Immortal in Death

by J. D. Robb

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and Peabody.’ Eve slipped the files into her bag and rose. ‘Don’t go in uniform, you’ll scare the natives.’

  The PA smashed Eve’s hopes in ten minutes flat. She continued to argue for another twenty, but it was all spinning wheels. Jonathan Heartly agreed that there was a likely connection in the three homicides. He was an agreeable man. He admired her investigative work, her deductive powers, and her organized presentation of same. He admired any cop who did the job in an exemplary fashion and kept his office’s conviction rate high.

  But he, and the prosecutor’s office, were not prepared to drop the charges against Mavis Freestone. The physical evidence was too strong, and the case, at this point, too solid to warrant a backpeddle.

  He would, however, keep his door open. When and if Eve had another suspect, he would be more than willing to listen to her case.

  ‘Puss head,’ Eve muttered as she slammed into the Blue Squirrel. She spotted Nadine immediately, already in a booth and grimacing over the menu.

  ‘Why the hell does it always have to be here, Dallas?’ Nadine demanded the minute Eve dropped down across from her.

  ‘I’m a creature of habit.’ But the club wasn’t the same, she noted, not without Mavis standing onstage screeching out her incomprehensible lyrics in her latest, eye-popping costume. ‘Coffee, black,’ Eve ordered.

  ‘I’ll have the same. How bad can it be?’

  ‘Just wait for it. Are you still smoking?’

  Nadine glanced around, uneasy. ‘This isn’t a smoking booth.’

  ‘Like they’re going to say something in a joint like this. Give me one, will you?’

  ‘You don’t smoke.’

  ‘I’m hoping to develop bad habits. You want the two bucks?’

  ‘No.’ Keeping an eye out, just in case anyone she knew was around, Nadine took out two cigarettes. ‘You look like you could use something a little stronger.’

  ‘This’ll do.’ She leaned over so that Nadine could light it, took one puff. Hacked. ‘Jesus. Let me try that again.’ She drew in smoke, felt her head spin, her lungs revolt. Annoyed, she crushed it out. ‘That’s disgusting. Why do you do that?’

  ‘It’s a developed taste.’

  ‘So’s eating dog shit. And speaking of dog shit.’ Eve slid her coffee from the serving slot and took one brave sip. ‘So, how’ve you been?’

  ‘Good. Better. I’ve been doing things I didn’t used to think I had time for. It’s funny how a near death experience makes you realize not making time is wasting time. I heard Morse has been found competent to stand trial.’

  ‘He’s not crazy. He’s just a killer.’

  ‘Just a killer.’ Nadine ran a finger along her throat where a knife had once drawn blood. ‘You don’t figure being the latter makes him the former.’

  ‘No, some people just like killing. Don’t dwell on it, Nadine. It doesn’t help.’

  ‘I’ve been trying not to. I took a few weeks, spent some time with my family. That helped. It also reminded me that I love my job. And I’m good at it, even though I folded—’

  ‘You didn’t fold,’ Eve interrupted impatiently, ‘you were drugged, you had a knife to your throat, and you were scared. Put it behind you.’

  ‘Yeah. Right. Well.’ She blew out smoke. ‘Anything new on your friend? I wasn’t really able to tell you how sorry I am that she’s in trouble.’

  ‘She’s going to be all right.’

  ‘I’d bank on you seeing to that.’

  ‘That’s right, Nadine, and you’re going to help me. I’ve got some data for you from an unidentified police source. No, no recorders, write it down,’ Eve ordered as Nadine reached in her bag.

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Nadine dug deeper, found a pad and a pen. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘We have three separate homicides, and evidence points to one killer. The first, Hetta Moppett, part-time dancer and licensed club companion, was beaten to death on May 28, at approximately two A.M. The majority of blows were delivered to her face and head in such a manner as to obliterate her features.’

  ‘Ah,’ Nadine said and left it at that.

  ‘Her body was discovered, without identification, at six the next morning and tagged as a Jane Doe. At the time of her murder, Mavis Freestone was standing on that stage behind you, belting her guts out in front of about a hundred and fifty witnesses.’

  Nadine’s brow shot up, and she smiled. ‘Well, well. Keep going, Lieutenant.’

  So she did.

