Imitation in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Yes.”

  “You support her, financially.”

  “As long as she’s taken care of, she stays away, and out of my life. She’s smart enough to know that coming forward, selling her story, might net her some quick money, but it would kill the golden goose. If my income suffers, so does hers. I explained this to her, very carefully, before the first payment was made.”

  “Your relationship with your mother is adversarial.”

  “We don’t have a relationship. I prefer not to think of the connection. It unbalances my chi.”

  “Jacie Wooton was an LC.”

  “Who?”

  “Wooton. The woman who was murdered in Chinatown.”

  “It has nothing to do with me.” More composed now, he waved it all away with his uninjured hand. “I also choose not to dwell on the darker shades of the world.”

  “A second woman was murdered on Sunday. The mother of a grown son.”

  He flashed her a look now, and there was a hint of fear in it. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me, either. I survived violence. I don’t perpetuate it.”

  “Victims of abuse often become abusive. Children who were beaten often become violent adults. Sometimes a killer is born, sometimes he is made. A woman hurt you, a woman who had control over you, authority over you. She hurt you for years when you were helpless to stop her. How do you make her pay for that pain, for that humiliation, for all the years you lived in fear?”

  “I don’t! She’ll never pay. Her type never pays. She wins, again and again. Every time I send her money, she wins again.” Tears tracked down his cheeks now. “She wins because you’re standing there pushing her into my head again. My life is not an illusion because I made it. I created it. I won’t let you come into it and try to shatter it, to smear it.”

  Empathy rolled into her stomach. His words, the passion behind them, could have been her own. “You have a home here, and one in London.”

  “Yes, yes, yes! What of it?” He jerked his hand, and glanced down at the tug of Peabody’s. When his gaze landed on the bloody cloth, his face went white as bone.

  “Go away. Can’t you go away?”

  “Tell me where you were Sunday morning.”

  “I don’t know. How can I remember everything? I have people to take care of me. I’m entitled to be taken care of. I give pleasure. I take pleasure. I deserve it.”

  “Sunday morning, Carmichael, between eight and noon.”

  “Here. Right here. Sleeping, meditating, detoxifying. I can’t live with stress. I need my quiet times.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I’m never alone. She’s in every closet, under every bed, waiting in the next room to strike out. I lock her away, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t waiting.”

  She hurt, looking at him. Understanding the words, she hurt. “Did you leave the house on Sunday morning?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you know Lois Gregg?”

  “I know so many people. So many women. They love me. Women love me because I’m perfect. Because I don’t threaten them. Because they don’t know that I know what they are under it all.”

  “Did you kill Lois Gregg?”

  “I have nothing more to say to you. I’m going to call my attorneys now. I want you to leave my home. Li!” He put his injured hand behind his back as he rose, swaying a little. He stepped carefully to the side, away from the blood-smeared towel.

  “Li, make them go away,” he ordered, as she hurried into the room again. “Make them leave. I have to lie down now. I don’t feel well. I need my quiet room.”

  “There now, there.” Cooing, she put an arm around his waist, took his weight. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry. Poor baby. Don’t you worry.”

  She shot a vicious look at Eve over her shoulder as she led Smith from the room. “I want you gone when I get back. If not, your superior will hear about this.”

  Eve pursed her lips, listening to Li’s voice fade as she cooed Smith away.

  “Guy’s got some serious problems,” Peabody commented.

  “Yeah. Maybe he thinks he can cover it up with meditation, herb drinks, and mind-numbing music.” Eve shrugged. “Maybe he can. He couldn’t look at the blood,” she added, studying the towel. “Made him sick to see blood. Hard to do what was done to those two women if blood makes you sick. Then again, maybe it’s just the sight of his own blood that does it.”

  She checked the time as they left the house. “We’re running a little early.”

  “Yeah?” Peabody perked right up. “Then maybe we could hit a cart, or a 24/7. I missed breakfast.”

