by J. D. Robb
To Eve’s surprise, Celina stretched out full length on the grass. “Do you know what I’d normally be doing now?”
“Can’t say.”
Idly, Celina checked the time. “Oh, yes. Francine. Right about now I’d be settling down to a consult with Francine. I give her a weekly, because I’m fond of her. She’s a lovely, foolish, wealthy woman with a terminal case of husbanditis. She just keeps marrying them. She’s about to take on husband number five, though I’ve advised her against it. Just as I did with numbers three and four.”
Lazily, Celina drew the pair of stylish sunshades back out of her pocket. She slipped them on. “She’ll get teary during our hour together, and protest that she must follow her heart.” Her lips quirked as she patted a hand on her breast. “That this time it’s going to be different. She’ll marry the opportunistic son of a bitch who will then cheat on her—he already has, but she’ll refuse to believe it—make her miserable, then walk off with her pride, her self-esteem, and a nice chunk of her portfolio.”
She shook her head, pushed herself up to sitting. “Poor gullible Francine. And that, Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, is about the most tragic case I allow myself to deal with.”
“How do you know when you talk to a client that you won’t see something tragic?” Eve asked, and Celina smiled.
“It’s my job to know. And if I miss something, then see it, I do what I can, then I step back. I don’t believe in suffering, particularly when it’s me doing the suffering. I don’t understand why people insist on causing it or enduring it. I’m a shallow creature,” she said, stretching like a cat in the sun. “But until a couple of nights ago, a damn contented one.”
Peabody offered a hand to help her up. Celina studied it, grinned. “Can I take a peek? Just surface. Not deep probe, no secrets. You both interest me.”
Peabody wiped her hand on her trousers, then offered it again. “I guess so.”
Celina clasped hands, continued to hold it after she’d gained her feet. “You’re a dependable woman. Sturdy shoulders, and a loyal streak that encompasses every area of your life. You’re proud of your badge, and the work you do. Careful,” she said with a laugh, and released Peabody’s hand. “You open like a door. I didn’t intend to peek into your personal life. But he’s a cutie.” She winked. “She-body.”
Peabody flushed. “We’re, ah, moving into a new place together. Going to cohabitate.”
“Congratulations. Ain’t love grand?” Smiling, she turned to Eve. Raised her eyebrows.
“No.”
Laughing, Celina tucked her hands into her pockets. “One of these days, I predict, you’ll trust me enough. Thanks,” she said to Peabody. “You cleansed my palate. I’ll catch a cab in a bit. I want to walk off this headache before I go home.”
She started to walk, directing herself away from the path they’d taken. Then she stopped, turned. There was none of the easy humor on her face now. “It’s going to be soon. The next. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. It’s going to be very soon.”
Eve watched her go and, gift or no gift, knew she was right.
Chapter 7
“She’s really interesting.” Peabody waited a beat, then slid her gaze toward Eve as they cut west, then south toward Central. “Don’t you think?”
“She’s not a yawn. But tell me, in specifics, what did we get from this?”
“Okay, not a lot that we didn’t already know or believe or suspect.”
Peabody shifted in her seat and regretted the tea. Now she had to pee, and she knew damn well Eve wouldn’t stop at a handy restaurant where the flash of a badge would get her toilet privileges. She crossed her legs tight, and tried to concentrate.
“Still, the fact is it’s interesting to consult with a sensitive, one as obviously gifted as Celina. I am dependable and loyal, after all.”
“Just like the family schnauzer.”
“I prefer cocker spaniel ’cause they’ve got those cute, floppy ears.” She recrossed her legs. “And, in my experience, if a sensitive’s made this sort of connection, they can get more if they focus and keep open. I think she will. She’s hooked in, and wants to see it through.”
Eve glanced in the rearview at the blast of siren. She recognized the subtle difference in tone and identified an emergency medical vehicle an instant before the spinning red light of the medical tech wagon came into view.
She eased toward the curb, and the rattrap she was currently stuck with driving vibrated like gelatin in the wake of the speeding wagon.
