by J. D. Robb
“Don’t snap and snarl. I brought you doughnuts.”
“What kind of doughnuts?”
“Cream-filled, sprinkled with colored sugar.” Nadine opened the small bakery box. “Six of them, and they’re all yours, fatso.”
“I like a good bribe. Now get out of my chair.”
She walked to the AutoChef, ordered up coffee. When she turned back Nadine was sitting in her single visitor’s chair, crossing her silky legs.
“I should rephrase. Get out of my office.”
“I thought we’d have breakfast together.” Nadine lifted the minuscule muffin to her lips, and took a bite Eve estimated contained three crumbs. “Dallas, I appreciate your stand on playing favorites, and the bitching and moaning from other members of the Fourth Estate. I’ve backed off. You have to agree.”
“I’m not seeing your back, but with that shirt, I’m seeing a lot of your tits.”
“Pretty, aren’t they? But to remain on track, I’ve respected your stand because you had a point. I know you’ve fed Quinton some information—no more, no less, than you wanted out there. I respect that as well.”
“We’re just loaded with respect this morning.” She took a huge bite of pastry. “Bye-bye now.”
“He hasn’t put it together. He may, especially after I give him a good nudge. He’s bright and he’s eager, but he’s green. As yet, he hasn’t wondered why you’re primary on what is now three seemingly unrelated homicides.”
“Crime is running rampant in our city. Run and hide. Better yet, move to Kansas. And it’s two homicides, Nadine. Marlene Cox isn’t dead yet.”
“Sorry, my information was she wasn’t expected to make it through surgery.”
“She has. Barely.”
“Even more curious then. Why our stalwart homicide lieutenant is picking at the threads of an assault.” She took a tiny sip of coffee, rubbed her lips together. “I say we’ve got one killer employing a variety of methods. And this occurred to me when I got wind of the last—”
“Cox was attacked about two-thirty this morning. Shouldn’t you have been asleep, or banging your flavor of the month?”
“I was asleep, and was awakened from my virginal bed—”
“Pig’s eye.”
“With an anonymous tip,” Nadine finished with a little cat’s smile. “I started wondering, then I started working, and I started asking myself what these three women had in common, besides you. I decided, the killer. The first was, obviously, an imitation of the infamous Ripper. What if the others were also imitations of previous crimes?”
“I’m not going to comment on this, Nadine.”
“Albert DeSalvo and Theodore Bundy.”
“No comment.”
“I don’t need you to comment.” She leaned forward. “I can put enough together to go on the air with a story, with supposition.”
“Then what’re you doing here?”
“Giving you a chance to confirm or deny, or to ask me to hold the story I’m putting together. I’ll hold it if you ask me, because you won’t unless you need to.”
“You’re also thinking I won’t ask unless you’re right, and then you’ll have a big, sexy story with big, sexy ratings.”
“That plays, too. But I’ll still hold it, if you need me to. And by holding it, I’m giving competitors the chance to come to the same conclusions I have.”
Eve contemplated her doughnut. “I need to think a minute, so just be quiet.”
There were pros and cons here, and Eve ran through them all while Nadine sat silently, eating her muffin crumb by crumb.
“I’m not going to give you data. I’m not even going to give you hints. Because when I’m asked, and I will be, I want to be able to say honestly that I didn’t. That I wasn’t your source. I’m not going to confirm or deny your supposition, which is what you’ll have to say if and when you break this story. Lieutenant Dallas would neither confirm nor deny. I will, however, make a personal comment, between us girls. Besides having those pretty tits, you’ve got a sharp brain.”
“Why, thank you. I’ve also got great legs.”
“Now if I were doing this story, which I’m not, I’d wonder why this particular bag of nuts has so little personality, power, and imagination. He has to pretend he’s somebody else to do the job. And the last time out, he flubs it up so bad, a girl about half his size hurts him and he has to run away.”
