The In Death Collection, Books 21-25

by J. D. Robb

  “It lit up.” She had to hold herself back from doing a victory dance. “Blood on the bedroom carpet, bathroom floor, shower of the empty room at the time in question. They haven’t typed it yet, but it’s going to be Trudy’s.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Haven’t bagged her yet, but I will. Even better than the blood, so much better—neither Zana nor Housekeeping did what you could call a thorough cleaning job. I’ve got a print on the inside windowsill. And it’s hers. Another on the door leading to the hall.”

  “Pays to be thorough, or in her case, it doesn’t pay not to be.”

  “Yeah, you got that. Didn’t think that far ahead. Didn’t think we’d look there. Why bother when she’d left that nice blood trail leading down the emergency escape?”

  “And now?”

  “Now I dodge the laser stream of hassling with store clerks the day after Christmas.” Now she did do a quick dance. “The prints are going to be enough to get me a search warrant. Enough for me to bring her into Interview. I just want to check on a couple other things first, settle on my initial approach.”

  “Busy day for you.”

  “I’m ready for one. I’m going to start out here, where it’s quiet. Peabody’s not due in for a few hours anyway.”

  “I’ll leave you to it. I need to go.” But he crossed to her first, cupped her chin to kiss her. “It was nice having you to myself for a couple of days.”

  “Nice being had.”

  “Remember that, because I’m going to wheedle you into a few days away. Sun, sand, sea.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a hardship.”

  “Why don’t you mark down January second, then. We’ll make it work.”

  “Okay.”

  He started out, stopped at the door. “Eve? Will you ask her why? Does it matter?”

  “I’ll ask. It always matters.”

  Alone, she brought up the data and images on all former fosters. Once again, she looked for any connection between them. A school, a job, a case worker, a teacher. But there was only Trudy at the core of it.

  “One dead,” she said softly. “Everyone else alive and accounted for.”

  So she worked with the dead.

  Ralston, Marnie, mother deceased, father unknown. Just, she thought, as Zana’s records listed her mother deceased, with father unknown. It was smart to keep data close to the truth when switching IDs.

  She ordered Marnie’s files on-screen.

  Diverse juvenile record, Eve noted. Shoplifting, petty thefts, vandalism, malicious mischief, possession. Raised those stakes to grand theft auto at the tender age of fifteen.

  Psychiatric eval claimed recalcitrant, pathological liar with sociopathic tendencies. Strong IQ.

  She read the psychiatrist’s notes.

  Subject is extremely bright, clever. Enjoys pitching her wits against authority. She is an organized thinker who excels at becoming what she believes is most expedient to her goals.

  “That’s my girl,” Eve murmured.

  While she can and does appear cooperative for periods of time, this has proved to be a deliberate and conscious adjustment of behavior. Though she understands right from wrong, she chooses whatever course she believes will gain her the most, i.e., attention, privileges. Her need to deceive is twofold: One, for gain. Two, to illustrate her superiority over those in authority, which would be rooted in her history of abuse and neglect.

  “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe she just likes lying.” People like lying to cops, she remembered. For some, it was almost knee-jerk.

  Eve brought up the history, including the medical.

  Broken hand, broken nose, contusions, lacerations. Black eyes, concussions. All of which, according to reports—medical, police, child protection—were eventually hung on the mother. Mother did time, kid was tossed into the system. Landed in Trudy’s lap.

  But those injuries had been suffered before the psychiatric report. Before the worst of the criminal offenses. And Marnie Ralston had spent nearly a year with Trudy from the age of twelve to thirteen.

  Ran away, eluded authorities for nearly two years before the pop on GTA. Yeah, yeah, clever girl. A young girl had to be smart, resourceful, and just plain lucky to last on the streets that long.

  And when they’d snapped her up, the clever girl—despite the shrink’s findings—was placed in another foster home. Ran off weeks later, and stayed underground until turning eighteen.

  Kept out of trouble—or off the radar, Eve noted. Several short-term employments. Stripping, dancing, club work, bar work.