“I want you to call Requisitions the minute we get back to Central. Beg, bribe, threaten, offer sexual favors of any nature, but get us a decent ride by the end of shift.”
Peabody had her teeth clenched and did her best to speak through them. “Who’s going to perform the sexual favors, should it come to that?”
“You, Detective. I outrank you.”
“The sacrifices I make for the badge.”
“Health clubs.”
“What?”
“We’re going to start checking out health clubs.”
“Sir, I don’t think I can tone up appreciably before dispensing sexual favors if you want the vehicle by end of shift.”
“Jesus, Peabody, get your face out of the gutter.”
“Well, you put it there.”
Eve jockeyed through traffic. “Let us return to our sworn duty and our current investigation. If we’re after a solo—and there’s no evidence to lead us to suspect this was a duet or gang killing—this is one strong son of a bitch. Not just in shape, not muscle-bound, but a seriously strong guy. Guy who can carry one-thirty the distance from the kill site to the dump site, and haul that much deadweight down a small cliff of rocks, probably works out regularly and seriously.”
“Could have his own equipment. Somebody really serious usually does.”
“And we’re going to try tracking that, too. Full-scale home gyms to start. But if we’re going to use what the psychic queen gives us, she said he was proud—proud of his body. He’d want to show it off, wouldn’t he? Show what he can do.”
“Health club.”
“Health club.”
“Dallas, just offhand, would you care to guess how many health clubs we have in our fair city?”
“We start with ones who cater primarily to men. He doesn’t like women. So you scratch off the girly gyms where ladies prance around in their skin-suits and drink veggie juice or nibble nutribars before their massage. No day spa attached, no salons on premises. Forget the social clubs where guys go to play on the machines and pick up dates. Scratch off the facilities that cater primarily to same-sex orientation. The gay pickup cathedrals. We look for traditional, serious body-builder spots. The kind that pull in the sweaty guys with big necks.”
“Oooh. Sweaty guys with big necks. Hubba. Lifting face out of gutter immediately, sir.”
“Too late now,” Eve muttered. “We can try another canvass of the victim’s neighborhood. This guy surveilled her, got her routine. We go at it asking about an unusually tall, beefy guy. After you tackle Requisitions, contact the Vanderleas. See if either of them remembers seeing someone like that around.”
“Check.” Just a few more blocks, Peabody thought. Then she’d be able to pee. She squirmed, crossed her legs the other way.
“We run down home gym equipment: weight machines, virtual systems with bodybuilding programs. We check out subscriptions to magazines that—Squirming isn’t going to help, you know. You shouldn’t have downed all that tea.”
“It’s really nice of you to point that out now,” Peabody shot back with some bitterness. “And squirming does too help. Oh, thank all the gods and goddesses,” she breathed when they drove into Central’s garage.
“Free-Ageism pop out when your bladder’s full, Detective?”
“That’s not all that’s going to pop out.” Peabody bolted from the car the instant it stopped, and ran/waddled to the elevator.
In her office, Eve glanced at
her ’link, noted several messages. She ordered them to play while she set up a murder board for Elisa Maplewood.
As they ran, she ordered some to delete, some to save. Then stopped what she was doing to turn around and grin at the screen as Mavis came on.
“Hey, Dallas! We’re back in town, my honey lamb and me. Maui is just iced. Totally TPD—tropical paradise deluxe. Everything was mag. The concert, our roll-on-the-sand-naked vacation part. And guess what? The belly’s completely poking out now. Honest to God, I am so knocked up. You gotta see. I’ll jet by, soon as I can.”
Which was always a treat, Eve thought when the message ended. But if Mavis’s belly really was poking out now, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see. Why pregnant women wanted anybody to see their poked-out bellies was another mystery, and one she had no desire to solve.
She turned to the AutoChef for coffee when Nadine Furst, Channel 75’s on-air ace, clicked on.
