The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “She’d have to wash up after something like this.”

  “You’d think. You’d think if she did, she’d have gotten rid of the shirt, too. But people dumb down a lot of times after they hack a couple people to death.”

  “Her mother’s here,” Peabody pointed out.

  “Yeah. So maybe her mother washed her up some, but Caro strikes me as more careful than that. Time of death is one-twelve A.M. We’ll have EDD check the security, see if we can determine when she bypassed and entered. I need you to check the kitchen, see if the murder weapon came from the premises, or if it was brought on scene.”

  She paused a moment. “You see what’s left of the leather bomber jacket on the floor down there?”

  “Yeah. Looked like nice material.”

  “I want it tagged, too. Ewing says she tore it up with her minidrill. Let’s see if that matches.”

  “Huh. Why’d she use a drill if she had a knife. Ripping away with a knife’s got to be more satisfying and efficient.”

  “Yeah, there’s a question. We’ll also run both vics, see if we can find anyone who’d want them dead besides the betrayed wife.”

  Hissing a breath out between her teeth, Peabody looked back at the bodies. “If it’s what it looks like, she’ll make diminished capacity in a walk.”

  “Let’s find out what it is, not what it looks like.”

  2 “NO. NO, I didn’t wash her hands or face.” Caro sat, eyes level, face composed. But her hands were knotted together in her lap, as if she used them as a rope to anchor her body to the chair.

  “I tried to touch as little as possible, and just keep her calm until you got here.”

  “Caro.” Eve kept her gaze focused on the woman’s face, and tried to ignore the fact—and the small kernel of resentment in her belly—that Roarke remained in the room. At Caro’s request. “There’s a master bath upstairs, off the main bedroom. There are indications, though the sink was wiped down, that someone washed blood away.”

  “I didn’t go upstairs. I give you my word.”

  Because she did, because Eve believed her, she realized Caro didn’t understand the implications of her statement. But from the change in Roarke’s posture, the subtle shifting to alert, Eve knew he did.

  Because he remained silent, that kernel of resentment shrank a bit.

  “There’s blood on Reva’s clothes,” Eve said.

  “Yes, I know. I saw . . .” And the understanding dawned in her eyes, followed instantly by a barely controlled panic. “Lieutenant, if Reva—if she used the washroom, it would’ve been while she was in shock. Not to try to cover anything up. You have to believe that. She was in shock.”

  Sick, certainly, Eve thought. Her prints were on the bowl and rim of the toilet. Just as they’d be if she’d held on while being violently ill. But not in the master bath. The evidence of her illness was in the bath down the hall from the bedroom.

  While the blood traces were in the master bath.

  “How did you enter the premises, Caro?”

  “How did I . . . oh.” She brushed a hand over her face like a woman brushing absently at a cobweb. “The door, the front door was unlocked. It was open a little.”

  “Open?”

  “Yes. Yes, the lock light was green, then I saw it wasn’t quite closed, so I just pushed it open and came in.”

  “And what was the situation when you entered?”

  “Reva was sitting on the floor, in the foyer. Sitting there, in a ball, shaking. She was barely coherent.”

  “But she’d been coherent enough when she contacted you for you to understand Blair and Felicity were dead, and she—your daughter—was in trouble.”

  “Yes. That is, I understood she needed me, and that Blair—Blair and Felicity—were dead. She said: ‘Mom. Mom, they’re dead. Someone’s killed them.’ She was crying, and her voice was hollow and strange. She said she didn’t know what to do, what should she do. I asked where she was, and she told me. I can’t remember exactly what she said, or I said. But it’s on my ’link at home. You’ll hear for yourself.” Her voice tightened a little.

  “Yes, we will.”

  “I realize that Reva, then I, should have contacted the police immediately.”

  Caro smoothed a hand over the knees of her pajama pants, then simply stared at them as if she’d just realized what she was wearing.

  Her cheeks went a little pink, then she sighed. “I can only tell you that both of us, both of us were . . . we weren’t thinking clearly, and only thought to contact the person we each trusted most.”