  Then, according to the records, boom.

  “I just don’t think so.”

  Eve brought up the last known ID image of Marnie Ralston, split-screened it with Zana’s. Brown hair on Marnie, worn short and straight, she mused. And there was a hard look to her, a kind of edge that said she’d been there and done it, and wouldn’t mind doing it all again.

  She toyed with the idea of calling in Yancy or another police artist, but decided to fiddle awhile on her own.

  “Computer, magnify eyes only, both images.”

  When the task was complete, she sat back, studied. The eye color was nearly the same—and any variant could be attributed to fluctuations in the imaging, or the subject’s enhancements. The shape was different. Downturned on Marnie, wide, more rounded on Zana’s.

  She tried the eyebrows—more of an arch on Zana’s. The nose—more narrow, slight uptilt.

  Was it reaching, she thought, to see those changes as improvements? The sort a vain woman might pay for if she believed they’d make her more attractive? Especially one who might want to change her appearance for other reasons?

  But when she tried the mouths, her own curved up. “Oh, now, I guess you liked your lips. Computer, run comparison of current images. Are they a match?”

  Working . . . Current images are a match.

  “Changed your hair, your eyes, your nose. Planed down the cheeks, but you left your mouth alone. Put on a few pounds,” she said aloud as she checked height and weight. “Softened yourself up. But you couldn’t do anything about your height.”

  She wrote it up, exactly as she saw it, listed all supporting evidence. She was going personally to the PA, to a judge, and pressing for the warrants.

  Her ’link signalled on her way down the steps. “Dallas, talk fast.”

  “Hey, I’m back, I’m here. You’re not. We had—”

  “Contact the PA’s office,” she interrupted Peabody’s cheerful greeting. “Get Reo if you can. She’s their golden girl right now.”

  “What—”

  “I need a consult ASAP, and their recommendation for a judge who’ll be most apt to sign a couple of warrants.”

  “For who? For what?”

  “For Zana. Search of the hotel room, her belongings. Suspicion of murder, suspicion of attempted murder. That’ll start the ball.”

  “Zana? But—”

  “Do it, Peabody.” She grabbed her coat from the newel post, swung it on as she walked by Summerset. “I’ll run the game for the PA. You want to catch up, read the reports I sent to your desk unit. I’ve got to run this by the commander. I’m on my way in.”

  “Jeez, every time I take a day off, something happens.”

  “Get it moving. I want her in Interview this morning.”

  She disconnected. Her car was, like her coat, already waiting. At the moment, she decided she was just juiced enough to be grateful for Summerset’s annoying efficiency.

  Her blood was up. Maybe it was running hotter than it should, but she’d analyze that later. Right now she knew she was on track. She’d have surprise on her side; something she thought she could use with an opponent like Zana. Like Marnie, she corrected. It was time to start thinking of her by that name.

  She was going to close this down, then it would be over. Something she would set aside and forget. Trudy Lombard and all those awful months, locked away again where they belonged.

  And when it was done, she
thought, as she slid into traffic, sure, she’d take a few days off with Roarke. Go to their island, run around naked as monkeys, screw each other brainless in the sand. Grab some sun and surf and gear up for the long, cold winter to come.

  Her ’link signalled again. “Dallas, what?”

  “Hey, hi! Did you have a magolicious Christmas?”

  “Mavis.” Eve had to switch her mind, do a mental one-eighty. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m heading to work. Why don’t I tag you later?”

  “Okay, no prob. Just mostly wanted to be sure you and Roarke remember the coaching classes. Coming up in a couple weeks.”

  “No, I remember.” The horror of it was etched on her mind like laser art on glass.

  “Leonardo and I can go with you, if you want. Have some dinner or whatever after.”

  “Um. Sure. Sure. Ah, isn’t this a little early for you to be awake?”

  “Baby gets me up early. I guess it’s good practice. Look, look what my honey pie made me with his own two hands!”

