins stood between two flowering trees, a waterfall of blond hair spilling over the shoulders of a short, snug red dress. She wore matching heels and lips and a curious look in slanted blue eyes.

  “I honestly thought it was a joke, but you are the cops. I know you,” she said, pointing a finger with a glossy red nail at Eve. “Eve Dallas. Roarke’s inamorata, and top cop of Icove fame. And Delia Peabody. My God,” she continued, moving toward Eve, “that’s a fabulous coat. Just fabulous. Italian leather, slightly masculine cut, which only makes it more female on you. And powerful. And I love the boots. Would you mind if I got a picture? ‘Lieutenant Dallas, Fashionable Cop.’ A great article for tomorrow’s blog.”

  “Yes. I’d mind. We’re here on official business. We have some questions.”

  “I’m always on official business. And speaking of boots.” She smiled down at Peabody’s. “Those are adorable. Well, come in. We can have a drink and get down to business, whatever it might be.”

  She turned into a large open area with windows overlooking downtown – and a tall holiday pine decorated in gold and silver in the center.

  A low-profile sofa in a buff color was mounted with bold, floral pillows. It faced a small arched fireplace. Glossy black tables topped with bright white lamps with blue shades flanked floral-print chairs – with buff-colored pillows.

  “So what will it be?”

  “Answers,” Eve told her.

  “I meant to drink.” Robbins headed toward a high-gloss black bar. “I feel like some fizzy lemon.”

  “We’re fine. You’re acquainted with Trey Ziegler?”

  “Trey, of course.” Robbins opened the small, built-in friggie, took out a tall bottle. “I heard about what happened to him last night, and more when I went to the gym this morning. It’s terrible, of course. He was a terrific trainer. but I didn’t expect to have the cops come to my door about it.”

  She plopped ice in a long, slim glass, poured the lemon drink over it. “Sure?”

  Eve only shook her head. “You don’t seem too broken up about it.”

  “Why would I be? He was a terrific trainer, but there are others. And he was kind of a shit otherwise.” She carried her drink to the sofa, sat down, leaned back. “Have a seat.”

  “You didn’t like him?”

  “Personally? Not really. He was great to look at. I mean that body was a killer. And he knew how to work me so I kept mine in shape. But he was smug, arrogant, and not terribly smart.”

  “But you slept with him anyway.”

  Robbins lowered the glass she’d started to bring to her lips. Her voice went as cold as the ice in her glass. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Sex can often lead to murder.”

  “Is that so? I hadn’t thought of it. For me, it generally leads to release, or what’s the point. Am I actually a suspect? Seriously? Because I slept with him once, against my better judgment, I’ll add. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

  “Day before yesterday, between five P.M. and seven. Where were you?”

  “Here, working. I’m nearly finished with a new book, and I have the blog. I’ve been putting in a lot of day hours on both as I spend most evenings out. Holiday parties, events – they’re my fodder.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, alone.” She gestured. “I prefer to work alone, without distractions. I have an assistant, but I’ve got her out most days right now, scouting the stores and boutiques, sending me pictures.”

  She drank now. “God. I’m supposed to have an alibi. I have a January one deadline on the book I want to meet, then I’m going to Milan and Paris, doing coverage of spring trends. I didn’t kill a man because I was stupid enough to have sex with him. It was good sex, for that matter. Even though he’s not my type. He was an asshole – on a personal scale, I mean.”

  “How much did you pay him?”

  Robbins hissed through her teeth, “What the hell? I gave him five thousand. He didn’t come out and say – exactly – that some of the competition in my field might find it amusing that I’d slept with my trainer, but why take the chance? It wouldn’t make that much difference, I know how to spin it. I could probably do a series of blogs on it, but… the asshole factor.”

  She sighed, drank. “I was embarrassed,” she admitted. “Embarrassed I had sex with a man I didn’t like, on a personal level. So I gave him five thousand, said this was nice, but let’s keep it between us, and that was that. I figured next spring when my membership’s up, I’d switch gyms.”

  “He hinted at blackmail?”

  “I guess that’s the term for it, yeah.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “A couple of months ago. No, more like six weeks, I guess. Not my finest moment.”

  “He came here? An at-home massage? Training session?”

  “A combo. We’d done that – not the sex – a couple times before. My assistant, too. I gave him extra to work with her a couple times. It was fun.”

  “Was your assistant here for this one?”

  “No.”

  Her right leg, crossed over the left, began to swing. Eve read irritation and nerves in the movement.

  “Look, do we have to go over every damn detail? I had sex with him, I paid him. It’s humiliating. But I didn’t kill him.”

  “What did you have to drink?”

  “Jesus Christ.” Robbins shoved up, threw her hands in the air. “I was doing a workout. I wasn’t drinking. Some tea. Just some herbal tea he made. I iced it, and it was nice enough.”

  “Did he light incense?”


  “So what?” But Robbins’s eyebrows drew together, and she sat again. “Yes. Right before the massage. The massage that wasn’t a massage because I decided I’d rather have sex. How do you know about the incense, what do you care about the tea?”

  Color dropped out of her face. “Jesus, Jesus, did he drug me? Oh God, did he give me something?”

  “We believe Ziegler routinely gave at-home clients, potentially others, a date-rape drug in the guise of tea, and accentuated it with incense that was also laced.”