The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  “Don’t worry about the lieutenant.” Roarke pleased himself and sat at the computer. “I can handle her.”

  Donnie Ray Michael wore a ratty brown bathrobe and a silver nose ring with an emerald cabochon. His eyes were a bleary hazel, his hair the color of butter, and his breath ferocious.

  He studied Eve’s badge, expelling air in a yawn that nearly knocked her flat, then scratched his armpit.

  “What?”

  “Donnie Ray? Got a minute?”

  “Yeah, I got plenty of minutes, but what?”

  “I’ll tell you after we come in, and you gargle with a gallon or two of mouthwash.”

  “Oh.” He went slightly pink and stepped back. “I was asleep. Wasn’t expecting visitors. Or cops.” But he waved them inside, then disappeared down a short hallway.

  The place was as tidy as your average pigsty, with clothes, empty and half-empty take-out containers, overflowing ashtrays, and a litter of computer discs strewn over the floor. In the corner beside a threadbare sofa was a music stand and a brightly polished saxophone.

  Eve caught a drift in the air of very old onions and the shadow of an illegal usually consumed by smoking. “If we decide a search is in order,” Eve told Peabody, “we’ve got probable cause.”

  “What, suspicion of toxic waste?”

  “There’s that.” Eve toed what might have been underwear aside. “He’s been pumping Zoner, probably as a bedtime soother. You can just smell it.”

  Peabody sniffed. “I just smell sweat and onions.”

  “It’s there.”

  Donnie Ray walked back in, his eyes slightly clearer, his face red and damp from a quick splash. “Sorry about the mess. Droid’s year off. What’s this about?”

  “Do you know Marianna Hawley?”

  “Marianna?” His brow wrinkled in thought. “I dunno. Should I?”

  “You matched with her through Personally Yours.”

  “Oh, the dating gig.” He kicked clothes out of the way then dropped into a chair. “Yeah, I gave that a shot a few months back. I was in a drought.” He smiled a little, then shrugged. “Marianna. Was she a big redhead—no, that was Tanya. We hit it off pretty well, but she moved to Albuquerque for Christ’s sake. I mean what rocks there?”

  “Marianna, Donnie Ray. Slim brunette. Green eyes.”

  “Yeah, yeah, now I get her. Sweet. We didn’t click, too much like, well, a sister. She came to the club where I was blowing and heard me, we had a couple of drinks. So?”

  “You ever watch the screen, read the paper?”

  “Not when I’ve got a steady gig. I’m booked with a group downtown at the Empire. Been doing the ten-to-four slot for the last three weeks.”

  “Seven nights on?”

  “No, five. You blow seven nights, you lose the edge.”

  “How about Tuesday night?”

  “I’m off Tuesday. Mondays and Tuesdays are clear.” His eyes were focused now and just beginning to go wary. “What’s the deal?”

  “Marianna Hawley was murdered Tuesday night. You got an alibi for Tuesday from nine to midnight?”

  “Oh, shit. Shit. Murdered. Jesus H.” He sprang up, stumbling over debris as he paced. “Man, that bites. She was a sweetheart.”

  “Did you want her to be your sweetheart? Your true love.”

  He stopped pacing. Eve found it interesting that he didn’t look frightened or angry. He looked sorry. “Look, I had a couple of drinks with her one night. A little talk, tried to convince her to take a harmless roll, but she wasn’t into it. I liked her. You couldn’t help but like her.”

  He pushed his fingers against his eyes, then ran them back into his hair again. “That was, hell, six months ago, maybe more. I haven’t seen her since. What happened to her?”

  “Tuesday night, Donnie Ray.”

  “Tuesday?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Hell, who remembers? I probably did a few clubs, some hanging. Lemme think a minute.”

  He closed his eyes, blew out a couple of breaths. “Tuesday I went down to Crazy Charlie’s and heard this new band.”

  “Did you go with anybody?”

  “A few of us started out together. I don’t know who ended up at Crazy’s. I was pretty wasted by then.”

