The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  “The investigation is ongoing. The department is following a number of leads.”

  “Mr. Draco was killed onstage, in front of a packed house. You yourself were a witness.”

  “That’s correct. The nature of the crime, its location, and execution have resulted in literally thousands of interviews and witness statements.”

  And because it was always best to pay your debts, Eve tagged on an addendum. “Detective Baxter of this division has reviewed the bulk of those statements and taken on the arduous task of elimination and corroboration.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it, that people often see the same event, but see it differently?”

  “It’s often true of civilians. Police officers are trained to see.”

  “Does that make you your own best witness?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Is it true that Kenneth Stiles, a colleague and acquaintance of Draco’s who was in the cast of the play, is your lead suspect?”

  “That individual has been questioned, as have all members of the cast. As I stated, we are following a number of leads, and as the focus of the investigation has narrowed, we expect to make an arrest within twenty-four hours.”

  “An arrest.” It threw Nadine off stride, but only for one beat. “Can you give us the name of your primary suspect?”

  “I’m not free to give that information at this time. I can tell you that the person who killed Richard Draco, who killed Linus Quim, will be in custody within twenty-four hours.”

  “Who—”

  “That’s all you get, Nadine. Shut it down.”

  Nadine might have argued, but Eve was already getting to her feet. “Shut it down, Lucy. That was a hell of a bombshell, Dallas. If you’d given me a head’s up, we could’ve gone live.”

  “Tonight’s soon enough. You got your story, Nadine. You’ll hit with it first.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Can you give me any more, just some filler for the follow-up? Procedural details, some of the hard data. The exact number of interviews, number of man-hours, that kind of thing.”

  “You can get that from media relations.” Eve glanced at the camera operator, pointed a finger, then jerked a thumb at the door.

  With a look at Nadine for confirmation, Lucy hauled the equipment out.

  “Off the record, Dallas—”

  “You’ll know everything you need to know tomorrow. I have a question for you. You didn’t mention Roarke in your report, his connection to the theater, to the play, to me. Why?”

  “It’s been done. Overdone. I want the meat.”

  “Doesn’t fly, Nadine. Roarke’s name boosts ratings.”

  “Okay, consider it payback.” She shrugged and hauled up her purse. “For the girl night.”

  “Okay.” Eve reached into her back pocket, drew out a sealed disc. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” But the minute it was in her hand, Nadine understood. Her fingers closed tightly around it. “It’s the recording Richard did. Of me.”

  “It’s been removed from the evidence log. It’s the only copy. I figure it should close that circle.”

  As her throat filled with conflicting emotions, Nadine stared down at the disc. “Yes. Yes, it does. Better, it breaks it.” Using both hands she snapped the disc in two.

  Eve nodded with approval. “Some women wouldn’t have been able to resist watching it. I figured you were smarter than that.”

  “I am now. Thanks, Dallas. I don’t know how to—”

  Eve took a deliberate step back. “Don’t even think about kissing me.”

  With a shaky laugh, Nadine stuffed the broken disc in her bag. It would go into the first recyler she came across. “Okay, no sloppy stuff. But I owe you, Dallas.”

  “Damn right you do. So next time, save me a donut.”

  chapter twenty-one

  She slept for ten hours, pretty much where she had fallen after giving Roarke the briefest of updates. She woke, recharged, clearheaded, and alone.

  Since he wasn’t around to nag her, she had an ice-cream bar for breakfast, washed it down with coffee while she watched the morning news reports on-screen. She caught a replay of her one-on-one with Nadine and, satisfied with it, considered herself set for the day.

  She dressed, dragging on dung brown trousers and a white shirt that had narrow brown stripes. She had no idea how long the shirt had been there, but since Roarke had started filling her closet, she’d stopped paying attention.

  He bought her a ridiculous amount of clothes, but it saved her from the torture of shopping.

  Since it was there, and the weather promised to remain cool, she buttoned on a waist-length vest that appeared to go with the rest of the deal.

  She strapped on her weapon, then she set off to find Roarke.

  He was already in his office, the morning stock reports on one screen, off-planet trading on another, and what seemed to be a serious math problem on the third.

  “How can you deal with numbers first thing in the morning?”

  “I live for numbers.” He tapped his keyboard, and the math problem shifted into tidy columns she had no doubt added up to the smallest decimal point. “And as it happens, I’ve been up for some time. You look rested,” he said after a moment’s study of her face. “And very well-tailored as well. You’re a resilient creature, Eve.”

  “I slept like a slug.” She came around the counter, leaned down, and kissed him. “You’ve been putting in some long days yourself.” She patted his shoulder in a way that made his antenna quiver. “Maybe we need a little vacation.”

  He sent the figures on-screen to his broker for immediate application, then swiveled around in his chair. “What do you want?”

  “Just some quiet time somewhere. You and me. We could take a long weekend.”

  “I repeat.” He picked up his coffee, sipped. “What do you want?”

  Irritation gleamed in her eyes. “Didn’t I just say? Don’t pull that crap on me again. You had to grovel the last time.”

  “I won’t this time around. Do I look stupid?” he said in a conversational tone. “I’m not above a bribe, Lieutenant, but I like to know the deal. Why am I being softened up?”

