by J. D. Robb
“Do for what?”
“For his adversary. The greatest and most elusive killer of modern time couldn’t settle for just any cop to pursue him. He didn’t know Jacie Wooton, I agree. Or if he did, his knowing of her was only to select the right victim. But he knows you. You’re as much a target as she. More. She was a pawn, a momentary thrill. You’re the game.”
She’d thought of that, too, and was still circling around how to make it useful. “He doesn’t want me dead.”
“No, at least not yet.” A faint crease of concern marred Mira’s brow. “He wants you alive so that he can watch you chase him. Watch the media report his deeds and your pursuit. The style of note was taunting, and he’d want to continue to taunt you. You, not just a cop, but a high-profile cop, and a female. He’ll never lose to a woman, and his certainty that he’ll crush you, serve you your biggest defeat, is a large part of the excitement for him.”
“Then he’s going to be seriously bummed when I take him down.”
“He could turn on you if he feels you’re getting too close, ruining his fantasy. At first it’s a challenge, but I don’t believe he’ll tolerate the humiliation of being stopped by a woman.” She shook her head. “Much of this depends on how much of the Ripper personality he’s taken on, and which persona ascribed by the various theories to the Ripper he, himself, believes. It’s problematic, Eve. When he said, ‘sample of my work,’ did that mean his first, or has he killed before and gone undetected?”
“It’s his first here, in New York, but I’m going to do a check through IRCCA. Some psycho tries to emulate Jack the Ripper every now and then, but I don’t know of anywhere he wasn’t caught.”
“Keep me updated, and I’ll work up a more substantial profile.”
“I appreciate it.” She rose, hesitated. “Listen, Peabody had a little trouble this morning. The vic was in pretty bad shape, and . . . well, she got sick. She’s brooding about it. Like she’s the first cop to puke on her shoes,” Eve muttered. “Anyway, she’s under some stress prepping for the detective’s exam, and then she’s hunting for a place to cohab with McNab—which I don’t really want to think about, but she does. So, maybe you could find a minute to pat her on the head about it or something. Whatever. Shit.”
Mira let out a quick, bubbling laugh. “It’s very sweet for you to be worried about her.”
“I don’t want to be very sweet,” Eve said with some passion. “Or to worry about her. This isn’t the time for her head to be up her ass.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Mira cocked her head. “And how are you?”
“Me? Fine. Good. No complaints. Um . . . things good with you?”
“Yes, they are. My daughter and her family are visiting for a few days. It’s always nice for me to have them, and the chance to play Grandma.”
“Uh-huh.” Mira with her icy suit and pretty legs wasn’t Eve’s picture of anybody’s grandma.
“I’d love for you to meet them.”
“Oh, well—”
“We’re having an informal cookout on Sunday. I’d very much enjoy it if you and Roarke could come. About two,” she said before Eve could think of a response.
“Sunday.” A little bubble of panic lodged in her throat. “I don’t know if he’s got anything going or not. I—”
“I’ll check with him.” There was a laugh in Mira’s eyes as she set her cup aside. “It’s just family. Nothing fancy. Now, I’d better let you get back to work.”
She walked to the door, opened it, and all but scooted Eve out. Then she leaned back on the door and laughed. It delighted her, absolutely, to see that slightly horrified and completely baffled expression on Eve’s face when confronted with the idea of a family cookout.
She checked the time, then hurried to her desk ’link. She’d just contact Roarke immediately and box Eve in before she could find an escape hatch.
Eve was still horrified, still baffled when she reached the Homicide Division again. Peabody leaped out of her cube and hot-footed after her. “Sir. Lieutenant. Dallas.”
“What do you do at a cookout?” Eve muttered. “Why are you cooking at all, much less out? It’s hot out. There are bugs. I don’t get it.”
“Dallas!”
“What?” Brows lowered, Eve spun around. “What is it?”
“I’ve got the customer lists. It took some fast talking, but I convinced the two outlets to give me the names of purchases, those on record, for the stationery found with Jacie Wooton.”
“Did you run the names?”
“Not yet. I just got them.”
