Indulgence in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “The ones on there now, I couldn’t stop it; I couldn’t save them. But if there’s another, I own it, because I know I have the tools to stop it. To make the best possible effort to stop it.”

  “And the warrants aren’t enough?”

  “I had to believe it to sell it, so I did. I still do, almost clear through.” She looked away for a moment. “But there’s that fraction, that percentage that maybe they’ve covered everything, that we won’t find enough to charge them—or we’ll charge them, indict them, and that fleet of high-priced lawyers will find enough little holes to spring them. I’m hedging my bets, and I’ve got a couple other ideas that should add more edge. You could help me with them.”

  “I suppose I could.”

  “Do you know where they’re going to be tonight?”

  “They’re attending the ballet, at the Strathmore Center.”

  “Can you score us tickets?”

  “We have a box. They are, however, meeting for drinks at Lionel’s before the performance.”

  “That’ll work even better.” She took his hand, linked fingers. “Let me lay it out for you.”

  He had to admit, she’d slapped together an interesting and inventive scenario in very short order. He refined it a bit, and felt as confident as he could.

  “I’m going to give Reo another thirty. She should’ve finished talking to her boss by then. I’ll need to brief the team.”

  “They’re meeting at seven. That gives you time for an hour’s sleep. Not negotiable,” he said before she objected. “And not on the damn floor. There have to be cots at least in your infirmary.”

  “I hate the infirmary.”

  “Suck it up,” he advised.

  “Mira has a big couch in her session room. I’ll ask if I can use it.”

  “Make it we. I could use a lie-down myself.”

  She slept like the dead woman a couple of rich guys wanted her to be, then contacted Reo. Again.

  “Tell me you’ve got it.”

  “I told you I’d contact you when I did. Didn’t I tell you the boss thinks Judge Dwier’s the best hit on this?” The testy edge of frustration came through loud and clear. “No known connections with either family, solid reputation, open-minded, and so on and so on, and didn’t I tell you Judge Dwier is fly-fishing in Montana?”

  “And didn’t I say go with another choice?”

  “Don’t tell us our jobs. The PA’s talking to the judge right now. He’s walking him through it, and my sense is we’re nearly there. We’re ninety percent there.”

  “Close enough. When you’ve got it, tag Baxter. He’ll head up that end.”

  “Where are you going to be?”

  “I’m going to meet a couple guys at a bar.”

  She clicked off as Feeney came in. “Gotta suit you up.”

  “I can do that.” Roarke walked in behind him, carrying a silver garment bag. “She’ll need to change anyway.”

  “Into what?” Eve demanded.

  “Appropriate attire. Your con will be more convincing if you’re dressed for an evening out.”

  “I’ll test you out when you’re attired.” With a snort, Feeney strolled out.

  “Strip it off, Lieutenant,” Roarke told her. He shut and locked the door.

  “I need to be able to carry my weapon.”

  “I said appropriate attire.” He unzipped the bag.

  The dress was short, simple, and black. But it came with a hip-skimming jacket that fastened up the front with a lot of fancy loops.

  “Somebody could kill me five times before I got that jacket undone and drew my weapon.”

  Roarke simply demonstrated by tugging the jacket open. “The loops are for show.”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all.” When she peeled off her clothes, Roarke fixed on the recorder, the mic, the earpiece. “Where’d the dress come from?”

  “Your closet. I had Summerset bring it down. Along with the accessories.” He held up diamond earrings. “They’ll see these, believe me, and won’t give a single thought to the possibility you’re wired. And switch your wrist unit for the evening one.”

  She gave it, all that fire and ice, a dubious glance. “I haven’t really played with that one.”

  “It works the same way as your everyday. You can carry a clutch piece in this bag—though not much else. Add the shoes.”

  They were hot murder red with heels that made her arches twinge when she looked at them. “How am I supposed to run in those?”

  He gave her a quick, amused look. “Are you planning on running?”

  “You never know.” But she dressed, and added the murderous shoes. “Appropriate?”

