The In Death Collection, Books 6-10

by J. D. Robb

  “Damn it, Dallas. I got next to nothing new anyway. Let go of me.” With surprising dignity, he smoothed down his shirt when she released him. “We’ll take a look in the side lab. No use spoiling everybody’s good time.”

  He snaked through the crowd and unlocked the door of a side room. “Jesus, Feinstein, you can’t go banging her in here. Take her into storage like everybody else.”

  Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes as a busily copulating couple unlinked, and sputtered as they grabbed discarded clothes. Was everybody insane this time of year? Eve wondered as they darted by giggling like loons.

  “We mixed a hell of a brew,” Dickie explained. “All legal stuff, but it’s a punch with real punch.” He dropped down at the computer station and called up the file.

  “We got his prints this time, but you already know that. No question on the ID. Same disinfectant traces on scene. The enhancements left behind match those used on the prior victims. The suit and shit you had sent down is consistent with the fibers already identified. You got your guy, Dallas. This goes to court, he’s cooked.”

  “What about the sweep? I need something to find him, Dickie.”

  “Sweep of scene didn’t turn up anything you wouldn’t expect. The one of his digs? We didn’t get much. This guy’s a clean fanatic. Everything’s been wiped and scrubbed and sucked. But there were fibers again—match the suit, a couple of stray hairs that are consistent with those from the last murder and the beard he left on scene last night. You get him, bring him down, I got plenty to help you lock the cage. That’s all I can give you.”

  “Okay. I need you to shoot this to my unit at Central. Copy Feeney.”

  Since they both knew he should have already done so, Dickie just jerked a shoulder.

  “Sorry I took you away from the fun and games.”

  “City’s going to close down in an hour or two anyway, Dallas. People need their holiday. They’re entitled.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a woman spending her Christmas in a hospital bed. She’s entitled, too.”

  She went outside to let the cold air clear her head, wished she’d thought to ask Dickie for something potent enough to block the thudding behind her eyes. The light was already going, she realized. These were the long nights, the black month of December where the daylight barely bounced to earth before it bounced away again.

  She pulled out her porta-’link and called home. “You’re working,” she said when Roarke picked up his private line and she saw the laser fax behind him spewing out paper.

  “Just a bit longer.”

  “I’ve got a couple of more things to do. I don’t think I’ll be home for a couple of hours anyway.”

  He could see the headache in her eyes. “Where are you heading?”

  “I want to do a follow-up on Simon’s apartment. I never did a search-through personally. Maybe the team missed something. I need to look, Roarke.”

  “I know.”

  “Listen, I sent Peabody off with my vehicle. The apartment’s closer to home. Can you send a car or something to that location?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call back when I’m done there, let you know when I’ll make it home.”

  “Do what you need to do, but take a blocker for that headache, Eve.”

  She smiled a little. “I don’t have one. Let’s drink lots of wine after I get home, okay? And make love like animals.”

  “Well, I had planned on a quiet evening of trilevel chess, but if that’s what you really want to do . . .”

  It felt awfully good, Eve thought as she broke transmission, to really laugh.

  So it shouldn’t have surprised her to find not only the car but Roarke there when she got to Simon’s building. “You could’ve sent it with a droid.”

  “Did you think I would?”

  “No.” She pushed a hand at her hair. “And I don’t think you’re going to agree to wait in the car until I’m done in there either.”

  “See how well we know each other.” He reached in the pocket of his gorgeous topcoat, took out a small enameled box, and removed a tiny blue pill. “Open up.”

  When she frowned and firmed her lips into an uncooperative line, he only lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a simple blocker, Eve. You’ll think more clearly without the headache.”

  “No funny stuff?”

  “None. Open.” He took her chin when she opened her mouth, then used his hand to close it again after he’d dropped the pill on her tongue. “Swallow it, there’s a good girl.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Darling, I’ve thought of nothing else all day. I brought your backup field kit.”

  “Well, one of us is thinking clearly. Thanks,” she said when he got it out of the car. “I’ve got him cold,” she added as they started into the building. “Physical evidence, eyewitness, motivation, opportunity, the works.”

  “You can add the fact that the enhancement case he left behind in Piper Hoffman’s apartment is a one of a kind. He ordered it custom-made.” Roarke ran a hand over the back of Eve’s neck, rubbing lightly to help the blocker along. “My company offers that option to licensed cosmeticians.”

  “Great. Now all I have to do is find him.”

  “He hasn’t checked into a hotel.” Roarke smiled at her. “McNab’s been very busy. No hotel, and no private lodging—at least that he could access on a day where no one wants to work.”

  “Tell me about it. I walked into an orgy at the lab.”

  “And we weren’t invited. That’s insulting.”

  “I have a feeling an invite might have included the rare treat of seeing Dickhead naked.” She took out her master and bypassed the police seal and block on the door of 35. “That’s something I really don’t want for Christmas. You gotta seal up if you’re coming in.”