“Let me have them. I’ve got to do something to get my brain back in gear.”
She snatched the disc out of Peabody’s hand and plugged it into her desk unit. “I don’t have a cup of coffee in my hand,” Eve commented as the names began to scroll. “And I’m sure I need it, immediately.”
“Yes, sir, you certainly do. Did you see? There’s a duchess and an earl, and Liva Holdreak, the actress, and—”
“The coffee isn’t in my hand. How can this be?”
“And Carmichael Smith, the international recording star, has a standing order for a box of a hundred sheets and envelopes, every six months.” As she spoke, Peabody put the mug into Eve’s outstretched hand. “His music’s too wanky for me, but he, himself? Totally iced.”
“I’m glad to know that, Peabody. It’s important for me to know he’s both wanky and iced should I arrest him for the murder of this very unfortunate LC. We need to keep these things in the forefront.”
“Just saying,” Peabody grumbled.
She scanned the names, shuffling those with only European residences on record to the bottom. She’d hit the ones with secondary residences in the States first.
“Carmichael Smith keeps an apartment on the Upper West Side. Holdreak has a U.S. residence, but it’s in New L.A. We’ll just drop her down a notch or two.”
She started a standard run, studying the names. “Mr. and Mrs. Elliot P. Hawthorne, Esquire. Ages seventy-eight and thirty-one, respectively. You wouldn’t think Elliot would be out cutting up LCs at his age. Married two years, third time around. Elliot likes them young, and I just bet he likes them stupid, too.”
“Doesn’t seem stupid to marry a rich old guy,” Peabody replied. “Calculating.”
“You can be stupid and calculating at the same time. Keeps houses in London, Cannes, New York, and Bimini. Made his money the old-fashioned way. Inherited it from his father. No criminal record, no nothing much. Still, we’ll see if he’s in New York at the moment. Could have servants, staff, assistants, crazy relatives hanging around him with access to his fancy paper.”
She continued on down. “Take the names, Peabody. See if you can find out if any of them are in New York.”
Would it be that easy? she wondered. Would he be that arrogant to leave something so easily traced back to him? Maybe, maybe. She’d still have to prove it, even if she targeted him through his fancy writing paper.
“Niles Renquist,” she stated. “Thirty-eight. Married, one child. Brit citizen with residences in London and New York. Currently chief of staff for the U.N. delegate from Britain, Marshall Evans. Got yourself digs on Sutton Place, don’t you, Niles. Fancy stuff. No criminal on you either, but you’re worth a look-see.”
She sipped coffee, thought vaguely about food.
“Pepper Franklin. What the hell kind of name is Pepper? Actress? Of course you are. Brit actress currently starring in Broadway revival of Uptown Lady. No criminal. Nothing but squeaky-clean on this list.”
It was a little depressing.
But she hit with Pepper Franklin’s cohabitation partner, Leo Fortney.
Sexual assault, indecent exposure, sexual battery.
“Bad boy,” Eve reprimanded. “Bad and busy boy.”
When Peabody came back, Eve already had her list in order of priority and was shrugging back into her jacket.
“Carmichael Smith, Elliot Hawthorne, Niles Renquist, and Pepper Franklin a
re all in New York, or reputed to be in New York at this time.”
“Suit up. We’re going to go pay some of our English friends a visit.” She started out. “Is the U.N. in session?”
“U.N.? As in United Nations?”
“No, U.N. as in Unidentified Numbskulls.”
“I recognize sarcasm when I hear it,” Peabody said with some dignity. “I’ll check on it.”
Chapter 3
It irritated her to jump through hoops. Every time she cleared one, there was another stack to hurdle. No amount of reason, demand, or threat got her through the maze of assistants, staffers, coordinators, and personal attendants to Carmichael Smith or Niles Renquist.
She was forced to settle for appointments the following day.
Which might have made her slightly less than diplomatic with the blonde touting herself as Mr. Fortney’s social secretary.
“This isn’t a social call. See this?” Eve all but pressed her badge to the woman’s nose. “This means I’m probably not feeling particularly sociable. This is what we NYPSD people like to call an official inquiry.”