  It was the best she could do for the moment. When the broadcast hit, it was doubtful whether anyone in the department would have to guess who the unnamed source was. But they wouldn’t be able to prove it. And Eve would, for Mavis, if not for herself, lie without a qualm if and when she was questioned.

  She put in a few more hours at Cop Central, had the miserable job of contacting Hetta’s brother, the only next of kin who could be tracked down, and informing him that his sister was dead.

  After that cheerful interlude, she went back over every scrap of forensic evidence the sweepers had sucked up at the Moppett murder scene.

  There was no doubt that she had been killed where she’d been found. The murder had been a clean, probably a quick hit. A shattered elbow had been the only defensive wound. No murder weapon had yet been found.

  No murder weapon on Boomer either, she mused. A few broken fingers, the added finesse of the broken arm, the shattered kneecaps - all prior to death. That, she had to assume, was torture. Boomer had had more than information, he’d had a sample, and the formula, and the killer had wanted both.

  But Boomer had hung tough there. The killer, for whatever reason, hadn’t had the time or wanted to take the risk to go to Boomer’s flop and toss it.

  Why had Boomer been dumped in the river? To buy time, she speculated. But the ploy hadn’t worked, and the body had been found and ID’d quickly. She and Peabody had been at the flop within hours of the discovery and had bagged and tagged the evidence.

  So, on to Pandora. She knew too much, wanted too much, proved an unstable business partner, threatened to talk to the wrong people. Any of the above, Eve mused and rubbed her hands over her face.

  There’d been more rage in her death, more of a fight, more of a mess. Then again, she was hopped on Immortality. She wasn’t some foolish club dancer caught in an alley, or a pitiful weasel who knew more than he should. Pandora was a powerful woman, with a sharp mind and an ambitious bent. And, Eve remembered, well-developed biceps.

  Three bodies, one killer, and one link between them. And the link was money.

  She ran all suspects through her computer, checking normal credit transactions. The only one who was hurting was Leonardo. He was in debt up to his gold eyeballs, and then some.

  Then again, greed had no credit balance. It was the property of the rich as well as the poor. She dug a little deeper, and found that Redford had been busy juggling funds. Withdrawals, deposits, more withdrawals. Electronic transfers had been bouncing from coast to coast and to neighboring satellites.

  Interesting, she thought, and more interesting still when she hit on a transfer from his New York account direct into that of Jerry Fitzgerald in the amount of a hundred and twenty-five thousand.

  ‘Three months ago,’ Eve murmured, rechecking the date. ‘That’s a lot of money between friends. Computer scan for any and all transfers from this account to any and all accounts under the name of Jerry Fitzgerald or Justin Young in the past twelve months.’

  Scanning. No transfers recorded.

  ‘Scan for transfers from any and all accounts under the name of Redford to previously requested accounts.’

  Scanning. No transfers recorded.

  ‘Okay, okay, let’s try this. Scan for transfers from any and all accounts under the name of Redford to any and all accounts under the name Pandora.’

  SCANNING. TRANSFERS AS FOLLOWS:

  TEN THOUSAND FROM NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT TO NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT, PANDO
RA, 2/6/58. SIX THOUSAND FROM NEW LOS ANGELES ACCOUNT TO NEW LOS ANGELES SECURITY, PANDORA, 3/19/58. TEN THOUSAND FROM NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT TO NEW LOS ANGELES SECURITY, PANDORA, 5/4/58. TWELVE THOUSAND FROM STARLIGHT STATION BONDED TO STARLIGHT STATION BONDED, PANDORA, 6/12/58.

  NO OTHER TRANSFERS RECORDED.

  ‘Well, that oughta do it. Was she bleeding you, pal, or was she dealing for you?’ Eve wished fleetingly for Feeney, then went after the next layer herself. ‘Computer, scan previous year, same data.’

  While the computer worked, she programmed coffee and speculated on scenarios.

  Two hours later, her eyes were sore, her neck screaming, but she had more than enough to warrant another interview with Redford. She had to settle for his E-service, but did have the pleasure of requesting his presence at Cop Central at ten the following morning.

  After leaving memos for Peabody and Feeney, she decided to call it a day.

  It didn’t do her mood much good to discover a memo from Roarke on her car ’link.