  “You’re perfect.” He framed her face with his hands. “Perfect for me.”

  “We’re supposed to be pissed at each other, remember. You need to get in character.”

  “I never have a problem acting pissed at you.” When he grinned, he brushed his lips over hers. He laid his forehead to hers briefly at the knock on the door, then crossed over to answer.

  “Peabody, you look lovely.”

  “Thanks.” She lifted her hands, palms up to Eve. “Well?”

  She also wore black, young and funky, with a brightly striped sleeveless vest that covered her sidearm. With her hair done in crazed corkscrew curls, her eyes lined in emerald green, and her lips as red as Eve’s shoes, Eve was forced to agree.

  “You’re right. They won’t make you.”

  “McNab and I are heading out now so we’ll already be in place when the subjects get there. Detective Carmichael and the new guy will take the ballet. Baxter’s waiting for the go, then he’ll have both search units move in.”

  “Good work, Peabody.”

  “See you at the bar.”

  “She’s juiced,” Eve commented. “She took a booster earlier, but this is just juice. Because we’re close, because we’re going to bring them in before much longer. Bring them in, sweat them, break them. End it.”

  “Someone else is juiced.”

  “Bet your ass, ace.” She did a couple of squats and pivots to see how the dress cooperated. “Can you tell I’m loaded? The weapon,” she elaborated when he smiled at her.

  “I can. They won’t. You know, I’m starting to enjoy this whole business myself.”

  “Wait till I unload on them.” She tore open the jacket, pulled her weapon. Slapped it back in its harness. “You’re going to get a serious charge.”

  They walked into the elegant lounge with its deep ruby and rich sapphire tones in what appeared to be a low-voiced continuation of an argument. When Roarke cupped her elbow, she deliberately jerked it away, let her voice spike up.

  “Don’t try to placate me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Two,” he said to the hostess who, admirably, kept her face blank and polite. “Roarke.”

  “Yes, sir, of course. I have your booth ready. Just this way.”

  “You know the kind of pressure I’m dealing with,” Eve continued, keeping her eyes on Roarke. “The commander’s setting up permanent residence on my ass.”

  “It would be a lovely change of pace if we could spend one bloody evening not discussing your commander, your problems. Whiskey,” he told the hostess. “A double.”

  “And for you, madam?”

  “Head Shot, straight up.”

  Roarke leaned into her as if murmuring something, and she jerked back. “Because I need it, that’s why. Look, I’m here, aren’t I? Which is more than you’ll be tomorrow since you’re leaving town. Again.”

  “I have work, and responsibilities, Eve.”

  “So do I.”

  “Yours don’t put toys like this on your ears,” he said and gave one of her earrings a flick of his finger.

  “I earn those other ways, and don’t you forget—” She broke off as if just spotting Dudley and Moriarity. “Oh, that’s perfect. That’s just fucking perfect.”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m s
ick of orders. I’m the top murder cop in this goddamn city, and I’m getting zip from the department on this, and less than zip from you. Well, fuck that. I’m getting some of my own, and right now.”

  She shoved out of the booth, and he timed his lunge to stop her seconds too late.

  She had to admit striding the few short feet to the next booth in the killer red heels felt powerful.

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  “Lieutenant Dallas.” All concerned charm, Dudley reached for her hand. “You seem upset.”

  “You touch me and I’ll haul you in for assaulting an officer.” She slapped her palms on the table between them, leaned in. “I know you killed Delaflote and Jonas, probably the others, too, but those I know.”

  “I think you must be drunk,” Moriarity said, very quietly.

  “Not yet. Believe me when I tell you I’ll make a case. I don’t care how long it takes or what it takes. You’re not going to beat me at my own game. This is what I do.”

  “Eve.” Roarke stepped up to her, gripped her arm. “Stop this. We’re leaving.”

  “Your wife seems very upset and not a little deranged.” Dudley smiled. “You don’t appear to be able to control her.”

  “Nobody controls me, asshole. You want to leave.” She turned on Roarke. “Fine. Go. Why don’t you just go wherever you’re shuttling off to right now instead of tomorrow and get off my back?”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Gentlemen, my sincere apologies. You can get yourself home,” he said to Eve.

