by J. D. Robb
So she set up her board, sat, put her feet up on her desk. And drinking coffee, studied it.
There were crime-scene photos—the Chinatown alley, the Gregg bedroom. There were maps, and the notes left on-scene. Victim photos, before and after. With them, she pinned copies of the original crime scenes these were based on. Whitechapel and Boston, and two of those victims that most closely matched hers.
He’d studied those, too, she thought. Stared at those old photographs, read those old reports.
He’d be studying others now. Refreshing himself, preparing for the next act.
She had the lab reports, the ME’s, the sweepers’. She had statements from witnesses, next of kin, suspects, neighbors. She had the timelines. She had her own notes, her own reports, and now a mountain of background data on those who remained on her shortlist.
She would go over them all again, and she would do more leg work, more interviews. She’d dig deeper, wider. But he would beat her to the next. Her gut told her he’d beat her in the short run, and someone else would die before she caught up.
He’d made mistakes. She sipped coffee and stared at the board. The notes were a mistake. That was pride and a kind of glee. He had a need not only to toot his own horn, but to do it with a flourish. Notice me! See how smart I am, see what excellent taste I have.
But the paper could be traced, could give her a list of names to pursue.
The basket of peaches was another. That was arrogance. I can walk right out of here, leaving the brutalized dead behind, and eat a nice ripe peach.
There might be other mistakes. She would pick everything apart until she found them. He would make other mistakes, because however smart he was, he was cocky.
She looked toward the open door when she heard the sound of footfalls, and her forehead creased.
“Hey,” she said, as Feeney walked in. The neatly pressed shirt told her his wife had handed it to him out of the closet. The broken-in shoes said he’d gotten away from her before Mrs. Feeney could nag him into putting on a less disreputable pair.
He’d probably combed his hair, but it was already frizzing out in its usual wiry thatch of ginger and silver. There was a little nick on his chin because he claimed a man couldn’t shave proper unless he used an actual razor.
“Got your message,” he said.
“It was late, that’s why I dumped it to voice mail. I didn’t mean for you to come around this morning, go out of your way.”
“It’s only out of my way if there aren’t any danishes back there.”
“Probably are. If not there, somewhere else.”
Taking that as invitation, he walked back to the kitchen. She could hear him scanning the menu, giving a grunt of approval as he found something that pleased him, calling it up.
He came back in with a pastry and an enormous mug of coffee. “So,” he said, and sat, studying the board as she had. “He’s two for two.”
“Yeah, and I’m batting zero. Clipped the ball a couple times, but it keeps curving foul. Once he hits again, the media’s going to pick up the scent, and we’ll have a holy mess on our hands: ‘Deadly Mimic Stalking New York.’ ‘Chameleon Killer Baffles Police.’ They love that shit.”
Feeney scratched his cheek, ate more pastry. “Public does, too. Sick bastards.”
“I’ve got a lot of data, a lot of angles. Thing is, I pull one line and six more drop down. I can push Whitney for more manpower, but you know how it goes. I keep it low profile, and the budget only stretches so far. Once it breaks and people start screaming, politics come into play and I can stretch it further.”
“EDD’s got more manpower, more funds,” he finished.
“I’ve got no direct need for EDD on this. The research and runs are standard stuff, nothing fancy. I’ve got no ’links or security to probe. But . . .”
“My boys can always use the practice.” Feeney called his detectives and drones ‘boys,’ no matter how their skin was shaped.
“I’d appreciate it. It would free me up for interviews and fieldwork. I started thinking last night: This guy, he’s careful and he’s precise. Look at the vic photos—the old ones, and his. Positioning, basic build and coloring of the vics, method of death. Everything. They’re good copies, careful copies. So how do you get so good?”
Feeney polished off the danish, gulped coffee. “You practice. I’ll run that myself, through IRCCA, see if we get a pop.”