  “Not that early.” When Peabody’s face fell, Eve sighed. “You know I hate that kicked puppy look. Whatever we pass first. And you have one minute to do the transaction, which will include getting me coffee.”

  “Deal.”

  They hit a cart, so Peabody settled for a scrambled egg wrap that Eve assumed tasted better than it smelled. The coffee didn’t but that was par. “We’re going to talk to Breen’s wife. I got a hassle when I called her office for her schedule, so I pulled in the reserves.”

  Peabody’s response was an egg-substitute–filled mumble. She swallowed. “I’m supposed to arrange the appointments.”

  “You’re going to bitch because I cut you a break?”

  “No.” But she had to fight the pout. “I don’t want you to think I can’t fulfill my duties because I’ve got all this stuff going on.”

  “If I have a complaint about your work, Peabody, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “That’s a given,” Peabody muttered and took a slug of her orange-flavored energy drink. “You said reserves?”

  “Julietta does fashion. I happen to know somebody in the fashion forefront. Ms. Gates’s schedule miraculously cleared when she got a call from Leonardo’s main squeeze.”

  “You tagged Mavis. Mag.”

  “It’s not a girl outing, Peabody, it’s a murder investigation.”

  “Silver linings, sir. I like a nice silver lining.” Peabody washed down egg substitute with reconstituted citrus product. “I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to be neighbors. At least until she has the baby. I guess they’re going to want a bigger place.”

  “Why? How much room could a baby take up?”

  “It’s not the baby so much, it’s all the stuff. You got your crib, your changing table, your activity center, your diaper unit, your—”

  “Never mind. Jeez.” It gave her the mild weirds just to think about it.

  “It was really smart to horn in using Mavis.”

  “I have my moments.”

  “Of course, you could’ve just told them you were Mrs. Roarke, and they’d have bowed to you.”

  “I don’t want them to bow to me, I just want a damn interview. And don’t call me Mrs. Roarke.”

  “Just saying.” Cheerful now, Peabody polished off the wrap. “Boy, nothing like a good breakfast to lift your mood. It’s not such a big deal, getting a place with McNab. It’s just another step in an evolving relationship. Right?”

  “How the hell do I know?”

  Fastidiously, Peabody dug out a wipe for her fingers, and made a mental note to replace the bloody handkerchief she’d left at Smith’s. “Well, when you moved in with Roarke you didn’t get all stupid and nervous and knotted up.”

  There was a long pause, a long silence.

  “You did?” Peabody’s head thunked back on the seat. “That’s so great. It makes me feel so much better. If you can get all screwed up over moving in with the god of men, into that palace, it’s okay for me to get wigged about moving to an apartment with McNab. It’s okay.”

  “Now that we’ve solved that thorny dilemma, maybe we can concentrate on the case.”

  “I just have one more question. When did you get over it? I mean, how long did it take for you to feel normal about hooking up with Roarke—living in the same space and all that?”

  “I’ll l
et you know when it happens.”

  “Wow. That’s . . .” She thought it over, and a dreamy smile bloomed on her face. “That’s sweet.”

  “Please shut up before I have to hurt you.”

  “Dallas, you said please. You’re mellowing.”

  “Insults,” Eve grumbled. “All I get are insults. Mrs. Roarke, sweet, mellowing. We’ll see how mellow I am when I stuff your head up your ass.”

  “And she’s back,” Peabody announced, and rode in contented silence.

  You could always count on Mavis, Eve thought. For a favor, for a laugh, for a shoulder. And most of all for sheer surprise.

  Being four months pregnant hadn’t depleted her energy or affected her bent for fashion risks. At least Eve assumed they were risks as nobody, absolutely nobody, looked quite like Mavis Freestone.

  She’d gone for summer pastels, for her hair in any case, and had swooped it up in some sort of snaky twists that twined gleaming hunks of blue and pink and greens together. They were anchored here and there with lavender pins in the shapes of what Eve took for tiny flowers, until she got a closer look and realized they were naked babies curled into the embryonic position.

