Reunion in Death

by J. D. Robb

  No, she'd never use a blade, ramming it into flesh was too much like sex.

  Another difference between us, Eve thought before she could stop herself. Then wiped her suddenly damp hands on her trousers.

  You've killed. Julianna's voice echoed in her head. You know.

  Not for pleasure, Eve reminded herself. Not for profit.

  Yet she'd taken her first life at the age of eight. Even Julianna couldn't top that.

  Feeling slightly ill, Eve rubbed her hands over her face.

  "Interview C."

  When she jumped, McNab grabbed her elbow. "Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to spook you. I hopped on behind you. Thought you heard me."

  "I was thinking. What are you doing in this section?"

  "I wanted to catch some of Peabody in action. I didn't say anything to her in case it distracts her. But I thought I could slip into observation for ten or fifteen. Is that okay with you, Lieutenant?"

  "Yeah, sure. McNab?'

  "Sir?"

  She started to speak, then shook her head. "Nothing."

  They moved down a narrow corridor past a grim set of gray doors that led to a temporary holding tank and coded into Observation.

  It was little more than another corridor, fronted by two-way glass. There were no chairs. The lighting was dim and dreary and it smelled of someone's obsessively pine aftershave or a pine-scented cleaner. Either way, it filled the air like a forest.

  They could have opted for one of the trio of more comfortable screen rooms in this section where there were chairs, credit-operated Auto-Chef, and equipment that would allow them to hear and view the interview.

  But Eve found the facilities there kept the observer too distant and detached. She preferred the glass.

  "You want me to get you a chair or something?"

  Distracted, she looked over at McNab. "What?"

  "You know, a chair in case you get tired of standing."

  "Golly, McNab, are we on a date?"

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and sulked. "Boy, try to be considerate because somebody got her head cracked and her face pounded and see where it gets you."

  She'd all but forgotten about the state of her face, and found herself annoyed at being reminded. "If I need a chair, I can get one myself. But thanks."

  When the door opened on the other side of the glass, he brightened. "Here she comes. Go get 'em, baby."

  "Officer Baby," Eve corrected and settled in to watch the show.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She watched while Peabody settled Maureen Stibbs in a chair at the wobbly table, set the record, offered the interview subject a drink of water.

  Brisk, professional, Eve thought with approval. Not too threatening. Not yet.

  And there was Officer Troy Trueheart posted at the door looking young and All-American ... and about as grim as a cocker spaniel puppy.

  She could sense Peabody's nerves, see them in the quick glance she flicked toward the glass as she poured the water.

  But the uniform was enough, Eve decided as Maureen's eyes darted between Peabody and Trueheart.

  People usually saw what they expected to see.

  "I still don't understand why I had to come all the way down here." Maureen took a tiny sip of water, like a butterfly at a blossom. "My husband and daughter will be expecting me home soon."

  "This shouldn't take long. We appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Stibbs. I'm sure your husband will appreciate your help in this matter. It must be difficult for both of you to have this case remain open."

  Good, good, put it in her lap, Eve urged. Make her a part of it, bring up the husband every chance you get.

  Eve shifted her weight, tucked her thumbs in her front pockets as Peabody took Maureen through the story and statement she'd given before, asked her to repeat or expand on certain details.

  "In EDD we don't do a lot of interviews." McNab toyed restlessly with the nest of earrings on his left ear. "How's she doing?"

  "Good, she's doing good. Getting her rhythm."

  Inside, Peabody wasn't quite as confident, but she kept plugging.

  "I've said all this before. Over and over." Maureen pushed the cup of water aside. "What good does it do to make us all live through it again? She's been gone for years."

  "She doesn't say dead," Eve commented. "She doesn't say Marsha's name. She can't because it brings it too close to home. Peabody needs to press that button."

  "Marsha's death must have shocked you very much at the time. You were close friends."

  "Yes, yes, of course. Everyone was shocked and upset. But we've put it behind us."

  "You and Marsha were close," Peabody said again. "Friends and neighbors. But you say she never mentioned being dissatisfied in her marriage, never spoke of a relationship with another man."

  "Some things even friends and neighbors don't discuss."

  "Holding in a secret like that would be hard, stressful."