  “I’ll get there, when I’m good and ready.” As Roarke walked out, she spun back to the booth. “The department won’t give me the money to go full-out on you two. Screw them. He’ll give it to me.” She jerked her head in the direction Roarke had taken. “I know how to get what I want. The PA may not have the balls to give me a go now, but give me time. I close cases. I’ll close this.”

  She grabbed one of the drinks on the table, tossed back a swallow before slamming it down again. “Did you think I wouldn’t see? Using your people as dupes, covering each other’s ass while the other one gets the kill in? You both knew the last two victims, and I’ll find how you knew the first two. I’m the hot breath on your neck.”

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” Moriarity told her—but his gaze shifted to Dudley’s.

  “Like Delaflote made a fool out of the Dudleys when he was nailing Winnie’s mommy?” She bared her teeth in a smile. “Oh, yeah, I know. I know a lot. Nearly there, boys. Nearly time to pay the bill.”

  “Madam.” The hostess came over, eyes full of apologies for the men. “I have to ask you to leave.”

  “No problem. I can find better places to drink than a dump that serves scum like these two. Drink up,” she told both men. “They don’t serve fancy liquor in the cages you’re going to be in within forty-eight. And that’s just where I’m going to put you. You can bet on it.”

  Eve almost wished she wore a cape so she could’ve swirled it as she stormed out of the room.

  She kept storming a block north, turned, and kept the pace another half a block. Feeney opened the back of the e-van. She hopped in, yanked off the shoes. “How’d I do?”

  “If I was married to you, I’d be divorced.”

  Roarke took her hand, kissed it. “She’s a bitch, but she’s my bitch.”

  She tapped her ear. “Peabody reports they’re in intense conversation. It looks to her like Dudley’s trying to convince Moriarity, is pushing a point.”

  “I can hear her.” Roarke tapped in turn. “You’re not the only one with ears.”

  “Oh. That was a good idea, putting it out you’d be gone tonight. They’re going to want to make their move.”

  She turned her wrist when her com signaled. “Check this,” she said to Feeney. “Dallas.”

  “Reo pulled it off,” Baxter told her. “We got the warrants.”

  “Don’t go in yet. Give them some time. If this worked, one or both of them is going to show up at one of the houses or one of the HQs where they have private quarters. They need to get the weapon. Let them come and go. No longer than ten minutes in. It’s over that, move in. I don’t want to have spooked them into ditching any evidence, but if we take them in with a weapon, we’re going to add attempted on a police officer. That’s the icing on the cupcake.”

  “We’re on hold.”

  “Seems a shame to waste the performance,” she said to Roarke. “Damn it.” She scowled at Peabody’s voice in her ear. “They’re ordering another drink. Maybe they’re not going to bite after all. Stick with them,” she ordered Peabody, then answered the com again. “What?”

  “Movement at the Moriarity house. It’s the droid, Dallas, the same droid we have going into the Frost/Simpson house.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “God, they are idiots. They didn’t destroy the droid, and odds are he’ll bring them the weapon. I want a team on that droid. I want to know where it goes, what it does. When it’s clear of the house, move in. All locations.”

  She rubbed her bare foot. “They bit.”

  “I believe they did,” Roarke commented.

  22

  EVE TRIED TO IGNORE THE FACT THAT FEENEY and Roarke were talking in e-geek. That was bad enough, but on the other side of her McNab and Peabody snuggled up together like a couple of sleepy puppies, and she was pretty sure the murmurs and giggles were some sort of sex talk.

  If she didn’t get out of the damn van soon, she’d commit mass murder. She’d use the ice-pick heel of one of the arch-throbbing red shoes to skewer geek and puppy brains.

  They’d make a good weapon, she considered. With the right force, the right angle, you probably could skewer brains.

  Maybe that’s why women wore them, as a just in case I have to kill somebody tool. That, at least, made some sense. Except it would make more sense to wear them on your hands where they’d be right there if you needed—

  Her homicidal thoughts scattered as Carmichael spoke in her ear.

