The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  “That’s some trigger you’ve got there, Lisbeth,” Eve said mildly.

  “Yes. Part of my plea bargain is to enter anger control therapy. I begin sessions next week.”

  “Sometimes it’s not better late than never. You claim you went off when you learned J. C. was cheating on you. Yet no one knows of another woman in his life. His personal assistant swears there was no one but you.”

  “He’s mistaken. J. C. deceived him even as he deceived me. Or he’s lying,” she said with a shrug. “Chris would have cut off his hand for J. C., so lying would be nothing.”

  “Why lie? Why cheat if, as you just told me, all he had to do was come to you and end the arrangement?”

  “I don’t know.” She pushed an agitated hand through her hair, disturbing its perfect order. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “Perhaps he was like other men after all and found it more exciting to cheat.”

  “Don’t like men much, do you?”

  “As a whole, no.”

  “So, how’d you find out about this other woman? Who is she? Where is she? How is it no one else knows about it?”

  “Someone does,” Lisbeth said evenly. “Someone sent me photos of them together, discs of conversations. Conversations where they talked about me. Laughed at me. God, I could kill him all over again.”

  She whirled around, yanked open a cabinet, and pulled out a large pouch. “Here. These are copies. We gave the PA the originals. Look at him, with his hands all over her.”

  Eve tapped out the contents, frowned. They were decent shots. The man was very clearly J. Clarence Branson. In one, he sat on what looked like a park bench with a young blonde in a short skirt. His hand was resting high on her thigh. In the next, they were kissing with apparent passion, and the hand was under her skirt.

  The others looked to be taken in a privacy room at a club. They were grainy, which fit if they’d been duped from disc. A club could lose its sex license if the management was caught running video of privacy rooms.

  But grainy or not, they clearly showed J. C. and the blonde in various and energetic sexual acts.

  “When did you receive these?”

  “I’ve given all that information to the PA’s office.”

  “Give it to me,” Eve said shortly. And she was damn well going to find out why the PA hadn’t bothered to pass these tidbits on to the primary investigator.

  “They were in my mail slot when I got home from work. I opened them, I looked at them. I went directly to J. C. to confront him. He denied it. He actually stood there and denied it, told me he didn’t know what I was talking about. It was infuriating, insulting. I lost my temper. I was blind with rage. I grabbed the drill and . . .”

  She trailed off, remembering herself and her lawyer’s instructions. “I must have lost my mind, I can’t remember what I was thinking, what I was doing. Then I called the police.”

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “I’ve never seen her before. Young, isn’t she?” Lisbeth’s lips trembled before she firmed them. “Very young and very . . . agile.”

  Eve slid the photos and discs back in the pouch. “Why are you keeping these?”

  “To remind me that everything we had together was a lie.” Lisbeth took the bag back, placed it in the cabinet again. “And to remind me to enjoy every cent of the money he left me.”

  She picked up her water glass again, lifted it as if in a toast. “Every goddamn cent.”

  Eve got back in her car, slammed the door. And brooded. “It might have happened just the way she said. Hell.” She rapped a fist on the wheel. “I hate that.”

  “We can run the photo of the woman, try to get an ID. Something may pop.”

  “Yeah, shuffle it in when you have time. And when we have the goddamn photos.” Disgusted, Eve pulled away from the curb. “No way to prove she knew about the will or that was her motive. And damn it, after seeing her in action up there, I tend to believe her story.”

  “I thought she was going to try to rip your face off.”

  “She wanted to.” Then Eve sighed. “Anger control therapy,” she muttered. “What next?”

  chapter eight

  “Snag on system,” Eve muttered as she pushed away from her desk-link. “The PA’s office said we didn’t get the photos and discs on the Branson case because there was an SOS. My ass.” She rose to pace. “SOS also stands for sack of shit.”

  She heard the snicker, turned to glare at Peabody. “What are you grinning at?”

  “It’s your way with words, sir. I do so admire your way with words.”

  Eve dropped into her chair again, leaned back. “Peabody, we’ve been working together long enough for me to know when you’re gassing me.”