  “Were you aware that your son-in-law was unfaithful?”

  “No. No, I was not.” The words snapped out, with anger just behind them. “And before you ask, I knew Felicity quite well, or thought I did,” Caro amended. “I considered her one of Reva’s closest friends, almost a sister. She was often in my home, as I was often in hers.”

  “Was she, Felicity, involved with other men?”

  “She had a very active social life, and leaned toward artists.” Her mouth went grim as her thoughts veered, obviously, to her son-in-law. “She used to joke that she wasn’t ready to settle on any one style or era—in men or in her art collection. She was, I thought, a clever woman, with a great deal of style and humor. Reva is often so serious and focused on her work. I thought . . . I believed Felicity was a good friend for her, someone who brought out her more frivolous side.”

  “Who was Felicity seeing now?”

  “I’m not sure. There was a man a few weeks ago. We were all here for one of her Sunday brunches. He was a painter, I think.” She closed her eyes as if to focus. “Yes, a painter. His name was Fredo. She introduced him as Fredo, and he struck me as very dramatic, very foreign and intense. But a few weeks before that, there was another. Thin and pale and brooding. And before that . . .”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “She enjoyed men, and from all appearance didn’t develop relationships with any beyond the surface.”

  “Is there anyone else who might have had the access codes for this residence?”

  “I don’t know of anyone. Felicity was very strict about her security. She wouldn’t employ any staff and kept only droids for domestic work. She used to say people couldn’t be trusted because they always trusted the wrong people. I remember once I told her I found that very sad, and she laughed, and reminded me if it wasn’t true, my daughter wouldn’t have a job.”

  Eve saw Peabody come to the doorway, and rose. “Thank you. I’ll need to talk to you again, and I need your permission, on record, to take your home ’links in for examination.”

  “You have it, and whatever else you need to clear this up. I want you to know how much I appreciate you handling this personally. I know you’ll find the truth. Can I go to Reva now?”

  “It would be better if you waited here, for a little while longer.” She shot a glance at Roarke, so that he understood she meant for him to do the same.

  In the hallway, she nodded a go-ahead to Peabody.

  “Sweepers got blood out of the bathroom drain upstairs, and Ewing’s print on the bowl, though it had been wiped pretty carefully. The murder weapon doesn’t match the kitchen cutlery here. There’s a pretty fancy set, and nothing appears to be missing.”

  She consulted her notes. “Reactivated the house droid. It was shut down at twenty-one-thirty. Prior to that time, it records that Felicity was at home with a companion. She’d programmed the droid not to give names or details. We’ll need to take it in to override.”

  “See to it, then. Any blood traces in the second bath upstairs?”

  “None. Just Ewing’s prints on the toilet.”

  “Okay. Let’s give Ewing a second pass.”

  They moved together into the living area where a uniform baby-sat Reva. The minute Eve stepped in, Reva surged to her feet.

  “Lieutenant. I’d like to speak with you. Privately.”

  Eve gestured for the uniform to leave the room, and spoke without looking at Peabody. “This
is my partner, Detective Peabody. What would you like to speak with us about, Ms. Ewing?”

  Reva hesitated, then, when Eve sat, let out a resigned breath. “It’s just that my head’s clearing up, and I’ve realized what sort of jam I’m in. And the sort of jam I’ve put my mother in. She only came because I was hysterical. I don’t want any of the mess that’s on me to rub off on her.”

  “Don’t worry about your mother. No one’s looking to hurt her in this.”

  “Okay.” Reva gave a short nod. “Okay, then.”

  “You said when you pulled back the covers, you saw the bodies, the blood.”

  “Yes. I saw they were dead. I knew they were dead. Had to be.”

  “Where was the knife?”

  “The knife?”

  “The murder weapon. Where was it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see a knife. Just Blair and Felicity.”

  “Peabody, would you show Ms. Ewing the weapon we’ve taken into evidence.”