Eve picked a sprinkle of colored sugar from the doughnut, laid it on her tongue. “Word is the primary investigating officer has a good idea just who he is, and is, at this time, compiling the evidence so that she can make an arrest, and ensure conviction.”
“Are you?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“No comment.”
“Big bluff, Dallas. I go out with this, and you don’t make that arrest quickly, you’re going to look like an asshole.”
“The story’s your business. Now that I’ve finished my doughnut, I’ve got to get back to my business.”
“I break this, and it goes down this way, I’m going to deserve an exclusive one-on-one.”
“I’ll see about that, as soon as I consult my crystal ball.”
Nadine rose. “Good luck. Serious good luck.”
“Yeah,” Eve murmured when she was alone. “I’m about due for some.”
Chapter 18
She grabbed a conference room, brought in her disc files, set up her board. As she was finishing, Peabody came in.
“Lieutenant, I’m supposed to do that. It’s my job to do that. How come you’re not letting me do my job?”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. I gave you another job. Did you inform Captain Feeney and Detective McNab of the time and place of this briefing?”
“Yes, sir, I—”
“Then why aren’t they here?”
“Well, I . . .” She was saved as the door opened. “They are here.”
“Good job then. All right, people, take a seat. I’m going to bring you up to speed on my out-of-town interviews, and why my conclusion is our target has practiced his skills in at least three other locations to date.”
When she’d finished she was sitting on the corner of the table, drinking the coffee she noted Peabody provided her without request. “I’m pushing for the authorization to check travel on my suspects for the dates in question. The commander has agreed to put the pressure on, but as my list contains some influential names, it’s taking time. I’ve bumped Carmichael Smith to the bottom. My opinion is he’s too volatile and too pampered to fit the profile.”
Peabody launched up a hand like the nerdy kid in class who screwed the grading curve for everybody else. “Yes, Officer?”
“Sir, couldn’t the fact that subject Smith is volatile and pampered go toward profile rather than away?”
“These traits could play in, and his travel will be checked along with the others. But he’s bottom of the list for now. Fortney’s ahead of him, but not by much. We—”
When Peabody’s hand shot up again, Eve found herself caught between amusement and irritation. “What?”
“Sir, sorry. I’m just trying to cross all the T’s like in a sim. Doesn’t Fortney fit profile, almost perfectly? His upbringing, his previously documented violence against women, his current lifestyle?”
“Yeah, but he’s bumped down mostly because he’s just such an asshole.” She waited to see if Peabody would comment, and watched her aide’s brow knit as she chewed over the response. “I think our guy has more style, which is why Renquist and Breen are neck-in-neck in my mind. I’m going to corner Breen’s wife’s lover today, and we’ll see what that nets us.”
“I hear she’s smoking,” McNab commented and earned a frigid look from Peabody.
“Of course, one of my primary concerns is the fact that she’s smoking,” Eve said coolly. “I’ve no doubt this attribute will assist us in identifying and apprehending a man who’s killed two women and brutally assaulted ano
ther in under two weeks. Moving along,” she said when McNab at least pretended to look chastised. “As you EDD guys didn’t come in here doing the victory shuffle, I assume we haven’t locked down the rental.”
“Why don’t you take this, bright boy?” Feeney said. “See if you can redeem yourself.”
“He used a wireless unit,” McNab began. “He didn’t bother to bounce or filter, so it was fairly easy to trace back. The transmission for the order originated from the Renaissance Hotel. That’s the fancy place on Park. You gotta be worth minimum of a mil just to get past the doorman. The van was ordered four days ago, at fourteen thirty-six.”
“Lunchtime crowd,” Eve commented.
“My guess is he frequents the place, knows where to go to shoot off a quick trans. Lots of big business types cart their pricey little portables to lunch meetings. Since he had very specific requirements for the order, he either had the trans ready to go, or he sat down in one of the privacy booths, or at a nice table with a glass of wine, and generated it there.”