  She held up some sort of short, footed thing—a kind of miniature skinsuit, Eve decided, in bloody-murder red with a lot of silver hearts and squiggles on it.

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  “Because the baby’ll be here before Valentine’s Day. We’re getting so close. What do you think of Berry?”

  “What kind of berry?”

  “No, for a name, because the baby will be like our sweet little berry, and it could go for a boy or a girl.”

  “Fine, as long as it doesn’t mind being called Blueberry or Huckleberry or Boysenberry once it hits school-age.”

  “Oh, yeah. Ick. Well, we’ll keep thinking. Catch you later.”

  Imagining an enormous piece of fruit with eyes and legs inside her friend’s belly, Eve shuddered. To get rid of it, she contacted Whitney’s office.

  “Commander,” she began when she was put through, “I’ve had a break in the Lombard homicide.”

  She took the elevator straight up from the garage, taking on the body jam for the sake of speed. She wanted to move now, move fast. It must’ve shown on her face, as Peabody jumped up from her desk the minute Eve came into the bull pen.

  “Sir. Reo’s on her way. I shot her the data, up to current, so she’d have a sense before you spoke with her. Aw, you’re wearing the sweater I made you.”

  Baffled for a moment, Eve looked down. She’d been too distracted that morning to pay attention to something like wardrobe. But saw now she was wearing Peabody’s sweater.

  “Ah . . . it’s warm, but light. I like it. It’s . . . You made it?”

  “Yeah. Both of them—Roarke’s, too. And I made this really mag jacket for McNab. Worked on that up at Mavis’s, so he wouldn’t catch on. Been awhile since I did any serious weaving.”

  She reached out to fiddle with Eve’s sleeve. “McNab sprang for the material, and we worked on the colors together. It looks good.”

  Momentarily baffled, Eve looked down at the sweater, soft and warm and in shades of heathery blue. “It’s great.” She didn’t think anyone had ever made her a sweater, or much of anything else for that matter. Leonardo didn’t count, she decided. It was his business.

  “It’s really great,” she added. “Thanks.”

  “We wanted to do something unique, you know? Because you guys are. And personal. So I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do.” Or did now that she knew it was Peabody’s own work. Before that, it had just been a sweater.

  “Baxter, Trueheart. With me.” She headed into her office. It was too small for the four of them, but she didn’t want to take time to book a conference room.

  “I’m working on warrants. Zana Lombard.”

  “The Texas housewife?” Baxter interrupted.

  “The Texas housewife, who I believe I can prove was once fostered by Trudy Lombard. Who changed her identity for the purpose—at least in part—of ingratiating herself with the victim’s son in order to exact revenge on the mother. I want this bumping, so when those warrants come through, I’m having the subject escorted here. Ostensibly to go over her statements, update her, blah, blah. Once her hotel room’s clear, I want you in there. Here’s what I’m looking for.”

  She took out a disc. “Descriptions here of a handbag, perfume, a sweater, and some enhancements purchased by the victim. I think Zana, who is in actuality one Marnie Ralston, helped herself to them after she killed Trudy Lombard. Find them, and let me know when you do.

  “Peabody.”

  “We’re rolling.”

  “Contact the investigators of the Miami bombing. Club Zed, spring of 2055. Data’s in the file. I want to know exactly how body was ID’d. Exactly. Send Reo through when she gets here.”

  “She pushed him into the street,” Baxter said. “That’s why we didn’t see anybody tailing them, didn’t see anyone approach. She did it herself.”

  “That’s what I get.” She saw, too, both relief and anger wash over his face. “And what happened there’s on me because I didn’t see that step. Find those goods, and anything else that puts her with Trudy the night of the murder.”

  She shoved them out, shut her door. Sitting at her desk, she took a moment to smooth herself out, then contacted Zana at the hotel.

  “Hey, sorry. I woke you up.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not sleeping very well. Gosh, it’s after nine.” She rubbed her eyes like a child. “I think Bobby’s going to get out of the hospital this afternoon. It may not be until tomorrow, but I’m hoping for today. They’re going to call me, so I can have everything ready for him.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “The best. We had a really nice Christmas.” She said it, Eve noted, with the tone of a brave little wife, making the best of the bad. “I hope you did, too.”