  Peabody drew out the sealed knife, walked over to show it to Reva. “Do you recognize this knife, Ms. Ewing?”

  Reva stared at the smeared blade, the smeared handle, then lifted her gaze, full of stunned confusion, to Eve’s. “It’s Blair’s. It’s one of the set he bought last year, when he decided we should both take cooking classes. I told him to go right ahead, but I’d stick with the AutoChef or take-out. He actually took the classes, and did some cooking now and then. This looks like one of his kitchen knives.”

  “Did you bring it with you tonight, Reva? Were you so angry that you put it in your bag, maybe to threaten them, to scare them?”

  “No.” She took a step back from it. “No, I didn’t bring it.”

  This time Eve held out an evidence bag. “Is this your stunner?”

  “No.” Reva’s fingers curled into her palms. “That’s a recent military model. Mine’s over six years old, a reconfigured Secret Service make. That doesn’t belong to me. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Both this and the knife were used on the victims. Both this and the knife have your fingerprints on them.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “The violence of the stabbings would have resulted in considerable blood spatter. On your hands, your arms, your face, as well as your clothes.”

  Dully now, Reva looked down at her hands, rubbed them gently together. “I know there’s blood on my shirt. I don’t know . . . Maybe I touched something up there. I don’t remember. But I didn’t kill them. I never touched that knife, that stunner. There’s no blood on my hands.”

  “There’s blood in the bathroom drain, and your fingerprints are on the sink.”

  “You think I washed my hands? You think I tried to clean up, cover up, then called my mother?”

  Eve could tell that Reva’s head was clearing, and her temper was coming back along with her coherency. Those dark eyes were hot, and her teeth clamped together as her color came up. “What the hell do you think I am? You think I’d rip my husband and my friend to pieces, to goddamn pieces because they made a fool out of me? And if I did, I wouldn’t have the fucking sense to get rid of the murder weapon and cover myself? For God’s sake, they were dead. They were dead when I got here.”

  She pushed out of her chair as she spat out the words, and the anger so alive on her face pushed her to whirl around the room. “What the hell is going on? What the hell is this?”

  “Why did you come here tonight, Reva?”

  “To confront them, to shout and yell and maybe to knee Blair in the balls. To slap Felicity in that gorgeous, lying face. To break something and create one hell of an ugly scene.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “Because I only found out tonight, goddamn it.”

  “How? How did you find out?”

  Reva stopped, stared at Eve as if trying to understand some odd, half-remembered language. “The package. Oh Jesus, the photographs and the receipts. There was a package delivered to my house. I was already in bed. It was early, just after eleven, but I was bored and went to bed. I heard the bell from the gate. It irritated me. I couldn’t think who’d be coming by at eleven, but I went down. There was a package left at the gate. I went out and got it.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. Just the package, and being a suspicious sort, I ran a scanner over it. I didn’t expect a boomer,” she said with a wry smile, “but, it’s habit. I got the all-clear and brought it in. I thought it was from Blair. An I-already-miss-you present. He did that sort of thing—silly, romantic . . .”

  She trailed off, struggled as her eyes went shiny with tears. “I just figured it was from him, and I opened it up. There were photographs, a lot of surveillance-type shots of Blair with Felicity. Intimate, unmistakable sort of photos of the two of them, and copies of receipts from hotels and restaurants. Shit.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Receipts for jewelry and lingerie he’d bought—and not for me. All from an account I didn’t know he had. And there were two discs—one of ’link calls between them, one of e-mail text they’d exchanged. Love calls, love letters—very intimate and graphic.”

  “There was nothing to indicate who’d send these things to you.”

  “No, and I didn’t look or even wonder at the time. I was too shocked and angry and hurt. The last transmission on the disc was the two of them talking about how they were going to have two days together, right here in her place while I thought he was out of town. They laughed at me,” she murmured. “Had a good laugh over how oblivious I was to what was going on right under my nose. Some security expert who couldn’t even keep tabs on her own husband.”

  She sat again, heavily. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s just crazy. Who would kill them, and set me up to take the fall?”