“Good. We’ll see if any of our choices lunched at the Renaissance on the order date. Not smart,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Smarter would’ve been to dress down, use a cyber-hole somewhere. A place nobody knew him. But he likes to show off. He likes to play, so he goes to an exclusive hotel, where I just bet they know him by name.
“Peabody? Tell me about the plaster.”
“I’ve got building supply places in Brooklyn, in Newark, and in Queens who did cash transactions for small quantities of plaster in the past sixty days. None in medical supply places for that substance, cash transactions.”
“None?”
“No, sir. Credit or purchasing order from established accounts. Then I got a brainstorm and checked art supply outlets.”
“Art supply?”
“Yes, sir. You can sculpt with plaster, and other forms of art may utilize it. I got several hits in the city, several more in the boroughs and New Jersey for cash.”
“Looks like we’re going to be busy then.” She checked her wrist unit. “The plaster from the scene’s been in the lab long enough. If they don’t have an exact match on the type, they should have. Let’s see if Dickhead can earn his salary and tell us if there’s a difference between household, medical, and art plaster.”
She looked at Feeney. “Feel like getting out of the house?”
“Wouldn’t mind a little fresh air.”
“Let me know if you find any out there. Want to take the hotel?”
“Long as I don’t have to wear a tie.”
“Peabody and I will give Dickhead a push on our way to see the side dish.”
“She might hit on you,” McNab commented. “Maybe we should take her. Ow!” He grabbed his side where Peabody’s elbow jabbed. “Jeez, just kidding. Since you’ve been studying your brains out, you’ve got no sense of humor.”
“I’m going to laugh really hard after I kick your ass.”
“Kids, kids.” Eve could feel her eye starting to twitch. “Let’s save all this until after we catch the mean man and send him to his room. Feeney, control your moron. Not another word, Peabody.”
She gave her aide a solid push out the door.
Peabody held it in until they’d driven five blocks. Eve figured it was a new record.
“I just don’t think he should talk about other women that way. Or look at them with that gleam in his eye. We signed a lease.”
“Oh Jesus Christ on stilts. You’ve got lease fear, Peabody. Official document phobia. Get over it.”
“Jesus Christ on stilts?”
“It just came to me. You’re obsessing because you signed up for—what is it, a year? And now you’re all, what if it doesn’t work out? Who moves out? Who takes the communal salad plates or some stupid shit.”
“Well, maybe. But that’s normal, isn’t it?”
“How the hell do I know what’s normal?”
“You’re married.”
Sincerely shocked, Eve jerked the vehicle to a halt at a light. “That makes me normal? It just makes me married. Do you know how many abnormal married people there are out there across this great land and beyond? Just take a look at the double Ds that get called in, Manhattan borough alone. Marriage doesn’t make people normal. Marriage isn’t normal, probably. It just . . . is.”
“Why did you get married?”
“I . . .” Her mind went blank. “He wanted to.” Hearing just how lame that sounded, she shifted in her seat, and punched the gas. “It’s just a promise, that’s all. A promise, and you do your best not to break it.”
“Like a lease.”
“There you go.”
“You know, Dallas, that’s almost wise.”
“Now I’m wise.” She sighed. “Let me give you my little tidbit for the day. You want McNab to stop thinking about, looking at, talking about other women, then you’d better take him to the vet and have him fixed. He’ll make a nice pet. Women are the worst. They zero in on some guy. Oh boy, he’s the one, gotta get me that one. So they do. Then they spend the rest of their time trying to figure out how to change him. Then if they manage it, they’re not all that interested anymore, because guess what? He’s not the one anymore.”
Peabody was silent for several moments. “Somewhere in there is a lot of good sense.”
“If you tell me I’m sensible in addition to normal and wise, I’m going to punch you in the stomach. I’m as screwed up as the next person, and I like it that way.”
“In many ways, Lieutenant, you’re even more screwed up than the next person. It’s what makes you, you.”