  "I don't know." Maureen pulled the water back toward her, drank. "I've never cheated on my husband."

  "Your marriage is secure. Solid."

  "Of course it is. Of course."

  "You had a difficult obstacle to overcome."

  Water spilled over the rim of the cup as Maureen's hand shook. "I'm sorry?"

  "Marsha. She was an obstacle."

  "I don't know what you mean. What are you saying?"

  "A first wife in what was by all accounts a happy marriage. You agree, and have stated for the record in this investigation that Boyd Stibbs loved Marsha and you never observed any dissent or trouble between them."

  "Yes, but—"

  "And you and others have stated, on record, that Boyd and Marsha were devoted to each other, enjoyed each other's company, had many mutual interests, many mutual friends."

  "Yes, but... That was before. Before anything happened."

  "Would you state now, Mrs. Stibbs, that Boyd loved his first wife, Marsha Stibbs?"

  "Yes." Her throat worked. "Yes."

  "And to your personal knowledge, through your personal observations, Marsha Stibbs was committed to Boyd, and to her marriage?"

  "She spent a lot of time on her work. She rarely bothered to prepare meals for him. He—he took care of the laundry more often than she did."

  "I see." Peabody pursed her lips, nodded. "So you would say she neglected him, and their marriage."

  "I didn't say that... I didn't mean that."

  "Push," Eve ordered from Observation. "Push now."

  "What did you mean, Mrs. Stibbs?"

  "Just that she wasn't as perfect as everyone likes to think, to say. She could be very selfish."

  "Did Boyd ever complain to you about this neglect?"

  "No. Boyd never complains. He's much too good-natured."

  "No one's that good-natured." Peabody used a smile now, big and wide, girl to girl. "Surely if he'd known or suspected his wife was seeing someone else, he'd have complained."

  "No, no." Eve rocked up on her toes. "Don't circle back, don't give her space to think."

  "What?" Alarmed, McNab grabbed Eve's arm. "What did she do wrong?"

  "She should keep pressing on the victim, dig out the suspect's buried resentments, get her to voice them. And she needs to keep hitting her with the husband, so she can allude that maybe we're looking at him after all. The suspect's obsessed with Boyd Stibbs and the perfect world she's created around him. You've got to chip at the foundation of that, let her feel it crumbling. She's going off on the other man now, and that gives the suspect the chance to rebuild the fantasy, helps her believe there was another man."

  "Is she losing it?"

  Eve dragged a hand through her hair. "She lost some ground."

  "Maybe you should go in."

  "No. She can get it back."

  They went well over McNab's fifteen minutes, but Eve didn't order him back to work. She watched Maureen's confidence rebuild and Peabody's falter. At one point, Peabody stared into the glass with such obvious panic, Eve had to imagin
e her own boots bolted to the floor so she couldn't stride in and take over.

  "Got anything to write on?" Eve asked.

  "You mean, like paper?" McNab asked. "I'm EDD. We don't use paper. That would just be wrong."

  "Give me your e-book." She snatched it from him, coded in a few key phrases. "Go around and knock. Try to look like a cop for a change. Pass this to Trueheart, tell him to pass it to her, then you get out again. Got that?"

  "You bet." He scanned the miniscreen as he hurried out.

  Shatter her fantasies

  Implicate husband

  Make her talk about victim—by name

  Obstacle angle was good, keep using it

  Watch her hands. Plays with wedding ring when she's nervous

  Dallas

  It made McNab grin, so he had to take a minute to set his face into serious lines before he knocked.

  "From Dallas," he whispered, putting his mouth close to Trueheart's ear, and adding the little flourish of skimming a hard look over Maureen.

  "I beg your pardon, Officer Peabody." Trueheart stepped to the table. "This data just came in."

  He handed her the mini-unit, then stepped back to his post.

  When Peabody read the note, she experienced a flood of relief, a geyser of new energy. Very carefully, she set the unit screen down on the table, folded her hands over it.

  "What is that?" Maureen demanded. "What did he mean by data?"

  "It's nothing to worry about," Peabody said in a tone that indicated there was a great deal to worry about. "Can you tell me, Mrs. Stibbs, when you and Mr. Stibbs began to see each other as more than friends?"