“It won’t be exact,” she said, grateful. “I’ve got a hit on the first, and it’s not exact. But when I did the run I was only looking for the one style. Now we’ve got two styles, and the potential for others. He’s too careful for an exact match—he might do it that way, but he’d change it after. Wouldn’t leave the scene precisely as he intended to leave the ones he’d make public.”
“Doesn’t want to show off until he’s got it down to a science,” Feeney said with a nod.
“Yeah. Any that were exact, he’d get rid of the bodies. Bury them, dump them. But he’s not a kid. Not twenty. He’s mature, and he didn’t start killing with Wooton. He’s been at this awhile.”
“I’ll work both styles, and whatever else you think he might go for.”
“Everybody on my shortlist, but one I haven’t pinned yet,” she said, thinking of Breen, “travels. The States, Europe especially. They get around, and they get around well. First-class. If he’s on that shortlist, the world’s been his fucking playground.”
“Send me the files.”
“Thanks. I should tell you, there are some sensitive names on my list. We’ve got a diplomat, a well-known entertainer, a writer making a name for himself, and an asshole entertainment broker who’s hooked up with a top-name actress. There’ve already been complaints of police harassment and blah blah. There’ll be more.”
He grinned. “Now this sounds like fun.” He pushed to his feet, set his empty cup aside, and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
Once Feeney left, she organized the files, sent them to his unit in EDD, noted the action in a memo to the commander. She ran another spurt of probabilities, toyed with some simulations, but they were really no more than an exercise to let her mind work.
By the time she was done, the computer and she agreed on a list of prototypes her killer might emulate next.
She eliminated any who had worked with a partner or targeted males. Any who concealed or destroyed the bodies. And highlighted any whose notoriety had outlived them.
She was just beginning to wonder where Peabody was when one of the domestic droids came to her door.
The droids always spooked her. Roarke rarely used them, and she rarely saw them in the house. She would have withstood any manner of hideous torture before admitting she actually preferred the flesh-and-blood Summerset to the automated staff.
“Excuse me for interrupting, Lieutenant Dallas.”
The droid was female, with a husky voice. The dignified black uniform did nothing to disguise the fact she’d been built to rival a porn star.
Eve figured she didn’t have to be a trained investigator to deduce her amused husband had activated this one purposefully, just so she could compare the big-titted blonde to the bony-assed Summerset.
She’d have to pay him back for this one, eventually.
“What’s the problem?”
“There is a visitor at the gate. A Ms. Pepper Franklin who wishes to speak with you. Are you available?”
“Sure. She’s saving me a trip. Is she alone?”
“She has arrived in a private car, with driver. But she has no companion.”
Left Fortney at home, Eve thought. “Let her in.”
“Shall I bring her up?”
“No, show her into the—what is it—the front parlor.”
“Would you care for refreshments?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
When the droid backed out of the room, Eve drummed her fingers for a moment. She glanced at the door that
adjoined her home office with Roarke’s. Probably just as well he was off doing what he did all day. It would keep the social portion of this visit to a minimum.
Deliberately, she strapped on her weapon harness, left the jacket where she’d hung it over the back of her chair. A not-so-subtle way, Eve decided, to let Pepper know she was on the job.
Then she finished off her coffee, sat and hummed for another couple of minutes.
When she went down to the parlor, Pepper was waiting.
The actress was dressed in perfect summer style: a breezy white blouse over a thin blue tank that matched the cropped pants. She’d added heeled sandals that made Eve’s arches ache and had bundled her masses of gilt hair in some complicated up-do.
Eve caught her scent, something cool and floral, as she crossed the room.
“I appreciate you seeing me.” Pepper flashed her professional smile. “And so early in the day.”
“I’m Homicide. My day starts when yours ends.” At Pepper’s blank look, Eve shrugged. “Sorry. Little cop joke. What can I do for you?”
“I take it Roarke’s not home?”
“No. If you want to see him, you might be able to catch him in Midtown.”