  “Where’s the package?” Eve asked her.

  “In my ride. I brought it with me in case I softened up on the way over, though there wasn’t much chance of it. It’s in the passenger seat where I could see it.”

  “Peabody.”

  Reva waited until Peabody walked outside to retrieve the package. “It doesn’t make me look any less guilty. I get proof my husband’s diddling my best friend, find out they have a rendezvous tonight, and I come over here, armed and ready. I walked right into this. I don’t know how or why I was set up. I don’t know why you’d believe me when I tell you I was set up. But that’s the truth.”

  “I’m going to have to take you in. I’m going to have to charge you. The charge is going to be Murder in the First, two counts.” She watched Reva’s color drain. “I don’t know you,” Eve continued, “but I know your mother, and I know Roarke. Neither of them are pushovers. They both believe in you, so here’s what I’m going to tell you. Off record. Get a lawyer. Get a damn good fleet of lawyers. And don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to me about anything I might ask you. Those lawyers are good enough, they’ll have you out on bond first thing in the morning. Stay clean, stay straight, and stay available to me. You hide something, I’ll find it, and that’ll piss me off.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “You might think of something. If and when you do, think again. I want you to volunteer for a Truth Test, third level. It’s hell, it’s intrusive, and it can be painful, but if you’ve got nothing to hide and you’re being straight with me, you’ll pass it. A third level will weigh heavy on your side.”

  She closed her eyes, breathed deep. “I can handle third level.”

  Eve smiled thinly. “Don’t go in with a chip on your shoulder. I’ve been there, and it’s going to flatten you. I can get a warrant to search your house, your office, your vehicles, everything. But if you give me permission to do so, on record, that’s going to weigh, too.”

  “I’m putting a hell of a lot in your hands, Dallas.”

  “It’s in them anyway.”

  She took Reva in, booked her. Due to the hour she could opt, without breaking procedure, to continue their interview until morning. But she still had work, and
she still had Roarke.

  She walked through the bull pen in Homicide where the scatter of detectives on graveyard shift yawned their way through the last couple of hours of work. As she expected, Roarke waited in her office.

  “I need to speak with you,” he began.

  “Figured. Don’t speak until I have coffee.” She went directly to the AutoChef, programmed a double serving, strong and black.

  He stood where he was, only turned to stare out of her miserly window at the fitful predawn traffic. As she drank, she could all but see impatience and outrage snaking out of his skin like lightning bolts.

  “I arranged it so Caro could have fifteen minutes with her. That’s the best I can do. Then you need to take Caro out of here, take her home, settle her down. You’ll know how.”

  “She’s out of her mind with worry.”

  “I expect she is.”

  “You expect?” He turned around then, slowly. Slowly enough for her to understand his temper was on its shortest, thinnest leash. “You’ve just booked her only child for two first-degree murders. You have her daughter in a cage.”

  “And did you think because you’re fond of them, and I of you, I’d just let her waltz into the night when I have her prints all over a murder weapon? When I have her on the scene of a double murder and the victims just happen to be her husband and her pal, both naked in bed? When she fucking admits she broke in after learning he was sticking it to her good pal Felicity?”

  She took a deep gulp of the coffee, gestured toward him with the cup. “Hey, maybe I should’ve pulled the religious cop routine, and nudged her out the door with the advice to go forth and sin no more.”

  “She didn’t kill anyone. It’s obvious Reva was set up, and that whoever killed them marked her for it, planned it out and left her twisting in the wind.”

  “I happen to agree with you.”

  “And locking her up only gives whoever did this time and opportunity to—what?”

  “I said I agree with you, about the setup. But not with what you didn’t quite finish saying there.” She drank more coffee, slower this time, letting it slide deliciously into her system. “I’m not giving whoever did this the time and opportunity to get away. I’m giving them the time and opportunity to think they’ll get away—and keeping Reva safe in the meantime. And following the pesky little letter of the law while I’m at it. I’m doing my job, so get off my back.”