  “Oh. Is that also long enough for you to appreciate our personal rapport?”

  “No.”

  To help put the Branson matter out of her mind for the moment, Eve squeezed the heels of her hands on either side of her head. “Okay, back to priorities. Run the vans while I see how much McNab’s shaken loose on Fixer’s military record. And why don’t I have any coffee?”

  “I was just wondering the same thing.” To avoid another snarl, Peabody hurried into the kitchen.

  “McNab,” Eve said the minute she had him on-screen. “Gimme.”

  “Just got the basic front stuff for now. I’m weaving through.” He recognized the view out the window behind her and pouted. “Hey, you working at home today? How come I’m not there, too?”

  “Because, thank God, you don’t live here. Now, let’s have it.”

  “I’ll shoot it to your home unit, but the quick rundown is as follows. Bassi, Colonel Howard. Retired. Enlisted in 1997, enrolled officer’s training. Top scores. As a first lieutenant, he worked with STF—Special Training Forces. Elite, real hush-hush stuff. I’m working on that, but at this point, I’m just getting commendations—he had a hat full—and remarks about his expertise with electronics and explosives. He made captain in 2006, then worked his way right up the ranks until he was given a field promotion to full colonel during the Urban Wars.”

  “Where was he stationed? New York?”

  “Yeah, then he was transferred to East Washington in . . . wait, I’ve got it. 2021. Had to put in for a special family transfer package because most military weren’t allowed to take their families along during that period.”

  “Family?” She held up a hand. “What family?”

  “Ah . . . military records have him down for a wife Nancy, civilian, and two kids, one of each. He got the transfer because his spouse was a civilian liaison between army and media. Like, you know, public relations.”

  “Hell.” Eve rubbed her eyes. “Run the wife and kids, McNab.”

  “Sure, they’re on the list to do.”

  “No, now. You’ve got the ID numbers there.” She glanced over as Peabody brought in coffee. “Do a quick run on date of death.”

  “Shit, they’re not old,” McNab muttered, but he turned away to check the records. “Man, Dallas, they all bought it. Same DOD.”

  “September 25, 2023, Arlington County, Virginia.”

  “Yeah.” He let out a sigh. “They must have been taken out with the Pentagon. Christ, Dallas, the kids were only six and eight. That bites.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Fixer agreed with you. Now we know why he turned.”

  And, she thought, why he ran. How could he expect to be safe, even in his dirty little fortress, if he was up against the kind of people who could wipe out the most secure military establishment in the country?

  “Keep up the search,” she ordered. “See if you can find anybody he worked with who’s still around and no longer military. Somebody who got transferred with him, in his same unit. If he was STF, he probably had some part in dealing with Apollo.”

  “I’m on it. Hey, Peabody.” He wiggled his brows when she came into view, and sliding his hand under his bright pink shirt mimed a thumping heart.

  “Asshole,” she muttered and stepped aside.
>
  Scowling, Eve cut him off. “Roarke thinks he’s got a thing for you.”

  “He’s got a thing for breasts,” Peabody corrected. “I happen to have a pair. I caught him eyeballing Sheila’s from Records, and hers aren’t as good as mine.”

  Thoughtfully, Eve glanced down at her own. “He doesn’t look at my tits.”

  “Yes, he does, but he’s careful because he fears you nearly as much as he fears Roarke.”

  “Only nearly? I’m disappointed. Where’s my data on the vans?”

  “Here.” With a smug smile, Peabody tapped a disc into the desk unit. “I used the one in the kitchen to run it. We’ve got fifty-eight hits, but that’s with factory-installed zappers. If we consider that they were installed privately, we more than triple that number.”

  “We’ll start with the big number, check and see if anyone reported their vehicle stolen during the forty-eight hours around the murder. If we don’t hit there, eliminate families. I can’t see a professional mother running the kids to arena ball practice in the afternoon, then Daddy transporting corpses in it at night. Look for registration to companies and males. We’ll run females if we crap out on those.

  “Use this unit,” Eve told her and rose. “I can make calls on the one in the other room.”