  “I couldn’t soften you up with a vat of skin regenerator. Anyway, it’s not a bribe. I’m a damn city official.”

  “And they are, as we know, complete strangers to bribes.”

  “Watch it, ace. Who says I can’t want a break? If I want a favor, it doesn’t have to connect.”

  “I see. Well then, here’s what I’ll bring to the table. I’ll give you your favor, whatever it may be, in exchange for a week of your time anywhere I want to go.”

  “A week’s out. I’ve got court dates, paperwork. Three days.”

  Negotiations, he thought, were his favorite hobby. “Five days now, five days next month.”

  “That’s ten days, not a week. Even I can do the math on that. Three days now, two days next month.”

  “Four now, three next month.”

  “All right, all right.” Her head was starting to spin. “I’ll work it out.”

  “Then we have a deal.” He offered his hand, clasped hers.

  “So, are we going to the beach?”

  “We can do that. The Olympus Resort has a stunning man-made beach.”

  “Olympus.” She blanched. “Off planet? I’m not going off planet. That’s got to be a deal breaker.”

  “Deal’s done. Buck up. Now, what’s the favor?”

  She sulked. It was a rare attitude for her, but she was damn good at it. “It’s not even a big favor.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you tried to scam me. You might have, if you’d had a decent breakfast instead of ice cream.”

  “How did you—” She broke off, and the single word was a vicious hiss. “Summerset.”

  “Now, when a woman asks her husband for a favor, it’s a lovely touch if she sits on his lap.” He patted his knee.

  “You won’t have much of a
lap if I break both your legs.” Seriously annoyed, she sat on the counter. “Look, it’s police business, and you always want to stick your nose in anyway. I’m giving you a chance.”

  “Now, there you are.” Enjoying himself, he lifted a hand, palm up. “If you’d presented it that way initially, put me in the position of being given a favor rather than giving one, you wouldn’t have made what you consider a poor deal. And you wouldn’t be cross.”

  “I’m not cross. You know I hate when you say I’m cross. And before I forget, what’s the deal with this Authorization One shit?”

  “Did you buy something?” He handed her the rest of his coffee. “I must make a celebrational note on my calendar. Eve Dallas went shopping. Strike up the band.”

  She scowled off into space. “I was in a pretty good mood before I came in here.”

  “See, you’re cross. As to Authorization One, what sense does it make for you to pay for products manufactured by one of my companies?”

  “Next time I’m going to a competitor. If I can find one.” She huffed out a breath, brought herself back on track. “I’m going to close the case today. I’ve worked it how to smoke out the killer, get a confession. It’s roundabout,” she murmured. “I have reasons not to take the straight line. I had to do a tap dance for Whitney to clear it. If it doesn’t work . . .” She trailed off.

  “What do you need?”

  “To start, I need your theater. And I need you to help me script and produce a little performance.”

  An hour later, Eve was on her way to Central, and Roarke was making the first phone call.

  In her office, Eve loaded the disc recording of the play in her computer. With her mind elsewhere, she barely noted how smoothly the disc was accepted, how clear the audio and video. When she ordered it to fast-forward to the final scene, it did so without a single bump.

  There they were, she thought. Draco as Vole blithely confessing to a murder he could no longer be charged with. His face handsome, smug, as he drew Carly’s hand, Diana’s hand, through his arm.

  And she stood by him, pretty and charming, with a loving smile.

  Kenneth Stiles, the cantankerous and sly Sir Wilfred, stunned fury on his face, as the realization struck that he’d been used, exploited, manipulated. Eliza’s fussy Miss Plimsoll standing beside him, outraged, her hands gripping the back of Kenneth’s chair, and white to the knuckles.

  Areena, the beautiful and multifaceted Christine, who had sacrificed everything, risked prison, to save the one she loved.

  Michael Proctor, merely a shadow, watching from the wings, wondering when he would step into the spotlight and into the role of murderer.

  And hovering over all was the ghost of Anja Carvell.

  Eve didn’t flinch as she watched murder done, as the knife that should have been harmless plunged deep into the heart.

  There, she thought and froze the screen. There it is.

  Ten thousand witnesses would have missed it.

  Hadn’t she?

  The performance of a lifetime, she realized. In death.

  “End program,” she ordered. “Eject disc.”

  She bagged it, gathered others. She engaged her office link for interdepartmental transmission. “Peabody, alert Feeney and McNab. We’re moving out.”

  With a final check of her weapon, she prepared to begin a performance of her own.

  Eve’s driving, Mira observed from the backseat, was a mirror reflection of her personality. Competent, direct, focused. And fierce. As the car whipped through traffic, bulling into gaps, challenging other charging bumpers, Mira quietly checked the tension on her safety harness.

  “You’re taking a risk.”

  Eve gave a quick glance in the rearview, met Mira’s eyes. “A calculated one.”

  “I believe . . .” Mira trailed off, found herself falling back into childhood prayers as Eve shot into sharp vertical, swung hard to the right, and skimmed crossways over jammed traffic.