  Talk about the weirds.

  A dozen thin chains of gold and silver dangled from each ear. On each chain, colorful balls hung that clanged together every time she moved. Which meant constantly.

  Her tiny body was decked out in a skirt the size of a table napkin, matched with a swingy vest, both in white, and both covered with tiny question marks that echoed the hues of her hair. She wore shoes with one clear strap. The thick soles and clunky heels were filled with more little balls that jingled with each step. Her toenails were painted in every color of the rainbow.

  For Mavis, it was business attire.

  “This is absolutely magalicious,” Mavis claimed. “Outre is like the cutting edge. It was my bible of style before I met my honeybear. I still go through it every month, but now I never have to think how I’m going to afford all the friggin’ clothes. Leonardo is the ult.”

  “I need five minutes with her.”

  “It’s a dunk, Dallas. If she could’ve kissed my ass over the ’link, I’d have lip dye smears on my butt. Just watch.”

  They crossed the wide lobby. It was done in sharp geometric patterns of white, red, and black. Fanning out from the central data desk were pathways that led to boutiques, a fancy café, and a home decor center.

  Between them on the walls were screens on which elongated models walked runways in outfits that might have been designed by a mental patient on Pluto.

  “Fall fashion shows,” Mavis told her. “New York, Milan, Paris, and London.” She let out a squeal and pointed. “See that? That’s my babycakes’s designs. Nobody comes close.”

  Eve studied the ensemble of skintight red stripes that boasted an explosion of gold tail feathers and a transparent skirt that glowed with little white lights at the hem.

  How could she argue?

  Mavis marched by the data center to the security station that guarded a bank of glossy red elevators. “Mavis Freestone to see Julietta Gates.”

  “Yes, Ms. Freestone, you’re to go right up to thirty. Someone will meet you.” The guard’s hand came up to stop Eve and Peabody. “Only Ms. Freestone is cleared for thirty.”

  “You don’t really think I travel alone, do you?” Mavis spoke in icy tones before Eve could work up a snarl. “If my entourage isn’t welcome, neither am I.”

  “I beg your pardon, Ms. Freestone. I just need to check upstairs.”

  “Quickly.” Mavis shot her little nose in the air. “I’m a very busy woman.”

  She made a show out of tapping her foot, examining her nails in the twenty seconds it took the guard to clear them.

  “You and your entourage are cleared for thirty. Thank you for your patience.”

  Mavis maintained the diva mode until the elevator doors shut behind them. “Subzero! I could eat that with a spoon. ‘You and your entourage are cleared for thirty.’ Is that hot shit, or what?”

  She did a quick butt-wiggling dance, then patted her belly. “I only said entourage because I thought you might punch him.”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “I’m keeping the baby away from displays of violence. Not even watching much screen. I heard how serenity and positive energy’s really good for brewing babies.”

  With some trepidation, Eve glanced down at Mavis’s belly. Could the thing hear in there? “I’ll try not to punch anybody when you’re around.”

  “That’d be good.” Mavis shut off her beaming smile as the doors opened. The diva was back. She lifted her eyebrows at the woman who waited for them.

  “Ms. Freestone, such a pleasure to meet you. I’m an enormous fan of yours, and of Leonardo’s, of course.”

  “Of course.” Mavis extended a hand.

  “If you’ll just come with me, Ms. Gates is very anxious to see you.”

  “I dig this to China,” Mavis said out of the corner of her mouth as they walked through another generous lobby.

  In this one, clear cubes were set up for busy drones. Headsets and keyboards were fully manned by a troop that had obviously watched the fashion shows and tried to outdo them.

  The space once again fanned out, and at the far curve were double doors in what Eve now assumed was Outre’s signature murder red.

  Their escort hurried along in a skirt snug as a bandage, on heels sharp as scalpels. She pressed a button at the center of the left door. Seconds later, a brisk impatient voice snapped: “Yes.”

  “Ms. Freestone is here to see you, Ms. Gates.”