  "What difference does that make?" Maureen looked down fearfully at the e-book. "If you're trying to intimate that there was anything going on before Boyd was free—"

  "I'm trying to get a timeline, a picture before and after Marsha's murder. Women know when a man's interested in them. Was Boyd interested in you?"

  "Boyd would never, never have betrayed his vows. Marriage isn't a convenience to him."

  "The way it was with Marsha."

  "She didn't fully appreciate him, but he would never have blamed her for it."

  "But you did."

  "That's not what I said. I simply meant that she wasn't as devoted to the marriage as it looked from the outside."

  "And you, being a friend of both Boyd's and Marsha's were on the inside, and saw the flaws. Boyd was even deeper inside this relationship. The flaws must have been very apparent to him. Very distressing if he felt Marsha was careless about the marriage, about his happiness."

  "She wouldn't see he was unhappy."

  "But you did. You saw he was unhappy, consoled him when he talked to you about it."

  "No. No. I never... he never. He—he's a very tolerant man. He never said a bad word about Marsha. Not ever. I have to get home."

  "Was he tolerant enough to overlook infidelity? To do laundry, fix his own meals while his wife sneaks around having sex with another man? I didn't know there were still saints in the world. Does it ever worry you, Mrs. Stibbs, that you may be married to a man who arranged for his first wife's death?"

  "Are you crazy? Boyd would never—he's incapable. You can't possibly believe he had anything to do with ... with what happened. He wasn't even there."

  "An out-of-town business trip's a smart alibi." Peabody eased back in her chair, nodded wisely. "Did you ever wonder if he'd suspected his wife was sleeping around? The letters were right there. The signs were all around him. He could have stewed about it for days, weeks, until he bubbled over. Until he paid someone to come in while he was gone, hit her over the head, and dump her body in the tub. Then he comes home and plays the grieving husband."

  "I won't have you say that. I won't sit here and listen to you say such things." She pushed back from the table with enough force to knock over the water glass. "Boyd would never have hurt her. He'd never hurt anyone. He's a gentle man. A decent man."

  "A decent man is capable of a great deal when he finds out the woman he loves is screwing another man in his bed."

  "He wouldn't lay a hand on Marsha, or allow anyone else to."

  "A moment of rage when he found the letters."

  "How could he find them when they weren't there?"

  She was wild-eyed and panting. Peabody felt a cool control settle over her.

  "No, the letters weren't there, because you wrote them and you put them in her drawer after you killed her. You killed Marsha Stibbs because she was your obstacle to Boyd—a man you wanted and she didn't prize him enough to suit you. You wanted Marsha's husband and her life and her marriage, so you took them."

  "No." Maureen pressed her hands to her cheeks, shook her head. "No. No."

  "She didn't deserve him." Peabody had the hammer now and used it to coldly shatter Maureen with fast, hard strokes. "But you did. He needed you, someone like you to tend to him the way she wouldn't. She didn't love him, not the way you did."

  "She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone."

  "Did you confront her when Boyd was out of town? Did you tell her she wasn't good enough for him? He deserved better, didn't he? He deserved you."

  "No. I don't want to be here anymore. I need to go home."

  "Did she argue with you, or did she just laugh? Didn't take you seriously, and neither would Boyd until she was out of the picture. He wouldn't see you until she was out of the way. You had to kill her so you could really live. Isn't that right, Maureen?"

  "It wasn't like that." Fat, fast tears poured down her cheeks. She held out both hands, clasped together as if in prayer. "You have to believe me."

  "Tell me what it was like. Tell me what happened the night you went into Marsha's apartment."

  "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it." Sobbing now, she collapsed in the chair, laid her head on the table and covered it with her arms. "It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I've done everything right since. I've done everything to make it up to him. I love him. I've always loved him."

  In observation, McNab grinned like a madman. "She did it! She broke her down. Closed a cold case. I gotta... jeez, I gotta go get her flowers or something." He started to dash out, turned. "Dallas, she did good."

  "Yeah." Eve continued to look through the glass, look into the pity she saw stir in Peabody's eyes. "She did good."