“No. No, actually, I’d hoped to catch you alone. Could we sit?”
“Sure.” Eve gestured to a chair, took one of her own.
Pepper rested her hands on the arms of the deep chair, sighed as she scanned the room. “This remains the most incredible home I’ve ever seen. Such wonderful style, but then it would have to be, since it’s Roarke’s.”
“Keeps the rain off.”
Pepper laughed. “It’s been some time since I’ve been here, but I recall a formidable manservant rather than the splashy domestic droid who let me in.”
“Summerset. He’s on vacation. He’ll be back later today.” Unless he’s captured by desperados and held for ransom. Or falls madly in love with a young nudist and moves to Borneo.
“Summerset. Yes, of course.”
“You’re not here to see him either.”
“No.” Pepper nodded. “My motive for coming is a woman-to-woman thing. I know you saw Leo again yesterday. He was very upset by it, feels hounded, and that you have some sort of personal grudge against him.”
“I don’t have a personal grudge against him. Even if he’s a killer, it wouldn’t be personal. It’s my job to hound people.”
“Maybe it is. But the fact is there is a personal connection here. Through me. Through Roarke. I wanted to address that frankly with you.”
“Go ahead,” Eve invited.
Pepper sat a bit straighter in her chair, folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that Roarke and I had a relationship at one time. I can certainly understand how you might feel uncomfortable or irritated by this. But it was several years ago, before he met you. I’d hate for any annoyance or resentment, however understandable it might be, to influence your attitude toward Leo.”
Eve let the silence hang for a moment. “Let me see if I have this straight. You’re wondering if because you and Roarke rolled around naked a few years ago, I’m personally pissed off, and because I’m pissed off about it, I’m giving the guy you’re currently rolling around naked with a rough time.”
Pepper opened her mouth, shut it again, then delicately cleared her throat before speaking. “In a nutshell.”
“Let me ease your mind on this score, Ms. Franklin. If I were to get personally pissed off about every woman Roarke banged, I’d spend my life in a perpetual state of annoyance. You were one of many.” Eve lifted her left hand, tapped her wedding ring with her thumbnail. “I’m the only. You don’t worry me.”
For a moment, Pepper did nothing but stare. Then she blinked, very slowly. And the corners of her mouth twitched. “That’s very . . . sensible, Lieutenant. And a very clever way to slap me back at the same time.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
“But, in any case—”
“There is no other case. Roarke and I were grown-ups when we met. What happened before doesn’t mean dick to me. And if I let petty jealousies interfere with or influence my work, I wouldn’t deserve my badge. I deserve my badge.”
“I bet you do,” Pepper replied. “Just as I bet you deserve Roarke, too. He’s the most fascinating man I’ve ever known, just like his house, full of color and style and surprises. But he didn’t love me, and never pretended he did.”
“And Leo does. Love you?”
“Leo? Leo needs me. And that’s enough.”
“I have to say, it sounds to me like you’re selling yourself short.”
“That’s nice of you. But I’m no prize, Lieutenant. I’m selfish and demanding.” She gave a light, amused laugh. “And I like that about me. I expect to be given my own time and space when I require it, and any man in my life must understand that my work is the priority. If he does, and he’s loyal, needing me is enough. Leo’s weak, I know that,” she continued with an elegant little shrug. “Maybe I need a weak man, maybe that’s why I couldn’t hang on to Roarke for more than a few weeks. Leo suits me. And being weak, Lieutenant, is just one more reason he can’t be the man you’re looking for.”
“Then neither of you have anything to worry about. He lied during our initial interview. Someone lies to me, I’m going to wonder why.”
Her face softened in a way that told Eve whatever she said about need being enough, she loved Leo Fortney. “You frightened him. That’s natural, isn’t it, for someone to be frightened when they’re questioned by the police? Especially about a murder.”
“You weren’t.”
Pepper blew out a breath. “All right. Leo has trouble with the truth occasionally, but he’d never hurt anyone. Not seriously.”