  Rather than a response, the doors slid back into the wall, revealing an enormous office, ribboned with privacy-screened windows.

  The black-and-white theme continued here. Black carpet, white walls, a massive white workstation. Wide chairs were covered in thin black-and-white stripes.

  The red came from the scarlet roses massed in a tall black vase, and from the sharp, powerful business suit that decked Julietta’s impressive body.

  She was tall, curvy with a simple sweep of honey blonde hair that swung around a diamond-shaped face. Keen cheekbones, keen chin, keen nose, with a mouth just a shade too thin for beauty. But the eyes, a deep, deep brown, pulled the attention away from the minor flaw.

  She was crossing the room as the doors opened, her hand extended, a delighted expression on her face. “Mavis Freestone, what a pleasure. I’m so glad you got in touch. I’ve been wanting to meet you for the longest time! Of course, I’ve known Leonardo forever. He’s such a sweetheart.”

  “He’s certainly mine.”

  “Please, sit down. What can I offer you? Iced coffee perhaps?”

  “I’m dodging caffeine these days.” Mavis remained standing, patted her belly.

  “Yes, of course. Congratulations. When are you due?”

  “February.”

  “What a nice Valentine’s present.” Ignoring Eve and Peabody, she drew Mavis toward a chair. “Get off your feet, and we’ll have a cold, sparkling juice.”

  “We’d love one. Got time for a drink, Dallas?”

  “I can make time, since Ms. Gates found an opening in her busy calendar.” Resting an arm on the back of Mavis’s chair, Eve cocked her hip. “My questions shouldn’t take long.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” Eve took out her badge. “My aide, Officer Peabody. Now that we all know each other, and we’re all cozy, maybe you could answer some questions.”

  “I repeat”—Julietta walked around her desk to assume a position of command—“I don’t understand. I agreed to see Ms. Freestone. We’d very much like to do a major article on you, Mavis, with a photo layout.”

  “Sure, we can talk about that. After Dallas is done. Dallas and I go way back,” she added with a wonderfully guileless smile. “When she mentioned she was having trouble getting an interview, I said I was sure it was just a communication glitz, a
nd you’d make time. Supporting our local police is a really important issue with me and Leonardo.”

  “Cleverly done,” Julietta replied.

  “I thought so.” Eve stayed on her feet as Julietta sat down. “If you’re not comfortable, I’m sure Mavis wouldn’t mind waiting outside the office until we’re finished.”

  “No need for that.” Julietta leaned back, swiveled in her chair. “You’ve already spoken to Tom. I don’t know what I can possibly add. I don’t get involved in his work, and he doesn’t get involved in mine.”

  “How about each other’s lives?”

  Her tone remained perfectly pleasant. “Which area of our lives do you have in mind?”

  “When was the last time you were in London?”

  “London?” Her brow creased. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Humor me.”

  “I was there a few weeks ago on business.” With the annoyance still creased between her eyebrows, she picked up a small pocket calendar, keyed in for the date. “July eight and nine and ten.”

  “Alone?”

  There was a quick flicker in her eyes before she set the calendar down. “Yes, why?”

  “Your husband ever go over with you?”

  “We went in April. Tom thought the experience would be fun for Jed. I had business, and he wanted to do some research. We took an extra two days for a family holiday.”

  “Buy any souvenirs?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I guess you travel to Europe pretty regularly,” Eve said, changing tack. “For your business.”

  “I do. For fashion shows, for events, to meet with my counterparts in our European offices. Just what does this have to do with Tom helping you in an investigation?”

  “It’s part of my investigation.”

  “I don’t—” She broke off when her pocket ’link rang. “Excuse me, that’s my private line. I need to get this.”

  She shifted it to privacy mode, slid on a miniheadset, and angled away so Eve couldn’t see the ’link’s view screen.

  “Julietta Gates. Yes.”

  Her voice warmed, several degrees, and that just-a-little-too-thin mouth tipped up in a smile.