by J. D. Robb
“How did you make that clear?”
“By telling her just that. We spoke in my office for perhaps ten minutes, and I sent her on her way. I requested that my admin inform Security, to make certain she’d left the building. Oh, there’s a record of her entering and exiting the building, and my office. Standard security measures. I took it upon myself to contact Captain Feeney of EDD, and ask that he personally retrieve those discs so that you have them for your files. I thought that would be best.”
“Good.” Peabody’s eyes went wide. “That’s good. Um, did you have contact with Ms. Lombard after she left your office on Friday?”
“None. The lieutenant and I spent the evening at home on Friday, and she and I hosted a large holiday party on Saturday at our home. We were quite busy throughout the day with preparations. There are also security discs for that period, as we had numerous outside contractors in our home. Captain Feeney will also retrieve those. And, of course, Saturday evening we were among more than two hundred and fifty friends, acquaintances, and business colleagues from approximately eight P.M. until after three in the morning. I’m happy to provide you with the guest list.”
“We appreciate it. Did you have any physical contact with Trudy Lombard, at any time?”
His voice remained neutral, but he allowed just a hint of disgust to show on his face. “I shook her hand when we met. That was quite enough.”
“Could you tell me why you and the lieutenant were at the West Side Hotel this morning?”
“We’d decided it would be best if the lieutenant spoke to Lombard face-to-face, to inform her that she—my wife—had no desire for further contact, and that neither of us intended to pay for the privilege of choice.”
Peabody nodded. “Thank you. Again, we appreciate your cooperation in this matter. Interview end.”
She heaved out a breath, went comically limp in her chair. “Thank God that’s over.”
He reached over to pat her hand. “How’d we do?”
“She’ll let us know, believe me, but my take? You were forthcoming, articulate, and gave the details. You’re alibied up to your gonads—Oh, sorry.”
“Not a problem, I like knowing that part of my anatomy is protected.” He glanced over as the door opened. “Now this one may bring out the rubber hoses. But I could learn to like it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d contacted Feeney?” Eve demanded.
“I believe I just did.”
“You could’ve—never mind. Peabody, let’s start those runs, and do a quick check of the other guests at the hotel. I’ll be a minute.”
“See you later,” Peabody said to Roarke.
“I’m going to—”
“Be a while.” Roarke finished Eve’s sentence. “I can find my way home.”
“It’s good you did this. Good it’s done and out of the way. She could’ve pushed a little harder, but she got the details, and that’s what counts.”
“All right, then. About what you owe me? I’ve got my price.”
She pursed her lips in thought. “We’ve probably got some rubber hoses in the basement somewhere.”
And he laughed. “There’s my girl. Go by Mira’s when you’re done.”
“I don’t know how long—”
“It won’t matter. Go talk to Mira, then come home to me.”
“Where else would I go?”
“The gifts? They’re in the boot of your car.”
“That’s trunk in the U. S. of A., mick-boy.”
“Right.” He grabbed her arms, yanked her forward, kissed her good and hard. “I’ll be waiting.”
He would, she thought. She had someone waiting for her, and that was her miracle.
At her desk with an oversized mug of black coffee, Eve studied the official data on Lombard, Bobby. Not Robert, she noted. He was two years her senior, the product of a legal cohab that had dissolved when he’d been two. His father, when she did a cross-run, was listed as Gruber, John, married since 2046, and residing in Toronto.
Bobby himself had graduated from business college and been employed at Plain Deal Real Estate from that time until eighteen months earlier, when he’d gone into partnership with a Densil K. Easton to form L and E Realtors, in Copper Cove, Texas. He’d married Kline, Zana, a year later.
No criminal.
Zana was twenty-eight, originally from Houston. No paternity listed on her record. She’d been, apparently, raised by her mother, who had died in a vehicular accident when Zana was twenty-four. She, too, had gone to a business college, and was listed as a C.P.A. One, Eve noted, who’d been employed by L and E Realtors almost from the onset.
So she moved to Copper Cove, and married the boss, Eve thought.
No criminal, no previous marriage or cohab.
Officially, they came off as what they seemed, she decided. A couple of simple, ordinary people who’d had some extreme bad luck.
Finally, she pulled up Trudy Lombard.
She skimmed over what she already knew, and lifted her eyebrows at the employment record.
She’d been a health care assistant, a receptionist in a manufacturing firm. She’d applied for professional mother status after the birth of her son, and had worked part-time—reporting an income just under the legal limit to retain that status.
Retail clerk, Eve scanned. Three different employers. Data cruncher, two employers. Domestic coordinator? What the hell was that? Whatever it was, it hadn’t lasted either.
She’d also lived in four different places, all in Texas, over a six-year period.
On the grift, Eve thought. That’s what the pattern told her. Run the game, wring it dry, move on.
She’d applied for, tested for, and been approved for foster parenting. Had applied and been granted the retention of full pro-mom status under the fostering waiver—make every penny count, Eve thought. Austin area, Eve noted, for a full year, before she’d moved again, applied again, been approved again.
Fourteen months in Beaumont, then another move, another application. Another approval.