  “I believe,” she continued when she had her breath back, “you’ve assessed the situation correctly. Still, there’s a wide margin for error, which you could eradicate by adhering to strict procedure.”

  “If I’m wrong, it’s on me. Either way, the person who killed Draco and Quim will be in custody by the end of day.”

  The car dove into an underground parking tunnel, barely slacking speed. It winged like an arrow from a bow toward a reserved slot. Mira’s mouth came open, she made some small sound, as they roared toward the security barricade. Eve flipped down her visor to display her ID pass.

  Mira would have sworn the barricade emitted a terrified squeal as it leaped clear. They nipped under it, tucked into the narrow slot.

  “Well,” Mira managed. “Well. That was exciting.”

  “Huh?”

  “It occurs to me, Eve, I’ve never done a ride-along with you. I begin to see why.”

  Peabody snorted, shoved open her door. “Take my word, Dr. Mira, that was a leisurely drive around the park.”

  “Something wrong with my driving?”

  “Not that a case of Zoner wouldn’t cure,” Peabody said under her breath.

  “In any case.” Mira stepped out of the car, drew Eve’s attention away from her aide. “I’m pleased you asked me to be here. Not only because I might be useful, but it gives me an opportunity to observe how you work in the field.”

  “You’re going to have to stay out of the thick.” Eve left her car in the secured slot Roarke had arranged, started out to the street and the theater.

  “Yes, but I’ll be monitoring.”

  “We’ve got a little while before the show starts.” At the stage door, Eve punched in the code she’d been given. “You’ll likely get bored.”

  “Oh, I sincerely doubt that.”

  They walked out on the stage, where preparations were already under way.

  “Hey, Lieutenant! Heads up, She-Body!”

  Twenty feet overhead, McNab swung by in a safety harness. He gave a kick of his shiny green boots and sailed in a very graceful arc.

  “Stop that horsing around.” Feeney squinted up, wincing when his detective pretended to swim through the air.

  “What’s he doing up there?” Eve demanded. “Besides making an ass of himself.”

  “Overhead cams. You gotta be young to enjoy that kind of duty. Most of the equipment was already in place. Roarke didn’t miss a trick. But he wasn’t setting up for a police op. We’re adjusting. We’ll be able to monitor the action from all angles.”

  “Is Roarke on-scene yet?”

  “Yeah, he’s in control, showing a couple of my techs more than they’d ever hoped to know. The man’s a genius with electronics. What I couldn’t do with him in EDD.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t mention it. He’s hard enough to deal with. Auto-locks set on all exits?”

  “Yep. Once everybody’s in, nobody gets out. We’ve got three uniforms, two techs, you, me, and Peabody. And flyboy up there. McNab, get the hell down from there now! You sure you don’t want a bigger team?”

  Eve did a slow turn, scanned the theater. “We won’t need it.”

  “Feeney.” Roarke stepped from the shadows onto the stage. “Your control appears to be set.”

  “I’ll go look it over. McNab! Don’t make me come up there. Christ, how many times did I say that to my kids?” With a shake of his head, he walked offstage.

  “He’s going to hurt himself.” Torn between amusement and concern, Peabody nudged Eve’s shoulder. “Tell him to come down, Dallas.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because he fears you.”

  Because the idea of that was pleasing, Eve set her hands on her hips, scowled up, and shouted. “McNab, stop screwing around and get your ass down here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He came down in a whoosh, cheeks flushed with the thrill. “Man, you gotta try that. What a rush.”

  “I’m happy we could provide you with some entertainment, Detective. Why shouldn’t we have
a little fun and frivolity during the course of an elaborate and expensive police operation, particularly when we’re employing multimillion dollar civilian equipment and facilities.”

  “Um,” was the best he could do before he cleared his throat. The grin had already been wiped off his face. “The overhead cams are set and operational, Lieutenant. Sir.”

  “Then maybe you can make yourself useful elsewhere. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No, sir. I’ll just . . . go.” Somewhere, he thought, and escaped.

  “That ought to keep him straight for the next five minutes.” She turned to Roarke.

  “I don’t fear you,” he told her. “But I brought you a present.” He handed her a mini-remote. “You can signal control,” he explained. “For lights, sound, set change. You can direct from any location in the theater. The play’s in your hands.”

  “Opening act’s up to you.”

  “It’s already in place.” He checked his wrist unit. “You have just over an hour before curtain.”

  “I need to check all ops. Peabody, do a round. Confirm that all egresses leading below, back, or above stage are secure, then take and maintain your assigned position until further orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Roarke, would you show Dr. Mira her observation area?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great.” She flipped out her communicator. “Feeney, I want those—what are they—houselights on for a minute.”

  When they flashed on, illuminating the theater, she switched the communicator to blanket transmission. “This is Lieutenant Dallas. In thirty minutes, I want all operation personnel at their assigned stations. If I so much as smell a cop, he or she is on report. Civilian protection is first priority. I repeat, that is priority. Weapons are to remain harnessed, and on low stun. I will not have a repeat of Grand Central.”

  She pocketed the communicator. “Roarke, contact me when Dr. Mira is settled.”

  “Of course. Break a leg, Lieutenant.”

  “What? Oh. Right.”