  “Tell me, Donnie Ray, what did you buy the full product line of Natural Perfection for? You don’t look like the type to paint up.”

  “What?” He looked baffled, then dropped into the chair again. “What the hell is Natural Perfection?”

  “You ought to know. You spent over two thousand on the line. Cosmetics, Donnie Ray. Enhancements.”

  “Cosmetics.” He shoved his hands through his hair until it stood up in buttery spikes. “Oh shit, yeah. The jazzy stuff. My mother’s birthday. I bought her the works.”

  “You spent two large on your mother’s birthday?” With doubt obvious in her eyes, Eve glanced around the cramped, messy room.

  “My mother’s the best. The old man ditched us when I was a kid. She worked like three dogs to keep a roof over my head, and to pay for music lessons.” He nodded toward the sax. “I make good money blowing. Fucking good. Now I’m helping to pay for the roof over her head, in Connecticut. A decent house in a decent neighborhood. This . . . ” he gestured to encompass the room, “it don’t matter a damn to me. I’m hardly here except to flake out.”

  “How about I call your mother, right now, and ask her what her boy Donnie Ray gave her for her last birthday?”

  “Sure.” Without hesitation he jerked a thumb toward the ’link on a table by the wall. “Her number’s programmed. Just do me a favor, okay? Don’t tell her you’re a cop. She worries. Say you’re doing a survey or something.”

  “Peabody, ditch the uniform jacket and call Donnie Ray’s mom.” Eve moved out of transmission range and sat on the arm of a chair. “Rudy at Personally Yours do your profile?”

  “No, well, I talked to him first. I got the feeling everybody does. Like an audition. Then some joker did the consult. What do you like to do for entertainment, what do you dream about, what’s your favorite color. You take a physical, too, to make sure you’re clean.”

  “They didn’t turn up traces of Zoner.”

  He had the grace to look abashed. “No. I was clean.”

  “I bet your mother would want you to stay that way.”

  “Ms. Michael received a complete line of Natural Perfection Cosmetics and Enhancers from her son on her birthday.” Peabody shrugged back into her uniform jacket, then gave Donnie Ray a smile. “She was really happy with the gift.”

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “She’s the best.”

  “That’s what she said about you,” Peabody told him.

  “I got her diamond earrings for Christmas. Well, they’re really just chips, but she’d get a large charge.” He was eyeing Peabody with interest now, having seen her without the stiff jacket. “You ever get down to the Empire?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You ought to drop in. We really blow.”

  “Maybe I will.” But she caught Eve’s owlish look and cleared her throat. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Michael.”

  “Do your mother a favor,” Eve said as they headed for the door. “Shovel out this garbage heap and lay off the Zoner.”

  “Yeah, sure.” And Donnie Ray gave Peabody a suggestive wink before he closed the door.

  “It’s unseemly to flirt with suspects, Officer Peabody.”

  “He’s not really a suspect.” Peabody glanced over her shoulder. “And he was really cute.”

  “He’s a suspect until we confirm his alibi. And he’s a pig.”

  “But a really cute pig. Sir.”

  “We’ve got two more interviews to conduct, Peabody. Try to control your hormones.”

  “I do, Dallas, I do.” She sighed as she climbed back into the car. “But it’s so nice when they control me.”

  chapter seven

  Spending
most of the day doing interviews without making a crack in a case didn’t put Eve in the best of moods. Finding McNab packed and gone when she returned to her home office darkened her mood a bit more.

  She considered it fortunate for his future well-being that he’d left her a memo, and a nibble.

  “Lieutenant. Logged off at sixteen forty-five. List of names and products under case file, subhead E for Evidence Two-A. Couple of pops might interest you. I got hits on both Piper and Rudy on the smudger, another on Piper for the lip dye. By the way, the two of them are rolling in credits. Not that they’d give Roarke a run, but they aren’t hurting. Interesting, too, all their assets are held jointly, down to the last penny. Report also in file.”

  All their assets held jointly, Eve mused. Her impression had been that Rudy manned the business end of things. It had always been Rudy who’d made the decisions, gone to the console when she’d been there.