“Itchy feet? You know what, Trudy, you bitch? I don’t think so. Then I came along, and look here, you pulled up stakes again three months after I went back inside. More applications, more approvals, and you just grifted your way around the big-ass state of Texas, taking the fostering fees, right up until Bobby graduated from college and your pro-mom status was up.”
She leaned back, considered.
Yeah, it could work. It was a good game. You’ve got your license and approval, in state. So you just move from location to location, pick up more kids, more fees. Child Services, busy agency. Always understaffed, underfunded. Bet they were pleased to have an experienced woman, a pro-mom, willing to take on some charges.
Trudy had settled in one place after her professional mother status elapsed, and she’d gone out of the fostering business. Kept close to her son, Eve mused. Another handful of short-term jobs. Not a lot of income for a woman who supposedly liked to shop, and had jewelry valuable enough, reportedly, to leave home when traveling.
Interesting, Eve thought. Interesting. And she’d bet a pound of real coffee beans that she hadn’t been the only child Trudy Lombard had traumatized.
8
SHE WISHED ROARKE HADN’T MADE HER FEEL obliged to go by the Miras. She was tired, and there was still a lot of work on her plate, a lot of thinking time to put in.
Now she’d have to visit. Sit around, drink something, make conversation. Exchange presents. The last always made her feel stupid, and she didn’t know why. People seemed to have this unstoppable need to give and receive stuff they could easily afford to go out and get for themselves anyway.
Now here she was, standing outside the pretty house in its pretty neighborhood. There was a holly wreath on the door. She knew holly when she saw it now, after her experience with the decorators. There were candles in the windows, pretty white lights glowing calm against the dark, and through one of those windows she could see the sparkle of a Christmas tre
e.
There would be presents under it, probably a considerable haul as Mira had grandchildren. She’d also learned that if one present wasn’t enough to give a spouse for the holiday, a half dozen didn’t come up to snuff for a kid.
She happened to know Peabody had already bought three—count them, three—presents for Mavis’s baby, and the kid wasn’t due to be born for over a month.
What the hell did you buy for a fetus, anyway? And why did nobody else think that was kind of creepy?
Roarke had shipped a damn cargo freighter of gifts to his relatives in Ireland.
And she was stalling. Just standing out in the cold and dark, stalling.
She shifted the packages under her arm, rang the bell.
It was Mira who answered moments later. Mira in her at-home wear, soft sweater, trim pants, bare feet.
“I’m so glad you came.”
Before Eve could speak, she was being drawn inside, into warm, pine- and cranberry-scented air. There was music playing, something quiet and seasonal, and more candles flickering.
“Sorry it’s so late.”
“It doesn’t matter. Come into the living room, let me take your coat.”
“I’ve got these things. Just some things I picked up.”
“Thank you. Just sit. I’m going to get you some wine.”
“I don’t want to hold you up from—”
“Please. Sit.”
She laid the gifts on the coffee table beside a big silver bowl full of pine cones and red berries.
She’d been right about the mountain of gifts, Eve noted. There had to be a hundred packages under the tree. How many was that each? she wondered. How many of the Miras were there, anyway? They were kind of a horde. Might be almost twenty of them altogether, so . . .
She got to her feet as Dennis Mira strolled in.
“Sit, sit, sit. Charlie said you were here. Just came in to see you. Wonderful party last night.”
He was wearing a cardigan. Something about the scruffy look of it with one of its buttons dangling from a loose thread turned her heart to mush.
He smiled, and since she continued to stand, walked to stand beside her and turned that dreamy smile toward the tree. “Charlie won’t go for fake. Every year I tell her we ought to buy a replica, and every year she says no. I’m always glad.”
He stunned Eve by draping an arm over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Nothing ever seems too bad, too hard or too sad when you’ve got a Christmas tree in the living room. All those presents under it, all that anticipation. Just a way of saying there’s always light and hope in the world. And you’re lucky enough to have a family to share it with.”
Her throat had snapped shut. She found herself doing something she’d never have believed, and even as she did it, she couldn’t see herself doing it.
She turned into him, pressed her face to his shoulder, and wept.
He didn’t seem the least surprised, and only stroked and patted her back. “There now. That’s all right, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day.”
She hitched in a breath, drew away, appalled. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s . . . I should go.”
But he had her hand. However soft and sweet he appeared, he had a grip like iron. “You just sit down here. I’ve got a handkerchief. I think.” He began patting his pockets, digging into them with that vague and baffled expression.
It settled her more than a soother. She laughed, rubbed her face dry. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. I really need to—”
“Have some wine,” Mira said, and crossed the room with a tray.
As it was obvious she’d seen the outburst, Eve’s embarrassment only increased.
“I’m a little off, that’s all.”
“Hardly a wonder.” Mira set the tray down, picked up one of the glasses. “Sit down and relax. I’d like to open my present, if that’s all right.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Um . . .” She picked up Dennis’s gift. “I came across this, thought you might be able to use it.”
He beamed like a ten-year-old who’d just found a shiny red airbike under the tree. And the twinkle didn’t fade when he drew out the scarf. “Look at this, Charlie. This ought to keep me warm when I take my walks.”