  She contacted Mira and set up a meeting for the following day. The closest she could get to Feeney was his e-mail announcement that he was on a priority and could only take emergency transmissions.

  Deciding to leave him to what he did best, she tagged Anne Malloy in the field.

  “Hey, Dallas, your sexy husband just left.”

  “Oh yeah.” Eve could see the rubble and the E and B teams sifting through it.

  “He wanted to see what we had going here, which isn’t any more than you already know, at this point. We’ve transported fragments to the lab. We’re finding more. Your man took a look at a piece of one of the devices and said it was a chunk of high-impact politex, like they use in space construction. Probably from a remote. He could be right.”

  He would be right, Eve thought. He was rarely otherwise.

  “What does that tell you?”

  “A couple of things,” Anne said. “One, at least some of the devices were made from space salvage or parts manufactured for that use. And two, your man’s got a sharp eye.”

  “Okay.” She scooped a hand through her hair. “If he’s right, can you trace it?”

  “It narrows the field. I’ll be in touch.”

  Eve sat back, then out of curiosity looked up politex and its manufacturers.

  It didn’t surprise her to see Roarke Industries as one of the four interplanetary companies that made the product. But it did have her rolling her eyes. She noted Branson Toys and Tools also manufactured it. Smaller scale, she noted. On planet only.

  She decided to save time and simply ask Roarke for a rundown on the other two companies, then spent the next hour backtracking, picking through old data, weeding through the fresh data McNab transmitted. She was about to go in and harass Peabody for results on the vehicle search when her ’link beeped.

  “Dallas.”

  “Hey, Dallas!” Mavis Freestone’s delighted smile filled the screen. “Catch this.”

  Beside the table, a column of air shimmered, then, in a blink, the hologram image of Mavis standing in the kitchen on skinny ruby heels with bright pink feathers drifting over her toes. She wore a short robe in eyewatering swirls of the same two tones that drooped off one shoulder to display a tattoo of a silver angel playing a gilt harp.

  Her hair tumbled in spiraling curls as fat as soy sausages in a mix of gold and silver and glinted with a metallic sheen.

  “Mag, huh?” She laughed and did a little bump and grind dance around the kitchen. “My room’s got this way fine holo feature on the ’link. How do I look?”

  “Colorful. Nice tattoo.”

  “That’s nothing, get this.” Mavis tugged the robe down her other shoulder to reveal a second angel with a little whip tail who carried a pitchfork and wore a maniacal grin. “Good angel, bad angel. Get it?”

  “No.” But Eve grinned. “How’s the tour going?”

  “Dallas, it is like wow! We’re going just everywhere and the crowds are panic city when I perform. And Roarke’s got us the most amazing transpo and all the hotels are absolutely the ult.”

  “Ult?”

  “Ultimate. Today, I’ve got this appearance at a music center to sign discs and a bunch of interviews with media, then a gig at the Dominant here in Houston. It’s like packed. I hardly have time to do hair.”

  Eve skimmed her gaze off the shiny curls. “But you manage.”

  “Yeah, I’d never get it all done if Leonardo hadn’t come with me. Hey, Leonardo, I’ve got Dallas here. Come say hi.” Mavis laughed and bounced on her heels. “She doesn’t care if you’re naked.”

  “Yes, she does,” Eve corrected. “You look happy, Mavis.”

  “Beyond. Dallas, I’m totally D and D.”

  “Drunk and disorderly.”

  “No.” Mavis giggled again and turned circles. “Dazed and delirious. It’s everything I always wanted and didn’t know. When I come back, I’m going to kiss Roarke all over his face.”

  “I’m sure he’ll enjoy that.”

  “I know I will.” This time Mavis cackled. “Leonardo says he’s not jealous, and maybe he’ll kiss Roarke, too. Anyway, how are things on the home front?” Before Eve could answer, Mavis tilted her head, then sighed. “You haven’t seen Trina.”

  Eve paled a little, squirmed in her chair. “Trina? Trina who?”