  It followed that he handled the money, too.

  He had the control, Eve decided. He had the power.

  And the opportunity, the access.

  “One other hit on smudger,” McNab’s voice continued. “Two on lip dye, with Charles Monroe popping on both. Missed him first pass because he put another name on the credit slip for the mailing list of new products and specials. Profile on Monroe included.”

  Eve frowned as the memo ended. Her instincts might have been steering her toward Rudy, but it looked as though she was going to pay Charles Monroe a visit.

  Glancing over, she saw the light over the door that adjoined Roarke’s office was on. If he was busy, it was as good a time as any to check on a more personal matter.

  She moved quietly, using the stairs rather than the elevator, keeping an eye out for Summerset as she lengthened her strides toward the library.

  The walls of the two-level room were lined with books. It always baffled her that a man who could buy a small planet at the snap of a finger preferred the weight and bulk of a book rather than the convenience of reading on screen.

  One of his quirks, she supposed, though she could appreciate the rich smell of leather from the bindings, the glossy look of the spines as they marched along the dark mahogany shelves.

  There were two generous seating areas, more leather in the wood-trimmed deep burgundy sofas and chairs, jewels of colors on glass lamp shades, the sheen of brass, the shine of old wood in cabinets deeply carved by craftsmen from another century.

  Drapes were open to the night around a wide window seat dressed with thick pillows in tones that picked up the multi-hues of the lamps. Enormous and ancient rugs with intricate patterns over a red-wine background stretched over the wide and polished chestnut planks of the floor.

  She knew a full-range multitask computer system was hidden behind the antique cabinet. But everything in view in the room spoke of age and wealth and a taste for both.

  She didn’t come here often, but she knew Roarke did. She might find him sitting in one of the leather chairs in the evening, his long legs stretched out, a brandy by his elbow and a book in his hands. Reading relaxed him, he’d told her. And she knew it was a skill he’d taught himself as a boy in the slums of Dublin when he’d found a tattered copy of Yeats in an alley.

  She crossed to the cabinet and opened the doors rich with inlays of lapis and malachite. “Engage,” she ordered and cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. “Search library, all sections, for Yeats.”

  Yeats, Elizabeth; Yeats, William Butler?

  Her brows came together, her hand scooped through her hair. “How the hell do I know? It’s some Irish poet.”

  Yeats, William Butler, confirmed. Searching stacks . . . The Wanderings Of Oisin, Section D, shelf five. The Countess of Cathleen, Section D—

  “Wait.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shift search. Tell me what books by this guy aren’t in the library.”

  Adjusting . . . Searching . . .

  He probably had every damn thing anyway. Stupid idea, she decided, and jammed her hands in her pockets.

  “Lieutenant.”

  And nearly jumped out of her boots. She whirled around and stared at Summerset. “What? Damn it, I hate when you do that.”

  He merely continued to eye her blandly. He knew she hated when he came up on her unawares. It was one of the reasons he so enjoyed doing it. “May I help you find a book—though I didn’t realize you read anything but reports and the occasional disc on aberrant behavior.”

  “Look, pal, I’ve got a perfect right to be in here.” Which didn’t explain why being found in the library made her feel like a sneak. “And I don’t need your help.”

  All works by subject author, Yeats, William Butler, are included in library. Do you require locations and titles?

  “No, damn it. I knew it.”

  “Yeats, Lieutenant?” Curious, Summerset moved into the room, closely followed by Galahad, who padded over to Eve, scissored between her legs, then deserted her to leap onto the window seat and stare out at the night as if he owned it.

  “So what?”

  He only raised his eyebrows. “Was there a play you were interested in, a collection, a particular poem?”

  “What are you, the library police?”

  “These books are quite valuable,” he said coolly. “Many are first editions and quite rare. You’ll find all of Yeats’s work in the disc library as well. That method, I’m sure, would suit you better.”

  “I don’t want to read the damn thing. I just wanted to see if there was something he didn’t have, which is stupid because he has every damn thing, so what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “About what?”