  ‘You’ve been out of touch, Lieutenant. I had something come up that requires my presence. I’ll be in Chicago by the time you get this, I imagine. I may have to stay over tonight, unless I can clear this little mess up quickly. You can reach me at the River Palace if you need to, otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up working half the night. I’ll know.’

  With an annoyed flick, she switched off memo mode. ‘What the hell else am I supposed to do?’ she demanded. ‘I can’t sleep when you’re not there.’

  She swung through the gates, and saw with some hope that lights were blazing everywhere. He’d canceled the meeting, fixed the problem, missed his transportation. Whatever, she thought, he was home. She walked in the door with a welcoming smile on her face and followed the sound of Mavis’s laughter.

  There were four people having drinks and canapes in the parlor, but none of them was Roarke. Quick observation powers, Lieutenant. Eve thought glumly, then took a moment to scan the room before she was noticed.

  Mavis was still laughing, and dressed in what only she would consider at-home wear. Her red skin suit was studded with silver stars and covered with a sheer emerald sweep shirt left loose and open. She teetered on six-inch ice-pick heels as she cuddled Leonardo. He had one arm wrapped around her, and the other hand was fisted around a glass filled with something clear and fizzy.

  A woman munched on canapes, eating them with a speed and precision to rival a factory droid stamping out computer chips. Her hair was in short corkscrew curls, with each twist a different jewel tone. Her left earlobe was encased in silver hoops that draped a twisted chain around and under her pointed chin to her other ear where it was affixed with a single thumb-size stud. There was a tattoo of a rosebud along the side of her thin, pointed nose. Over electric blue eyes, her brows were sharp Vs of royal purple.

  Which matched, Eve saw in amazement, the micro-size suspendered playsuit that ended in cuffs just south of her crotch. The suspenders were strategically placed over bare breasts to cover the nipples. The breasts were the size of farm-grown cantaloupes.

  Beside her, a man with what appeared to be a map tattooed on his bald pate watched the action through rose-tinted glasses and guzzled what Eve deduced to be some of Roarke’s vintage white. His party clothes consisted of baggy shorts that hung to bony knees and a chest plate of patriotic red, white, and blue.

  She considered, seriously, sneaking upstairs unobserved and locking herself in her office.

  ‘Your guests,’ Summerset said in dismissive tones from behind her, ‘have been waiting for you.’

  ‘Look, pal, they’re not my—’

  ‘Dallas!’ Mavis squealed it, and leaped dangerously across the room in her fashionable stilts. She caught Eve in a tipsy bear hug that nearly felled them both. ‘You’re so late. Roarke had to go somewhere, and he said it was all right if Biff and Trina came by. They’ve been dying to meet you. Leonardo will fix you a drink. Oh, Summerset, the goodies are just mag. You’re so sweet.’

  ‘I’m delighted you’re enjoying them.’ He beamed at her. There was no other description for the bright, moony look that shot out of his stony face before he faded back into the hall.

  ‘Come on, Dallas, join the party.’

  ‘Mavis, I’ve really got a lot of work—’ But Eve was already being dragged into the parlor.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Dallas?’ Leonardo offered her a sad, puppy dog smile. Eve crumbled.

  ‘Sure. Fine. A glass of wine.’

  ‘Absolutely extraordinary wine. I’m Biff.’ The man with the map on his head offered a slim, delicate hand. ‘It’s an honor to meet Mavis’s champion, Lieutenant Dallas. You’re absolutely right, Leonardo,’ he continued with his eyes intense behind the rosy lenses. ‘The bronze silk is perfect for her.’

  ‘Biff is a fabric expert,’ Mavis explained in a voice that continued to bubble and froth. ‘He’s worked with Leonardo for just ever. They’ve been plotting your trousseau.’

  ‘My—’

  ‘And this is Trina. She’s going to do your hair.’

  ‘She is?’ Eve felt the blood drain out of her head and into her feet. ‘Oh well, I don’t . . .’ Even women with little vanity can panic when faced with a stylist boasting rainbow curls. ‘I don’t really think—’

  ‘Gratis,’ Trina announced in a tone that was the vocal equivalent of rusted iron. ‘When you clear Mavis, I’m giving you free hair consultations and styling for the rest of your life.’ She grabbed a handful of Eve’s hair and squeezed. ‘Good texture. Good weight. Bad cut.’

