The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  “Of course you will.” If he had to go down to Cop Central and carry her out personally.

  chapter thirteen

  Eve decided the best strategy was to hit her targets hard and clean while they were already bruised. If Peabody played it right, Rudy and Piper would be shaken, working frantically to avoid bad publicity and a potential lawsuit brought by a horrified client.

  And when Peabody moved out, Eve thought, she would move in.

  At nine thirty she was in the salon, showing Holloway’s picture to the reception clerk. If it went as timed, she would be finishing up when Peabody came in and gave her the go signal.

  “Sure, I know Mr. Holloway. He had a regular once a week, and a standing monthly.”

  “Once a week for what?”

  “Hair style, facial, manicure, massage, and aroma-relax.” Yvette, friendly and helpful now, leaned over the counter and let out a little sigh as she studied Holloway’s picture again. “This guy’s got a mag shell, and he knew how to maintain. Once a month he got the works, full day of treatments.”

  “Same consultant?”

  “Oh sure, he wouldn’t settle for anybody but Simon. A few months ago, Simon took a vacation. Mr. Holloway pitched a big one right here in the wait area. We gave him a free spin in the mood tube and a Deluxe O to chill him down.”

  “Deluxe O?”

  “O for orgasm, honey. Privacy room, with his choice of VR, holo, or droid LC. We aren’t set up for human licensed companions, but we have all the alternatives. The Deluxe runs five hundred, but it was worth it to take him down. You gotta keep your regulars happy. A client like Holloway drops like five thousand a month in here, not counting product purchases.”

  “And there’s nothing like a Deluxe Orgasm to keep the customer satisfied.”

  “You got it.” She grinned, grateful that Eve didn’t appear to hold grudges. “So, did he do something?”

  “You could say that. But he won’t be doing it again. Simon around?”

  “He’s back in Studio Three. You don’t want to go back there,” she began when Eve turned.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Eve walked down a short hallway and through frosted glass doors etched with silhouettes of perfect human forms.

  There were muted voices and music, the sounds of water splashing tunefully, birds chirping, breezes blowing. She could smell eucalyptus, rose, musk.

  Pastel-colored doors lined both sides. Through an open one she could see a long padded table and complicated equipment, tubes, mirrors, a small computer station. All of which reminded her uncomfortably of a health center.

  As she continued down, another door opened and a consultant in a white uniform led a woman covered from head to toe in green glop toward another area.

  “Studio Three?”

  “Corridor to the left, the door’s marked.”

  “Uh-huh.” Eve watched while the consultant drew her client away, telling her that ten minutes in the Desert Room would make her a new woman.

  It took all Eve’s willpower not to shudder.

  When the corridor forked, she saw the large bubbling spa framed with miniature weeping cherry trees. Three women were already relaxing in it, breasts bobbing cheerfully on the surface of the sugar-pink froth.

  Another woman drifted alone, submerged to the chin in the thickened green fluid of a sensory tube. Just beyond it, in what Eve supposed was the wet area, was a narrow pool called the Plunge, where the sharply blue water was held at a temperature of thirty-six degrees. Even looking at it made her teeth chatter.

  She turned left. After a quick knock on the Easter-egg-blue door marked Three, she stepped in. It was a toss-up who was more surprised, herself, Simon, or McNab, who reclined in a relaxation chair with his face coated with what appeared to be black mud.

  “This is a treatment area.” Hands flapping, Simon rushed to block her way. “You’re not allowed in here while I’m consulting. Out, out, out.”

  “I need to talk to you. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

  “I’m working here.” Simon spread his hands, sending a few blobs of mud sailing.

  “Two minutes,” she said and had to clamp down on the urge to laugh as McNab rolled his eyes dramatically behind Simon’s back.

  “Out, out,” he said again, snagging a towel. “I do apologize,” he said to McNab. “Your slather needs to set in any case. Please, just relax, let your mind rest. I’ll just be a moment.”