The blonde set her face into stern lines and succeeded in looking like a cranky baby doll. “Mr. Fortney is very busy,” she said in an indignant lisp Eve just bet some brainless guy found sexy. “He can’t be disturbed.”
“If you don’t tell your boss that Lieutenant Dallas of the NYPSD is out here waiting to speak to him, everyone in this building’s going to be disturbed.”
“He’s unavailable.”
Eve had taken that line on Smith, who might very well have been at his health center having a complete physical workup. And she’d taken it on Renquist, who quite possibly had been in back-to-back meetings with various heads of state.
But she wasn’t taking it from some actress’s bimbo companion.
“Peabody,” she said without taking her eyes off the blonde, “call for an Illegals sweep. I believe I smell Zoner.”
“What are you talking about? That’s just silly.” Obviously incensed, the blonde danced on her four-inch platforms that had her impressive breasts bobbing like soccer balls. “You can’t do something like that.”
“Oh, I bet I can. And you know what happens sometimes, on an Illegals sweep? It leaks to the media. Especially when there’s a celebrity type involved. I bet Ms. Franklin’s going to be a little annoyed about that.”
“If you think you can intimidate me into—”
“Illegals team will be here within thirty, Lieutenant.” Peabody tried her cold cop voice. She’d been practicing. “You’re authorized to lock down the building.”
“Thank you, Officer. That was quick work. With me.”
“What?” The blonde clattered after her as Eve strode out of the office. “Where are you going? What are you doing?”
“I’m going to lock down. Once a sweep’s been authorized, no one is allowed to enter or leave the premises.”
“You can’t—Don’t.” She grabbed Eve’s arm.
“Oh-oh?” Eve paused enough to look at the lily-white hand with its baby pink nails that clutched her sleeve. “That might be construed as assaulting an officer, and an attempt to obstruct a police investigation. Since you seem a little dim to me, I’ll just cuff you instead of knocking you on your ass, then cuffing you.”
“I wasn’t!” The blonde dropped Eve’s arm as if it had burst into flame, and scrambled back. “I didn’t! Oh, damn it, okay, okay, o-kay! I’ll tell Leo.”
“Hmm. You know, Peabody.” Eve took another testing sniff of air. “I don’t think that’s Zoner after all.”
“I think you’re right, Lieutenant. I think it’s gardenia.” Peabody let the grin spread as the blonde rushed back into the office. “She must be dim if she thinks you can call for a sweep that way.”
“Dim or guilty. Bet she’s got a little goodie stash in here. Who did you call?” Eve asked.
“Weather. It’s hot, and it’s going to stay hot. In case you wondered.”
Chin up, the blonde stepped out again, and announced in her best lisp, “Mr. Fortney will see you now.”
Eve followed in the wake of the woman’s intense dislike.
Fortney was set up in one of the five office suites. The area appeared to have been decorated by the color-blind or the insane—possibly both—as even Eve’s casual sense of style was bombarded with the clashing colors and patterns that dominated walls, floors, ceiling.
Fortney’s space had taken it one step further by adding animal prints that ran rampant over the walls in a jungle madness of leopard spots, tiger stripes, and splotches of unknown wildlife. Clear tables fashioned of glossy plates atop oddly phallic columns were used as accents.
His desk was a larger version of the tables, with the penis-like columns painted a virulent red. He was pacing behind it as they entered, talking rapidly into a headset.
“We need to move on this within twenty-four. Up or down, no in between. I’ve got the outline, the projections, and the Q-factor. Let’s wrap it up.”
He gave a come-ahead gesture with a hand glittering with gold and silver bands.
While he continued to talk and pace, Eve sat in one of the tiger-striped chairs and studied him. He was posing for her, she had no doubt of it. So, she’d accommodate him.
He was artfully dressed in a tunic-jacket and pants, both the color of green grapes. His hair was a dark magenta, worn long and sleek around a narrow, deeply carved face. His eyes too closely matched the shade of his suit to be natural.