  * * *

  By the time she sent Maureen Stibbs down to Booking, Peabody was drained. She felt as if her insides had been put through some huge mechanical wringer that squeezed all the juices out.

  When she headed back toward the bullpen, her parents rose from a bench and walked to her.

  "What are you guys doing here? We're not supposed to meet up until we have that fancy dinner we had to postpone last night."

  "We're so proud of you." Her mother cupped her face, laid a soft, warm kiss on her forehead. "Very proud of you."

  "Okay ... why?"

  "Eve called us in." She bent down, brushed her cheek over Peabody's. "She arranged for us to watch you work."

  "My interview?" Peabody's mouth fell open. "You saw?"

  "It was very difficult, what you did." Phoebe drew her close.

  "It's the job."

  "A very difficult job. And one you were meant to do." She eased her daughter back to study her face. "When we leave tomorrow, it'll be easier to say good-bye knowing that."

  "Tomorrow, but—"

  "It's time. We'll talk more tonight. You have work now."

  Sam reached down, gave his daughter's hand a squeeze. "Officer Peabody." He grinned from ear to ear. "Go be a cop."

  A little misty-eyed she watched them walk toward the down-glide. Then the sentiment dried up in amused shock as McNab bounded off the up-glide carrying an armload of white and yellow daisies.

  "Where'd you get those?"

  "Don't ask." He handed them to her, then broke their mutual agreement by hauling her in for a hard kiss in a public area. "She-Body, you rocked."

  "I nearly blew it."

 
; "Hey. You kicked ass, you did the job, you closed the case. End of story." He was so proud he could have burst the pink buttons on his purple shirt. "And you looked really sexy doing it. I was thinking we could play Interview later tonight." He winked at her.

  "You were observing?"

  "You think I'd miss it? It was a big fucking deal for you, so it was bfd for me, too."

  She sighed, gave in, and buried her nose in flowers that were no doubt stolen. "Sometimes, McNab, you're really sweet."

  "So, I'll give you a good taste of me later. Got to roll. I'm behind."

  Carrying the flowers, she walked into the bullpen, and was flustered, delighted, embarrassed when several detectives called out congratulations. Flushing, she went into Eve's office. "Lieutenant?"

  Eve held up a hand to hold her off and continued to study the results of the probability scan on spa centers. She and the computer agreed that Europe was the most likely destination given Julianna's profile, with Paris just nipping out the rest of the field.

  "I don't know, I don't know. Major city, major media, major cops. Why not this place, what's it, Provence, or this other near the Swiss border in Italy?"

  SUBJECT PREFERS URBAN ATMOSPHERE WITH CONVENIENT ACCESS TO THEATER, RESTAURANTS, AND SHOPPING. QUESTIONED OPTIONS ARE LOCATED IN THE COUNTRYSIDE, APPEALING TO THOSE WISHING A MORE BUCOLIC SETTING AND HAVING LITTLE OR NO DESIRE FOR OUTSIDE ACTIVITIES. L'INDULGENCE IS THE TOP-RATED TREATMENT CENTER IN PARIS, WITH FULL SALON, SPA, BODY SCULPTING, AND EMOTIONAL WELL-BEING FACILITIES. THEIR PRODUCTS ARE FORMULATED OF ALL-NATURAL INGREDIENTS AND CAN BE PURCHASED ONLY THROUGH THIS CENTER. SKIN AND BODY TREATMENTS ARE—

  "If I'd wanted a PR quote, I'd've asked for one. How do you book?"

  RESERVATIONS FOR DAY PACKAGES AND/OR HOTEL SERVICES MUST BE MADE DIRECTLY WITH THE FACILITY BY GUEST, GUEST REPRESENTATIVE, OR AUTHORIZED TRAVEL AGENCY. IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT REQUESTS FOR RESERVATIONS BE MADE AT LEAST SIX WEEKS IN ADVANCE.

  "Six weeks." Eve pondered, drummed her fingers.

  "Are you going to Paris to a spa, Lieutenant?"

  "Sure, if someone knocks me unconscious, puts me in shackles, and drags my lifeless body in. But I'm thinking this might be right up Julianna's alley. A girl needs a break from killing to relax, be pampered, and make sure her skin retains that youthful, dewy look."