  “Christmas, you moron.” Incensed, she turned back to the computer. “Disengage.”

  Summerset pursed his lips and followed the train of thought. “You wished to purchase a volume of Yeats for Roarke as a Christmas gift.”

  “That was the idea, which turns out to suck.”

  “Lieutenant,” he said as she started to storm out.

  “What?”

  It annoyed him when she did or said something that touched him. But it couldn’t be helped. And he owed her for risking, nearly losing, her life to save his. That simple fact, Summerset knew, made them both uncomfortable. Perhaps he could even the scales, by a small weight.

  “He does not own, as yet, a first edition copy of The Celtic Twilight.”

  The mutinous glare faded, though some suspicion remained. “What is it?”

  “It’s a prose collection.”

  “By this Yeats guy?”

  “Yes.”

  A part of her, a small, nasty part, wanted to shrug and walk away. But she jammed her hands in her pockets and stuck. “The search said he had everything.”

  “He owns the book, but not in a first edition. Yeats is particularly important to Roarke. I imagine you know that. I have a connection to a rare book dealer in Dublin. I could contact him and see if it can be acquired.”

  “Bought,” Eve said firmly. “Not stolen.” She smiled thinly when Summerset’s spine snapped stiff. “I know something about your connections. We keep it legal.”

  “I never intended otherwise. But it won’t come cheap.” It was his turn to smile, just as thinly. “And there will, no doubt, be a charge for securing the acquisition in time for Christmas, as you’ve waited until the eleventh hour.”

  She didn’t wince, but she wanted to. “If your connection can find it, I want it.” Then because she couldn’t figure a way around it, she shrugged. “Thanks.”

  He nodded stiffly, and waited until she’d left the room before he grinned.

  This, Eve thought, was what being in love did to you. It made you have to cooperate with the biggest annoyance in your life. And, she thought sourly as she took the elevator to the bedroom, if the skinny son of a bitch actually pulled it off, she was going to owe him.

  It was mortifying.

  Then the elevator doors opened, and there was Roarke with a half smile on his lost angel face, his eyes imp
ossibly blue with pleasure.

  What was a little mortification?

  “I didn’t know you were home yet.”

  “Yeah, I was . . . doing stuff.” She cocked her head. She knew that look. “Why are you looking so smug?”

  He took her hand, drew her into the room. “What do you think?” he asked and gestured.

  Centered in the deeply recessed window on the far side of the raised platform that held their bed was a tree. Its boughs fanned out into the room and rose up and up until the tip all but speared the ceiling.

  She blinked at it. “It’s big.”

  “Obviously you haven’t seen the one in the living area. It’s twice this tall.”

  Cautious, she moved closer. It had to be ten feet. If it toppled, she mused, while they were sleeping, it would drop like a stone on the bed and pin them like ants. “I hope it’s secure.” She sniffed. “Smells like a forest in here. I guess we’re going to hang stuff on it.”

  “That’s the plan.” He slipped his arms around her waist, drew her back against him. “I’ll deal with the lights later.”

  “You will?”

  “It’s a man’s job,” he told her and nipped at her neck.

  “Who says?”

  “Women throughout the ages who were sensible enough not to want to deal with it. Are you off duty, Lieutenant?”

  “I thought I’d get some food, then run a few probability scans.” His mouth was cruising up to her earlobe. She thought he could do the most interesting things to an earlobe. “And I want to see if Mira sent through her profile.”

  Her eyes were already half shut as she angled her head to give him fuller access to the side of her neck. When his hands slid up to cup her breasts, her mind went wonderfully foggy.

  “Then I’ve got a report to write and file.” His thumbs flicked over her nipples and sent a spear of heat lancing straight to her gut.

  “But I probably have an hour to spare,” she muttered, and turning, she fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

  A sound of pleasure hummed in his throat and his hands glided down her back. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  He bit her bottom lip. “Wherever I take you.”

  Circling her, he guided her back into the elevator. “Holo-room,” he ordered, then backed her into the corner and cut off her question with one long, mind-numbing kiss.