  “No problem,” McNab muttered.

  “No, no, shh!” With a benign smile, Simon tapped a finger to his lips. “No talking. Let your face relax completely, let your mind empty. This is your time. Now, close your eyes, imagine all impurities flowing out. I’ll be just outside.”

  His smile fell away the minute he shut the door and looked at Eve. “I won’t have you disturbing my clients.”

  “Sorry. But one of your clients was really disturbed last night. He won’t be coming in for his standing monthly anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Holloway. Brent Holloway. He’s dead.”

  “Dead? Brent?” Simon leaned back against the glossy wall. The hand he hadn’t quite wiped clean pressed against his heart. “But I saw him only a few days ago. There must be a mistake.”

  “I saw him this morning, in a drawer at the morgue. There’s no mistake.”

  “I can’t . . . breathe.” Cape fluttering, Simon dashed down the hall. Eve found him in a plush waiting area, collapsed on a silk settee, his head between his knees.

  “I didn’t know you were that close.”

  “I’m his—was his consultant. No one, not even a spouse, is more intimate.”

  She tried to think of intimacy with Trina and had to block off another shudder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Simon. You want something. Water?”

  “Yes, no. Oh dear God.” He lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand to engage the pop-up refreshment screen on the table beside him. His face was a sickly gray framed by the brilliant red of his hair. “I need a soother. Camomile, chilled.” Then he leaned back, shut his eyes. “How did it happen?”

  “We’re investigating. Tell me about him, tell me who he was involved with.”

  “He was a very exacting man. I respected that. He knew precisely how he wanted to appear, and was dedicated to maintaining his face, his body. Oh God.” He snagged the tall, slim glass from the server droid the minute it scooted in. “I’m sorry, dear heart. Give me just a moment.”

  He drank deeply, taking slow, even breaths between sips. Some of the color that had washed away from his face came back. “He never missed an appointment, and sent me many referrals. He appreciated my work.”

  “Did he hook up with anyone around here on a personal level? Stylists, consultants, other clients?”

  “Our staff isn’t permitted to date the clientele. As to other clients, I don’t recall him mentioning any. He enjoyed women. He had a varied and satisfying sexual life.”

  “He told you about that?”

  “What is discussed between consultant and client is absolutely sacred.” Simon sniffed once, then set his empty glass aside.

  “Did he go for men, too?”

  Simon’s mouth flattened. “He never mentioned an interest in same-sex relationships. I don’t feel comfortable with these questions, Lieutenant.”

  “Holloway’s not real comfortable now either.” She waited a beat, saw Simon pause, take it in, then nod.

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I apologize. It’s just such a shock.”

  “Did any of your male staff members show an interest in him, a romantic or sexual interest?”

  “No. At least . . . I honestly never noticed any signals or vibrations, if you will. Such behavior is soundly discouraged here. We’re professionals.”

  “Right. Who have you got on staff who does freehand tattoos?”

  He sighed long and loud. “We have several consultants who are excellent freehand body artists.”


  “Names, Simon.”

  “Ask Yvette at the desk. She’ll give you what you need. I must get back to my client.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “I can’t allow my personal feelings to interfere with my work. Lieutenant . . .” Simon dropped his hands back into his lap, and his eyes were dark and damp. “Brent had no family. What will happen to his . . . What will happen to him?”

  “The city will take care of it, if there’s no one.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be right.” He pressed his lips together, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’d like to make the arrangements if that’s allowed. It would be the last thing I could do for him.”

  “We can work it that way. You’ll have to come down to the morgue, fill out the paperwork.”

  “To the . . .” His mouth trembled, but he drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes, I will.”

  “I’ll let them know to expect you.” Because he looked so devastated, she added, “You won’t have to see him, Simon. We’ve done an ID already. You just make the application, and they’ll release the body to whatever mortuary or memorial center you choose.”