  “Subjects entering the theater.”

  “Copy that. Keep eyes on them.”

  “On them now. They’re heading straight to the bar. Ordering a bottle of champagne for their box. Making a big show of it, a lot of loud, hearty laughter, drawing attention. They’re heading in now. Staff’s scrambling to get it up to their box before curtain.”

  Establishing the alibi, Eve thought. “Take positions. One of them goes to take a leak, you’re with them.”

  “I think I’ll leave that to the new guy. Out.”

  “Cutting it close,” Eve said. “Getting there five minutes to curtain, ordering champagne. The bartender will remember them, and so will the servers and some of the people milling around.”

  Idiots, she thought, but not completely stupid.

  “They’ll need to wait until the performance starts to make any move. Wait until people are watching the stage, the house is dark. But soon. It has to be soon. Cut it out.” She gave Peabody a shove. “You’re making my eye twitch.”

  “We’re just sitting here.”

  “I know sex giggles when I hear them.”

  “I wasn’t giggling.”

  “Not you. Him.”

  McNab just grinned at her. “Those were manly chuckles.”

  “You’re cops. Be cops.”

  She shifted, scowled. “What are you smiling at?” she demanded of Roarke.

  “Why don’t you sit here and I’ll tell you.” With a sparkling look in his eyes, he patted his knee. “And I might produce a manly chuckle of my own.”

  “Stop it. You’re embarrassing Feeney.”

  “I’m past it,” Feeney muttered and kept his head down. “Surrounded by a bunch of giggling, twitching, chuckling fools when we’re on an op looking to take down a couple of crazy thrill killers.”

  “Didn’t I tell them to cut it out?”

  “You give them any attention you just encourage them.” He said it mournfully, raising his gaze to hers. “Now I’ll start twitching because
you chipped the wall.”

  “What wall?”

  “The wall I build in my head so I don’t hear the sex giggles. Now you chipped it, and I’ll hear them, and I’ll be twitching.”

  “So it’s my fault? Your wall’s weak, that’s what it is, if I can chip it just by mentioning—Shut up,” she ordered, snapping to when her ’link signaled. “Everybody zip it.” She looked at the display, and then she smiled. “Showtime.”

  She scrubbed her fingers in her hair to disorder it, slapped her cheeks to pink them up, then brought the ’link close to her face. From Dudley. “The fuck you want, asshole?” she demanded, slurring her words.

  “Lieutenant Dallas, thank God. You have to listen to me. I only have a few moments.”

  “Screw you.”

  “No, no, don’t cut me off. I need your help. It’s Sly. I think . . . dear God, I think he’s mad.”

  “Speak up. It’s noisy in this place. I can barely hear you.”

  “I can’t risk speaking any louder.” He continued to use dramatic hisses and whispers. “Listen to me, listen! I think he killed Delaflote, and poor Adrianne. The things he said after you left Lionel’s . . . I can’t believe it. He was so angry, and frightened, too. He said . . . I can’t tell you all this over the ’link. He’s drinking, too much. I think I can get away, soon. Make an excuse, or hope he passes out and get away to meet you. I need to tell you . . . please, you have to meet me.”

  “Where the fuck are you? I’ll call it in, slap his drunk ass in restraints.”

  “No, no! What if I’m wrong? He’s my oldest, dearest friend. Have pity. I’m asking for your help. Yours, Lieutenant, because you’ll know what to do. If I’m overreacting, you’ll know, and Sly won’t be embarrassed. And if I’m right, you’ll solve these horrible murders tonight before he . . . You’ll be a heroine, again. You’ll be credited for stopping this madness. You alone. I don’t want my name involved. It’s . . . painful. Please, please. I’m at the Strathmore Center. I can slip out. I can’t go far. I’ll have to get back before intermission in case . . . Our Lady of Shadows. It’s only a block away.”

  Inside, her smile spread even as she scowled into the ’link. “A freaking church?”