  “Yeah, really nice. Listen, Zana, I hate to put you out, but I need to go over some things with you for reports. Paperwork, routine red tape that got bogged down with the holidays. It would really help me out if you could come down here. I’m buried under it. I can have you driven down.”

  “Oh . . . well, it’s just that if Bobby needs me . . .”

  “You’ve got some time before they release him, even if it’s today. And you’ll be downtown, nearer the hospital. Tell you what, if there’s anything you need to pick up, I’ll have the uniforms take you around. Then give you a hand getting Bobby home.”

  “Really? I could really use the help.”

  “I’ll try to get clear here, give you a hand myself.”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without you the last few days.” Those big blue eyes went predictably damp. “It’ll take me a little while to get dressed and everything.”

  “No rush. I’ve got things I’ve got to get out of the way first. I’ll just have the uniforms bring you down when you’re ready. How’s that?”

  “Okay.”

  At the knock on her door, Eve sighed. “Gotta go. It’s crazed around here this morning.”

  “I can’t even imagine it. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  “Yeah, you will,” Eve muttered when she cut transmission. “Come on in. Reo.” She nodded at the curvy blond APA. “My Christmas was great, yours was, too. Blah, blah, blah, let’s get down to it.”

  “Nice sweater, blah, blah, blah. Everything you’ve got is circumstantial and speculative. We can’t charge, much less prosecute.”

  “I’ll get more. I need the warrants first.”

  “I can wrangle the search. Items missing from victim’s room, victim’s daughter-in-law’s prints, as well as the blood and the prints in the room next door. Getting the match on the mouth is good, it’ll give it a nice push, but it’s still in that speculative area. A pair of lips aren’t solid ID.”

  “I’ll get more,” Eve repeated. “I’m getting more. Get me the search and seizure. I’ve got her coming in for Interview. I know how to work her.”

  “You’re going to need a confession to lock this up.”

  Eve smiled. “I’m going to ge
t one.”

  “Sounds like something I’ll want to watch. I’ll get the search warrant. Bring her in.”

  When it was done, she rounded up Baxter and Trueheart. “She’s on her way in. Go in, find me what I need. When you’re back here with it, give me a beep on my communicator. When I’m ready, I’ll send Peabody out for it.”

  “She seemed so normal,” Trueheart commented. “Nice, too.”

  “Bet she thinks she is. But that’s for Mira,” who was someone else Eve wanted to bring in.

  She called Mira’s office, plowed her way through the admin. “I need you in Observation, Interview Room A.”

  “Now?”

  “In twenty. I’m bringing Zana Lombard in. I believe she’s actually Marnie Ralston, who assumed a new identity in order to get inside the Lombard household. I’m sending you my report now. I’ve got the PA’s office moving with me. I need you on this.”

  “I’ll do what I can to shuffle things around.”

  That would have to do, Eve decided. She made a few more contacts, then sat back, cleared her mind.

  “Dallas?” Peabody stepped to the office door. “They’re bringing her up.”

  “Okay. It’s showtime.”

  She went out, met Zana and her escorts in the busy corridor outside her division.

  Dressed for it, Eve thought. If she wasn’t mistaken—and she was getting good at bull’s-eyeing wardrobe—Zana was wearing a light blue cashmere crew neck, with floral embroidery on the cuffs. And that matched the description of one of Trudy’s purchases.

  Ballsy, Eve decided. Smug.

  “I really appreciate you coming down. Things are wonky with the holidays.”

  “After everything you’ve done for me and Bobby, it’s the least I can do. I talked to him right before I left, told him you were going to try to help me bring him back to the hotel from the hospital.”

  “We’ll try to make that happen. Listen, I’m going to use one of the rooms to finish this up. It’ll be more comfortable than my office. You want something? Really bad coffee, vending drink?”