  “Oh.” His breath came out in a rush. “Thank you. My client’s waiting,” he said dully. “He hasn’t been caring for his skin. Fortunately, he’s young, so there’s a great deal I can do to help. It’s our obligation to present an attractive appearance. Beauty soothes the soul.”

  “Yeah. Go take care of your client, Simon. I’ll be in touch.”

  She headed back out and was just taking the printout of names from Yvette when Peabody came in. She looked flushed and hollow-eyed. But she gave Eve a quick nod before turning to the desk clerk.

  “I have a chit from Personally Yours,” she began. “For the Diamond Day Plan.”

  “Oh, that’s our very best.” Yvette beamed at her. “And, honey, you look exhausted. This is just what you need. We’ll fix you right up.”

  “Thanks.” She wandered off, ostensibly to study the glass cabinet full of colorful bottles that guaranteed beauty and vitality with regular use. In a fast whisper, she gave Eve her report.

  “They were both shaken, tried to cover it. Worked on convincing me I’d misinterpreted.” She bit back a snort. “Went into placate-the-client mode, like it was programmed. Promised to look into the matter right away, offered me a free second consult and this deal here. I saw the brochure. The Diamond Day goes for five thousand. I didn’t let them off the hook. Told them I was going to take the day to calm down before I spoke to my lawyer.”

  “Good work. Talk to as many of the consultants as you can while you’re getting slathered and rubbed. Bring up Holloway’s name. I want reactions, gossip, opinions. Make sure you get some male consultants in there.”

  “Anything for the job, sir.”

  “Ms. Peabody?”

  Peabody turned, and thought her mouth must have hit her shoes as she stared at the polished golden god. “I’m uh . . . Yes?”

  “I’m Anton. I’ll be assisting you with your herbal detox. If you’d like to come with me now?”

  “Oh yeah.” Peabody managed to shoot Eve one sidelong eyeroll before Anton took her hand and gently led her away.

  Hoping for the best, Eve tucked the printout in her bag and headed up to the office level of Personally Yours.

  “Rudy and Piper are unavailable,” the receptionist announced with just enough snip in her voice to put Eve’s back up.

  “Oh, they’re going to want to become available.” She slapped her badge on the counter. “Trust me.”

  “I’m aware of who you are, Lieutenant. Rudy and Piper aren’t available. If you’d care to make an appointment, I’d be happy to schedule one for you.”

  Eve leaned companionably on the counter. “Ever hear the term obstruction of justice?”

  The woman’s eyes flickered. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Here’s what we’ve got. You clear me through to your bosses now, or I take you down to Cop Central and charge you with obstruction, for impeding an officer, and for being basically stupid. You got ten seconds to decide how you want to play it.”

  “Excuse me.” The woman turned, switched on her headset, and murmured into it quickly. Her face was stiff when she turned back. “You’re to go right in, Lieutenant.”

  “There, that wasn’t such a tough choice, was it?” Pocketing her badge, Eve strode back through the glass doors, and met Rudy and Piper at the doorway of their office.

  “Was it necessary to bully our receptionist?” Rudy demanded.

  “Yeah. You got a reason for wanting to dodge me this morning?”

  “We’re very busy.”

  “You’re about to get busier. You’ll have to come with me.”

  “Come with you?” Piper put a hand on Rudy’s arm. “Why? Where?”

  “To Cop Central. Brent Holloway was murdered last night, and we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Murdered?” Piper swayed and might have fallen if Rudy’s arm hadn’t whipped up to support her. “Oh God. Oh dear God. Like the others? Was it like the others? Rudy.”

  “Hush now.” He drew his sister closer while his eyes held Eve’s. “It isn’t necessary to go into Central.”

  “Well, that’s where we disagree. Your choice is to come voluntarily, or for me to call a few uniforms up here and have you escorted.”

  “You can’t possibly have cause to arrest either one of us.”

  “You’re not being arrested or charged at this time. But you’re required to come in, upon demand, for formal interview.”