“Can you tell me where he was on Sunday morning?”
Pepper’s lips firmed, and her eyes stayed direct. “I can’t. I can only tell you where he said he was, and he’s already told you that. Lieutenant, don’t you think I’d know if I was living with, sleeping with, if I were intimate with a murderer?”
“I can’t say. You may want to tell him that if he wants to get clear of this, he can start being straight with me. As long as he . . . has trouble with the truth, I’m going to keep looking at him.”
“I’ll talk to him.” She got to her feet. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“No problem.” Eve walked her to the door, and opening it saw the waiting car. And her aide huffing down the drive on foot.
“Officer . . . what was her name?” Pepper asked.
“Peabody.”
“Oh yes. Officer Peabody looks to have had a difficult morning already. That storm last night cooled things off a bit, but not enough. Not nearly enough yet.”
“Last gasp of summer in New York. What else can you expect?”
“Teach me to stay in London.” She offered her hand. “I’d still love for you and Roarke to come to the play. Just contact me anytime and I’ll arrange for seats.”
“Soon as things cool off for me a bit, we’ll take you up on it.”
She watched the driver get out, open the rear door of the small town limo. And waited until a breathless and sweaty Peabody rushed up the steps.
“Sir. Sorry. Overslept, then the subway . . . breakdown. Should’ve contacted you, but didn’t realize—”
“Inside, before you fall over with heatstroke.”
“I think I’m a little dehydrated.” Peabody’s face was lobster red and starting to drip. “Can I have a minute? Splash some water on my face.”
“Go. Christ, next time take a cab!” she called out as she jogged upstairs to get her jacket and what she needed for the day.
She grabbed two bottles of water from her kitchen, and met Peabody coming out of the powder room. Her aide’s color had calmed down, her uniform was straightened, her hair neatly combed and dry again.
“Thanks.” Peabody took the water, and glugged at the bottle to add to the water she’d slurped up in the powder room. “Hate to overslee
p. I was up late studying.”
“Didn’t I tell you that you can overstudy? You won’t do yourself any good going into the exam burned out.”
“I just gave it a couple hours. Wanted to make up the time I took checking out apartments with McNab. I didn’t realize we had a meet with Pepper Franklin.”
“We didn’t. She stopped by to defend Fortney.” Eve headed out the door and around to the garage. She hadn’t thought to tell one of the droids to have her car brought out in front. Summerset did it without her asking. The fact that it was the sort of detail that slipped her mind, and never slipped his, just annoyed her.
“Well, as least I know I’m not losing my mind,” Peabody managed as she quickened her pace to match Eve’s. “So much going on right now. Jesus, Dallas, we signed a lease. It’s a good space. Got an extra bedroom we can set up as a shared office, and it’s close to Central. It’s in your old building, so Mavis and Leonardo will be neighbors, and that’s mag, and it was really great of Roarke to put us on to it, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I signed a lease, with McNab. It’s like, huge. We’re going to be moving in together in thirty days.”
Eve coded into the garage, waited for the doors to open. “I thought you were already cohabitating.”
“Yeah, but informally. Real informally. He just hangs at my place most of the time. This is the real deal. I got the jitters.” She pressed a hand to her stomach as she walked to Eve’s police issue. “So I dove into studying as soon as we got back, then I got the jitters from that. Then I couldn’t sleep because of the jitters, so I jumped McNab to sort of remind myself why I’m doing this, and that took awhile because, you know, I was pretty jittery—”
“I don’t want to hear that part.”
“Right. Well, I didn’t settle down until pretty late, and was so conked I must’ve deactivated the alarm before I was fully awake. Next thing I knew it was an hour later.”
“If you got up an hour late, why are you only . . .” She checked her wrist unit. “Fifteen minutes behind?”
“I skipped some of my usual morning stuff. Was okay until the subway breakdown. That threw me off, and now I’ve got the jitters again.”