  ‘Here’s your wine, Dallas.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She needed it. ‘Listen, it’s nice to meet you, but I’ve got some work I have to get to.’

  ‘Oh, but you can’t.’ Mavis latched onto Eve’s arm like a leech. ‘Everyone’s here to start doing you.’

  Now the blood flowed out of her toes. ‘Doing what to me?’

  ‘We’re all set up upstairs, too. Leonardo’s work space, Trina’s, Biff’s. All the other worker bees will be buzzing around by tomorrow.’

  ‘Bees?’ Eve managed. ‘Buzzing.’

  ‘For the show.’ Cold sober, and less likely to assume welcome, Leonardo patted Mavis’s arm to try to restrain her enthusiasm. ‘Little dove, Dallas might not want the house full of people at this point. I mean . . .’ He dodged around the investigation. ‘With the wedding so close.’

  ‘But it’s the only way we can be together and finish the designs for the show.’ The plea naked in her eyes, Mavis turned back to Eve. ‘You don’t mind, do you? We won’t be in the way. Leonardo just has so much to do. Some of the designs have to be altered now because . . . because Jerry Fitzgerald is going to be the headliner.’

  ‘Different coloring,’ Biff put in. ‘Different body type. From Pandora,’ he finished, saying the name they had been avoiding.

  ‘Yeah.’ Mavis’s smile went bright and fixed. ‘So it’s a lot of extra work, and Roarke said it was all right. The house is so big and everything. You won’t even know they’re all here.’

  People, Eve thought, scurrying in and out. Security nightmares. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. She would.

  ‘I told you it would be all right,’ Mavis said, planting a kiss on Leonardo’s chin. ‘And I promised Roarke I wouldn’t let you bury yourself tonight, Dallas. You’re going to sit back and be pampered. We’re getting pizza.’

  ‘Oh goodie. Mavis—’

  ‘Everything’s working out,’ Mavis went on, almost desperately, her fingers tightening on Eve’s arm. ‘On Channel 75 they were talking about this new lead, and these other murders, a drug connection. I didn’t even know the other people who got whacked. I didn’t even know them, Dallas, so it’s going to come out that it was somebody else. And it’s all going to be over.’

  ‘It’s going to take a little time yet, Mavis.’ Eve stopped, felt her heart drop at the flickers of panic in Mavis’s eyes, worked up a smile. ‘Yeah, it’s all going to be over. Pizza, huh? I could
use some.’

  ‘Great. Mag. I’m going to find Summerset and tell him we’re ready for it. Take Dallas up and show her, okay?’ She darted out.

  ‘It really lifted her,’ Leonardo said quietly. ‘That news report. She needed a lift. The Blue Squirrel let her go.’

  ‘Let her go?’

  ‘Bastards,’ Trina muttered around a canape.

  ‘Management decided it wasn’t in their best interest to have an accused murderer headlining. It shook her bad. I had the idea to take her mind off it this way. I’m sorry, I should have cleared it with you first.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Eve took another sip of wine and braced herself. ‘Let’s go do me then.’

  Chapter Twelve

  It wasn’t so bad, Eve decided. Not when compared to the riots of the Urban Wars, the torture chambers of the Spanish Inquisition, a test ride on the XR-85 moon jet. And she was a cop, a ten-year vet, used to facing danger.

  She was certain her eyes wheeled like a panicked horse’s when Trina tested her cropping sheers.

  ‘Hey, maybe we could just—’

  ‘Leave it to the experts,’ Trina said. Eve nearly whimpered with relief when she set the shears down again. ‘Let’s see about this.’

  She approached, unarmed, but Eve watched warily.

  ‘I’ve got a hair consult program.’ Leonardo looked up from the long table, covered with fabrics where he and Biff muttered together. ‘Full morphing capabilities.’

  ‘I don’t need a stinking program.’ To prove it, Trina caught Eve’s face in her firm, wide hands. Eyes narrowed, she began to move up then around Eve’s head, over the jaw, up the cheekbones. ‘Decent bone structure,’ she approved. ‘Who do you use?’