  With Piper trembling against him, Rudy let out a careful breath. “I’m going to contact our attorneys.”

  “You can do that downtown.”

  “Okay, we keep them separated,” Eve said to Feeney as they studied Piper through the glass. Piper sat at the little scarred table in Interview A, rocking herself as one of the attorneys murmured to her. “We could double team them, but I think we can get more done if we each take one. You want her or Rudy?”

  Feeney considered, lips pursed. “I’ll start with him. I say we switch off, toss them out of balance once they get used to the rhythm. If either of them shake enough, then we go in double.”

  “Good enough. Did McNab check in?”

  “Just did. He’s about finished at the salon. He’ll be in and have his report up before we’re done here.”

  “Tell him to stand by. If we get enough here, we may be able to juggle a warrant for their computer system. If he can work on their machine, he might dig something out.”

  Otherwise, she thought, she was going to have to ask Roarke to work his magic again.

  “Buzz when you want to switch,” she told Feeney.

  “Same goes.”

  Eve pulled open the door of the interview room and stepped inside. The lawyer immediately got to his feet, puffed out his chest, and went into the expected song and dance.

  “Lieutenant, this is an outrage. My client is overwrought, emotionally distressed. You have no cause to demand this interview at this time.”

  “You want to block it, get a court order. Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, ID 5347BQ, interviewer. Subject Piper Hoffman. Initial date and time. Interviewer has requested representation. Attorney is present. These proceedings are being recorded. Subject Hoffman has been read the revised Miranda. Do you understand your rights and obligations, Ms. Hoffman?”

  Piper looked at her lawyer, waited for him to nod.

  “Yes.”

  “You knew Brent Holloway?”

  She jerked her head into a nod.

  “Let the record show interviewee answered in the affirmative. He was a client of your service, Personally Yours.”

  “Yes.”

  “Through that service, you matched the deceased with female clients.”

  “That’s—that’s the purpose, to match couples with common interests and goals, to afford them an opportunity to meet and explore relationships.”

  “Romantic and/or sexual relationships?”

  “The tone
of the relationships is up to each individual couple or client.”

  “And these clients are screened before their application is accepted, before they pay the fee, before they are put on any match lists.”

  “Carefully screened.” Piper seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the avenue of questioning. She straightened a bit, skimmed back her silvery hair with long fingers. “It’s our responsibility to see that our clientele meets certain standards.”

  “Do those standards include sexual offenders? Convicted sexual offenders?”

  “Certainly not.” She went prim, head lifting, mouth firming.

  “That’s your company policy?”

  “A very firm policy.”

  “But you made an exception for Brent Holloway.”

  “I—” The hands Piper had folded neatly on the table clenched to whiten the knuckles. “I don’t know what . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she stared helplessly at her lawyer.

  “My client has explained her company’s policy in this area, Lieutenant. Please move on.”

  “Brent Holloway was convicted of sexual coercion, was charged more than once with sexual molestation, harassment, perversions.” Eve spoke briskly as every ounce of color in Piper’s cheeks drained. “You’ve established for the record that your clientele is screened carefully, you’ve explained your policy in this area. I’m asking you why you exempted Holloway from this policy.”

  “We—I—we didn’t.” Her hands began to twist, and something like fear moved into her eyes. “We have no record of that information on Brent Holloway.”

  “Maybe you recognize the name John B. Boyd.” Because her eyes were trained on Piper’s face, she saw it. The flicker of knowledge, the shadow of guilt. “Your system is top of the line. So you told me. It would be your responsibility to do a search for this kind of information on an applicant. Is your company irresponsible or inept, Ms. Hoffman?”

  “I don’t like the tone of that question,” the lawyer protested.

  “So noted for the record. Your answer, Piper?”

  “I don’t know what happened.” Her breath came quickly now, and both hands were crossed over her beautiful breasts. “I don’t know.”