“Dallas. I know you’re going to give me the usual yaddah-yaddah blah, but I really want to talk to you re the Maplewood case. If I don’t hear from you, I’m just going to show up at your office. I’ll bring you a cookie.”
Eve considered. It might be smart to give a short on-air, especially with the bribe of baked goods. A brief one-on-one, and woman-to-woman. His profile indicated he hated and feared the female, so wouldn’t it burn his ass to be discussed on-screen by two women? It might push him into making a mistake.
She’d think about it.
The thought of cookies made her hungry. With a glance at the door, she reached behind the AutoChef, under the slight lip, and tugged off the candy bar she’d taped there.
It was an obvious hiding place to her mind, but it had foiled the insidious candy thief who plagued her.
She bit righteously into chocolate, dropped down at her desk, and engaged her computer.
YOUR AUTHORIZATION CODE AND PASSWORD ARE NOT RECOGNIZED. ACCESS DENIED.
“What the hell are you talking about?” She gave the machine a quick boot with the heel of her hand. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.” She read off her badge number for authorization, repeated her password.
The computer gave a cheerful little beep, then a long grinding buzz. The screen flickered.
“Don’t you start on me. First my vehicle, now this. Don’t you even start.”
ACKNOWLEDGED. OPERATIONS SHUTTING DOWN.
“No! Damn it, you bitch, you son of a bitching bastard whore, you know that’s not what I meant.” She smacked it again, set her teeth, and repeated the start-up process.
After a series of mechanical hiccups, it hummed.
“That’s better. Okay. Open case file 39921-SH. Maplewood.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
What flashed on-screen wasn’t a case file. It wasn’t police business unless the various naked couples writhing in athletic and impressive positions were a bunch of Vice cops undercover at an orgy.
WELCOME TO FANTA-CEE! YOUR VIRTUAL GARDEN OF SEXUAL PLEASURE. YOU MUST BE TWENTY-ONE TO ENTER. YOUR DEBIT ACCOUNT WILL BE CHARGED AT THE RATE OF TEN DOLLARS PER MINUTE DURING YOUR ONE-WEEK TRIAL MEMBERSHIP.
“Mother of God. Computer, close and delete current area.”
INCOMPLETE COMMAND.
“Like hell. Close this file.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
The cavorting figures disappeared.
“Now you listen to me. This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. I own you. I want case file 39921-SH, and I want it now.”
The screen jumped, filled with text. In what was possibly Italian.
The sound Eve made was somewhere between a scream and a bellow. She rapped the machine with her hand, punched it with her fist, and considered just ripping it out of the network and tossing it out her window.
Maybe, just maybe if her luck was in, there’d be a Maintenance guy strolling by under it. Two birds, one stone.
As satisfying as that would be, she calculated she could expect a replacement unit sometime near the end of the current century.
She swung to her ’link, intending to contact Maintenance and ream whoever was unfortunate enough to answer.
“And where will that get you, Dallas?” she asked herself. “Those puss-faced jerks in Maintenance, they live for moments like this. They’ll sit around down there and laugh and laugh until you’re forced to go down and kill every last one of them and spend the rest of your life in a cage.”
She punched the computer again, just for the hell of it. And, inspired, tried another angle.
“EDD. McNab. Hey, Dallas!”
Peabody’s main squeeze grinned at her from her ’link screen. His narrow, pretty face was surrounded by bright blond hair that sported a couple of skinny temple braids.
“I was just about to shoot you the report on the e-work.”
“Don’t bother. My unit’s funky. It’s giving me grief, McNab. How about doing me a favor and taking a look at it?”
“You call Maintenance?”
When she merely growled, he gave a heh-heh-heh sort of laugh.
“Delete that. I can give you thirty in about fifteen.”
“Good.”
“Or if you officially requested I report to your office at once, to bring you a disc and hard copy of the e-work, I could come now.”
“Consider yourself officially requested.”
“Allying op.”
“What?” But he’d already broken transmission.