“And it looks just like you. And, oh! Look at this.” Mira lifted out the antique teapot. “It’s gorgeous. Violets,” she murmured, tracing a finger over the tiny painted flowers that twined around the white china pot. “I love violets.”
She actually cooed over it, Eve realized, as some women tended to do over small, drooling babies.
“I figured you’re into tea, so—”
“I love it. I absolutely love it.” Mira rose, rushed over and kissed Eve on both cheeks. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“I think I’m going to try my gift out right now, have myself a little walk.” Dennis rose. He walked over, bent down to Eve, tapped her chin. “You’re a good girl and a smart woman. Talk to Charlie.”
“I didn’t mean to run him off,” Eve said after Dennis left the room.
“You didn’t. Dennis is as astute as he is absentminded, and he knew we needed a little time alone. Will you open your gift?” She took a box from the tray, held it out to Eve.
“It’s pretty.” She never knew the right thing to say, but that seemed appropriate when holding a box wrapped in silver and gold and topped by a big red bow.
She wasn’t sure what it was—something round, with open scrollwork and small glittering stones. As it was on a chain her first thought was that it was some sort of necklace, though the disk was wider than her palm.
“Relax,” Mira said with a laugh. “It’s not jewelry. No one could compete with Roarke in that area. It’s a kind of sun catcher, something you might hang at the window. In your office, I thought.”
“It’s pretty,” Eve said again, and looking closer, made out a pattern in the scrollwork. “Celtic? Sort of like what’s on my wedding ring.”
“Yes. Though my daughter tells me the symbol on your ring is for protection. This one, and the stones with it, are to promote peace of mind. It’s been blessed—I hope you’re all right with that—by my daughter.”
“Tell her I appreciate it. Thanks. I’ll hang it in my office window. Maybe it’ll work.”
“You don’t catch much of a break, do you?” Roarke had filled Mira in on the afternoon’s work.
“I don’t know.” She studied the disk, ran her thumb over it. “I guess I was feeling sorry for myself, before, when Dennis put his arm around me. Standing there with him, looking at the tree, the way he is, the way the house smells, and the lights. I thought, I just thought if once—just once—I’d had someone like him . . . Just once. Well, I didn’t. That’s all.”
“No, you didn’t, and that shame lies in the system. Not in you.”
Eve lifted her gaze, steadied herself again. “Wherever, it’s the way it was. Now Trudy Lombard’s dead, and she shouldn’t be. I had to have my partner interview my husband. I have to be prepared to answer personal questions, put those answers on record if they apply to the investigation. I have to remember what it was like with her, because knowing her helps me know her killer. I have to do that when, a few days ago, if you’d asked me, I could barely remember her name. I can do that,” Eve said, fiercely now. “I’m good at pushing it out, shoving it down. And I hate when it jumps up and kicks me in the face. Because she’s nothing, nothing to who I am now.”
“Of course, she is. Everyone who touched your life had a part in forming it.” Mira’s voice was as soft as the music that wafted through the air, and as implacable as iron. “You overcame people like her. You didn’t have a Dennis Mira, bless him. You didn’t have the simplicity of home and family. You had obstacles and pain and horrors. And you overcame them. That’s your gift, Eve, and your burden.”
“I fell apart when I first saw her in my office. I just crumbled.”
“Then you picked yourself up and went on.”
>
Eve let her head fall back. Roarke had been right—again. She’d needed to come here, to say it out loud to someone she trusted. “She made me feel afraid, sick with fear. As if just by being there, she could drag me back. And it wasn’t even me she cared about. If I wasn’t hooked to Roarke, she wouldn’t have given me a second thought. Why does that bother me?” She closed her eyes.
“Because it’s hard not to matter, even to someone you dislike.”
“I guess it is. She wouldn’t have come here. Not much to squeeze out of a cop, unless that cop happens to be married to billions.”
She opened her eyes now, gave Mira a puzzled look. “He has billions. Do you ever think of that?”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes, this kind of time, and I can’t really get a handle on it. I don’t even know how many zeros that is because my brain goes fuzzy. And I don’t know the number that goes ahead of them because once you have all those zeros it’s just ridiculous anyway. She tried to shake him down.”
“Yes, he gave me the basics. I’m sure he handled it appropriately. Would you have wanted him to pay her off?”
“No.” Her eyes went hot. “Not one cent out of the billions. She used to tell me I didn’t have a mother or a father because I was so stupid that they’d tossed me away because I wasn’t worth the trouble.”
Mira lifted her wine, sipped, to give herself a chance to push back her own anger. “She should never have passed the screening. You know that.”
“She was smart. I look back now, and I see she was smart, the way you have to be to run long cons or quick scams successfully. She played the system, figured the ins and outs. I think, well, you’re the head doctor, but I think she believed her own bullshit. You have to believe the lie to live it, to make others see you the way you need to be seen.”
“Very possibly,” Mira agreed. “To have lived it for so long.”
“She had to figure she deserved the money, had earned it. Had to believe she’d worked and sacrificed, and given me a home out of her humanitarian nature, and now, hey, how about a little something for old times’ sake? She was a player,” Eve said, half to herself. “She was a player, so maybe she played too deep with somebody. I don’t know.”