  “Come on, Dallas, you said you were going to get her to come by and do your hair and stuff while I was gone. You haven’t had a salon date in weeks.”

  “Maybe I forgot.”

  “Maybe you thought I wouldn’t notice. But that’s okay, we’ll have her give us both the works when I get back.”

  “Don’t threaten me, pal.”

  “You’ll cave.” Mavis twirled a silver curl around her finger, then grinned. “Hey, Peabody!”

  “Hi, Mavis.” Peabody stepped closer. “Great hologram.”

  “Roarke has the best toys. Whoops, gotta go. Leonardo says it’s time to get ready. Watch this.” She twirled, blowing kisses, then winked away.

  “How does she move like that on those heels?” Peabody wondered.

  “Just one of the many Mavis mysteries. What have you got on the van?”

  “Pretty sure I tagged it. Black Airstream, 2058 model, loaded.” She offered Eve a hard copy data printout. “Registered to Cassandra Unlimited.”

  “Bull’s-eye.”

  “But I checked the address. It’s bogus.”

  “Regardless, it ties Fixer in and gives us a target. Did you do a search on Cassandra Unlimited?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to give you this first.”

  “All right. Let’s just see.” Eve swiveled back. “Computer, search and report all data on Cassandra Unlimited.”

  Working . . . . No data in banks on Cassandra Unlimited.

  “Yeah,” Eve murmured. “That would’ve been too easy.” She sat back a moment, closing her eyes as she considered. “Okay, try this, search and list all companies and businesses with Cassandra in the title. Keep it to New York and New Jersey.”

  Working . . . .

  “You think they’d use the name?” Peabody asked her.

  “I think they’re smart, but they’re cocky. There’s a way to run it down. There’s always a way.”

  Data complete. List as follows . . . . Cassandra’s House of Beauty, Brooklyn, New York. Cassandra’s Chocolate Delights, Trenton, New Jersey. Cassandra Electronics, New York, New York.

  “Stop. All data on Cassandra Electronics.”

  Working . . . . Cassandra Electronics, 10092 Houston, established 2049, no financial or employee data in banks. A branch of Mount Olympus Enterprises. No available data. Encoded block illegal under federal law and will be reported automatically to CompuGuard.

/>   “Yeah, you do that. The data’s there. It’ll be there somewhere. Verify address on Houston.”

  Working . . . . Address is invalid. No such address exists.

  Eve rose, circled the room. “But they put it in. Why bother to register the companies, risk an automatic search by CompuGuard, an IRS probe?”

  Peabody took the opportunity to program more coffee. “Because they’re cocky?”

  “That’s just exactly right. They don’t know the van was spotted and tagged, but they had to know I’d do a run on the name Cassandra and click into it.”

  She took the coffee Peabody offered absently. “They want me to waste my time on it. If they can get an illegal into the data system, they’ve got funds and superior equipment. They aren’t worried about CompuGuard.”

  “Everybody’s worried about CompuGuard,” Peabody disagreed. “You can’t get by them.”

  Eve sipped her coffee and thought of Roarke’s private room, his unregistered equipment, and his talent for skimming smoothly by CompuGuard’s all-seeing eye. “They did,” was all she said. “We’ll dump this on EDD.” Officially, Eve thought. Unofficially, she would ask her clever husband what he could do. “For now we’ll just wait.”

  She turned back to the machine, called up the four companies that manufactured politex. Roarke Industries, she noted, Branson Toys and Tools, Eurotell Corporation, and Aries Manufacturing.

  “Peabody, any of these named for those god people?”

  “God people? Oh, I get it. Aries. I think he’s a god of something or other, and I know he’s a sign of the Zodiac.”

  “Greek?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s see if they follow pattern.” She ordered the data search and found Aries listed at an invalid address and attached to Mount Olympus.

  “They’re certainly tidy.” Eve stepped back, leaned against the counter. “If they have a pattern, we can start predicting. Like Cassandra,” she said with a cool smile.

  She sent Peabody off to transfer the data and start an updated report. Then, switching to privacy mode, she called Roarke’s office.