Annoyed, she dug out her pocket unit and set to work trying to transfer the data she wanted from the desk unit to the PPC. She wasn’t an e-geek, but she wasn’t stupid, she told herself. She knew how to handle basic tech.
She was pulling her hair when McNab bopped in. He was wearing a purple shirt with a green placket down the center. It reached the thighs of baggy green pants with purple racing stripes. Both colors were picked up in his checked airsneaks.
“E-Man to the rescue,” he announced. Today’s complement of silver ear hoops dangled with purple and green beads. “What seems to be the problem?”
“If I knew the problem, I’d have fixed it myself.”
“Right.” He dumped a little silver toolbox on her desk, plopped into her chair. Rubbed his hands together. “Wow. Chocolate.” He widened his grin, wiggled his brows.
“Shit. Go ahead. Consider it payment in advance.”
“Uptown!”
“What?”
“Uptown.” He bit into the candy. “You know, like . . . excellent. Let’s have a look. I’ll just open it for a standard diagnostic.”
He gave a series of commands that might as well have been in Venutian to Eve’s ears. A lot of codes and symbols and strange little shapes spilled on-screen, and the computer’s voice responded in a kind of gasping croak.
“See! See!” Eve sprang to lean over McNab’s shoulder. “That’s not right, is it? That’s not good.”
“Well, hmm. Just let me—”
“It’s sabotage, isn’t it?”
“You expecting sabotage?”
“You don’t expect sabotage. That’s why it’s sabotage.”
“There’s a point. I need to look around some. Why don’t you, ah, take a break maybe.”
“You want me to leave my own office?”
He gave her a pained look. “Lieutenant.”
“Okay, okay.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I’ll be in the bull pen.”
She heard his long, relieved sigh as she strode out.
She marched straight to Peabody’s desk.
“Comp woes?” Peabody asked. “McNab stopped by for a second on his way in to you.”
“They sabotaged it.”
“Who are they?”
“If I knew who they were, I’d hunt them down and peel the skin off their bones while they begged for mercy.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, so I got a hold of Deann Vanderlea. Somebody found the puppy.”
“Huh. The dog?”
“Yeah, Mignon. She was nearly on the other side of the park, and a couple joggers found her, checked
her collar ID. They brought her back.”
“Was it injured?”
“No, just scared. Having the pup back will give them a little comfort. Anyway, she and her husband and the vic all used Total Health Fitness and Beauty for workouts and such, by the way. Not the kind of spot we’re looking for as regards the killer’s habits.”
“It was good to check.”
“She doesn’t remember seeing anyone suspicious around the neighborhood. Doesn’t recall noticing a big guy at any point, but she’s going to ask her husband and some of her neighbors. The doorman.”
“We’ll canvass again anyway.”
“Yeah. Father’s out of the picture. Alibied by a couple thousand miles, and he doesn’t fit the physical type we’re after.”
“He’d have been too easy. How about my vehicle?”
“I’ve got a line on that. Give me a little time.”
“Everybody wants time today. Let’s do a search on the health clubs. Manhattan-based to start.”
Eve watched with some irritation as Peabody’s unit responded smoothly to her commands.
“How come the detectives and uniforms in this division have better equipment than I do? I’m the boss.”
“You know, there’s a theory that some people have a kind of mechanical . . .” The term deficiency sprang to Peabody’s mind, but she was too concerned with her own health and safety to speak it. “Like an infection or something. And it affects the machines they operate.”
“That’s bullshit. I don’t have any trouble with my home equipment.”
“Just a theory,” Peabody said, and hunched her shoulders. “Do you have to lurk there while this is running?”
“I have to lurk somewhere.” Disgusted, Eve strode out. She’d get a tube of Pepsi, that’s what she’d do. She’d cool off with a drink, then go back and hassle McNab.
She wanted to sit in her own damn office and do her own damn job. Was that too much to ask?
She approached a vending machine, then just stood there, staring at it resentfully. It would probably spit the Pepsi all over her, or send her some health drink just for spite.