Like his fingers, his ears glittered with gold and silver bands.
About six two, Eve judged—with the heeled sandals—and well turned out for his type. Took his body seriously, she imagined, and enjoyed showing it off in fancy duds.
Since he was working hard to show her what a busy and important man he was, she assumed he was neither.
He removed the headset, smiled at her. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant Dennis. I’m just swamped today.”
“Dallas.”
“Dallas, of course, Dallas.” He made a little ha-ha sound and walked to a long counter, bent down to the minifriggie beneath. He continued to speak in his rapid-fire style, in a accentless tone that said West Coast to Eve. “It’s just madness around here, my mind’s going a thousand directions at once. Parched. Just parched. Drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He took out a bottle of something orange and frothy and poured it into a glass. “Suelee tells me you were very insistent about seeing me.”
“Suelee was very insistent I wouldn’t see you.”
“Well, ha-ha, just doing her job. Don’t know what I’d do without my Suelee guarding the gates.”
He beamed, sat in an I’m-a-busy-but-personable-son-of-a-bitch style on the edge of his horrible red desk. “You’d be amazed how many people try to get in to see me on any given day. Comes with the territory, of course. Actors, writers, directors.” He threw up a hand, waved it dramatically. “But I don’t often have an attractive policewoman looking for a meeting.”
His smile glittered, white and perfectly even. “So, tell me, what’ve you got? Play, vid, disc book? Cop drama’s cooled off recently, but there’s always room for a good story. The girl cop angle’s good. What’s your pitch?”
“Your whereabouts between midnight and three A.M. this morning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m primary on a homicide investigation. Your name’s come up. I’d like to know your whereabouts during the time frame I just gave you.”
“Murder? I don’t—Oooh!” With another laugh, he shook his head so his hair shook fashionably. “Interesting pitch. Let’s see, my first reaction would be what? Shock, insult, fear?”
“A licensed companion was brutally murdered early this morning in Chinatown. You can speed up this process, Mr. Fortney, by telling me where you were between midnight and three.”
He lowered his glass. “You’re serious?”
“Midnight and three, Mr. Fortney.”
�
�Well, my God. My God.” He laid his free hand on his heart, patted it there. “I was home, of course. Pepper comes straight home after the show. We tend to go to bed early during a run. It’s both physically and emotionally exhausting for her. People don’t understand the strain of performing, night after night, and how few reserves one has left after—”
“I’m not interested in where Ms. Franklin was,” Eve interrupted. Or in your stalling tactics, she thought. “Where were you?”
“Well, home, as I said.” His tone was a little testy now. “Pepper would have arrived by midnight, and she needs a bit of company and care after a show, so I always wait up to be there for her. We had a nightcap while she ran down, then we were tucked in before one, so she could get her beauty sleep. I can’t understand why you’d possibly question me. An LC, in Chinatown? What could that have to do with me?”
“Can anyone verify that you were home during the time frame?”
“Pepper, of course. Pepper. I was right there to greet her when she arrived home, just before midnight. And we were in bed, as I said, by one. She’s a very light sleeper. It comes from being so creative and sensitive. She’ll tell you she’d have known if I so much as stirred from the bed in the night.”
He took another drink, a longer one. “Who was this woman who was killed? Do I know her? I don’t use the services of companions. I do, naturally, know many people, from various walks. Certainly some actors and hopefuls might moonlight as LCs.”
“Jacie Wooton.”
“It means nothing to me. Nothing.” The color that had come into his face during his rambling alibi began to diminish. He shrugged, carelessly now. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been to Chinatown.”
“You bought stationery in London several months ago. Fifty sheets and envelopes, plain, cream-colored, unrecycled stock.”
“Did I? It’s certainly possible. I buy quite a lot of things. For myself, for Pepper, as gifts. What in the world does stationery have to do with anything?”
“It’s very expensive, very distinctive stock. It would be helpful if you could produce it.”
“Paper, bought months ago, in London?” He made his ha-ha sound again, but this time it carried annoyance. “For all I know it’s still in London. I think I should call my lawyer.”