“I think I’ll punch you in the stomach anyway. Put it on my calendar.”
She toyed with double parking, which always put her in a good mood, but found a spot on a street ramp.
The Seventh Avenue building looked ordinary, even shabby, but the security there rivaled that at the U.N.
She passed through the first post, which required her badge, a palm print, and a scan. At the second post a uniformed guard requested her business and a second scan.
She looked around the small lobby with its aging linoleum floor and bare beige walls. “What, you keep government secrets in here?”
“More vital than that, Lieutenant.” The guard offered a slight grimace as he passed her back her ID. “Fashion secrets. Competitors try every damn thing to get a peak. Delivery scams mostly, trying to get up to the design floor carrying deli bags or pizza boxes. But you get some more inventive ones, too. Phoney fire inspector last month. ID cleared, too, but the scan picked up his recorder and we booted him.”
“You on the job?”
“Was.” And he seemed pleased she’d made him. “Put in my twenty-five, most of it out of the one-two. This pays better, and it can get pretty lively around here before the big spring and fall shows.”
“I bet. You know Serena Unger, designer here?”
“I might if you draw me a picture.”
“Tall, thin, black, beautiful. Thirty-two. Short black hair with a reddish overcast, sharp face, long nose. Likes the ladies.”
“Yeah, I know the one you mean. Got a Caribbean accent. You got a line on her?”
“She may be a line to somebody else. There’s a woman she’s playing with. About the same age. Blonde, snazzy looker. Five ten, curvy, slick, and professional. Married. Gates, Julietta.”
“She’s cleared through here a few times. Fashion writer. Seen the two of them go out together. Lunchtime, end of business day. Hold on a minute.”
He turned to his computer, called up his log. “Last, hmm, last eight months by my log, Gates checked in for Unger ten times. Six months before that, six hits for Unger. A once a month deal. Go back four more, you only get two visits.”
“Eighteen months.” She considered the dates of the other murders. “Thanks.”
“Happy to help. Here.” He unlocked a drawer and took out two lapel pins. “Put these on and you’ll clear through the rest of security, no hassle. You want the ea
st elevator bank, fifteenth floor.”
“Appreciate it.”
“No problem. Miss the job sometimes. The rush, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
Fifteen was a working floor with a hive of offices and a huddle of cubes for the drones. Unger didn’t keep them waiting.
“You’re prompt. I appreciate that.” She stepped around her desk to offer a hand. “My day’s stacked.”
“We’ll try to let you get back to it.”
She closed the door, which told Eve she was discreet. It was a corner office, which told Eve she was successful, and it was stylishly decorated with beachy prints rather than fashion posters.
She gestured to two chairs, and took her own behind the desk.
“I have to say I’m a little confused as to why the police would want to talk to me.”
She was good, Eve thought. But not quite good enough. Julietta had talked to her, and she knew exactly why they were there.
“If your day’s stacked, Ms. Unger, why should we waste time doing the routine? Julietta Gates would have told you we’ve spoken to her, and her husband. You look like a bright woman, so you’ve figured out that we know about your relationship with Julietta.”
“I like keeping my personal life personal.” Unger swiveled in her chair, her body language relaxed, her voice cool and calm. “And I don’t see what my relationship with Julietta has to do with your investigation.”
“You don’t have to see. You just have to answer questions.”
Unger’s perfectly arched brows rose into her high forehead. “Well, that’s moving straight to the punch.”
“I’ve got a pretty stacked day myself. You have a sexual relationship with Julietta Gates.”
“We have an intimate relationship, which is different than a sexual one.”
“So you just sit up in your hotel room at the Silby during your lunch breaks and chat?”
Unger’s lips pressed together as insult moved across her face. Then she hissed out a breath. “I don’t like being spied on.”
“I imagine Thomas Breen doesn’t much like being cheated on. We all have to live with what is.”