  Roarke glanced at the can with a hefty sigh. “Can’t the department use something with a more pleasant odor?” But he coated his hands, his shoes, then waited for Eve to do the same.

  “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve entering subject Simon’s personal residence, December twenty-four, sixteen twelve. Investigating officer accompanied by Roarke, civilian, in capacity of temporary aide.”

  She entered, ordered lights, then simply stood and studied the room. It wasn’t quite so neat now. The CS team had done its work and left a fine sheen on surfaces while checking for prints and trace evidence. The sweepers had shoved furniture out of place, upended cushions, removed art from the walls. The ’link had been disconnected and taken in.

  “Since you’re here,” she said to Roarke, “poke around. Anything that strikes you, call me. I’m going to do the bedroom.”

  She’d barely started on the closet when Roarke came in, holding a disc between his thumb and forefinger. “This struck me, Lieutenant.”

  “Where the hell did you find that? They should have swept all the discs into evidence.”

  “Holiday help, what can you do? It was sealed inside a hologram frame—I assume the woman in the holo was his mother. It seemed the sentimental choice of hiding places.”

  “I’ve got nothing to run it on. They took all the electronics. I’ll need to go in and . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as Roarke took a slim black case out of his pocket, swiveled the lid, and opened it to reveal a small screen. “New toy,” he said as she frowned at it. “We weren’t able to get all the bugs out for the Christmas market. It’ll be ready for the President’s Day sales.”

  “Is it safe? I can’t have that disc damaged.”

  “I reworked this unit personally. It’s a little jewel.” He slipped the disc into a slot, lifted a brow again. “Shall I?”

  “Yeah, let’s see what we’ve got.”

  chapter twenty

  It was a rambling and rather pitiful video journal. A year in a man’s life when that life shatters into pieces and begins to fall away from the core.

  Eve supposed Mira would have called it a cry for help.

  He referred to his mother
a dozen times or more. His true love, whom he canonized in one entry and vilified in the next.

  She was a saint. She was a whore.

  The one thing Eve was certain of at the end was that she had been a burden, one that Simon had never shirked, and never understood.

  Every Christmas she had reboxed and rewrapped the gold cuff bracelet she had purchased for her husband, engraved with the words “My True Love,” and placed it under the tree for the man who had left her and her young son. And every Christmas she had told her son that his father would be there on Christmas morning.

  For a long time, he believed her.

  For a longer time, he allowed her to believe.

  Then on Christmas Eve the year before, sick of it, revolted by the men she let use her, he’d smashed the box and destroyed her illusion.

  And she hanged herself with the pretty garland her son had strung around the tree.

  “Not a cheerful seasonal tale,” Roarke murmured. “Poor bastard.”

  “A lousy childhood’s not an excuse to rape and murder.”

  “No, it’s not. But it’s a root. We grow our own way, Eve, one choice leading to another.”

  “And the choices we make we’re responsible for.” She dug out an evidence bag and held it open. After a moment, Roarke ejected the disc and dropped it inside.

  Taking out her communicator, Eve called McNab.

  “No luck on his hidey-hole, Dallas. I traced the father. He relocated to Nexus Station nearly thirty years ago. Got a second wife, two kids, grandchildren. I’ve got data if you want to contact.”

  “What’s the point?” she murmured. “I’ve got a video diary from Simon’s place. The crime scene techs and the sweepers missed it. I’ll transmit to EDD. Go in and file it, will you, McNab? Then you’re off duty. Relay that same status to Peabody. Both of you remain on call as long as subject is at large.”

  “That’s affirmative. Hey, he’s got to come out sometime, Dallas. Then we’ll have him.”

  “Right. Go hang your stocking, McNab. Let’s hope we all get what we want for Christmas. Dallas out.”

  Roarke watched her pocket the communicator. “You’re too hard on yourself, Eve.”

  “He’ll have to move tonight. He’ll need to move. And he’s the only one who knows where. And who.” She turned back to the closet. “He’s got his clothes organized—color, fabric. Even more obsessive about it than you.”

  “I see nothing obsessive with organizing your wardrobe.”

  “Yeah, especially if you own two hundred black silk shirts. Wouldn’t want to pull out the wrong one and make a fashion faux pas.”

  “I take that to mean you didn’t buy me a black silk shirt for Christmas.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, grimaced. “I kind of messed up on the shopping. I didn’t understand the deal until Feeney pointed out you’re supposed to buy in bulk for a spouse. I’ve just got this one thing.”

  He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “Do I get a hint?”

  “No, you’re too good at puzzles.” She looked back in the closet. “So puzzle this. You’ve got shirts and trousers here, white to cream to whatever this color is.”

  “I’d say taupe.”

  “Fine. Then it goes into blues, greens. All of them hung in order. Now there’s a gap, then we pick up browns, grays to black. What color do you suppose is missing?”

  “Best guess is red.”

  “Right. No other red in here. Maybe he only wore red for special occasions. He had a backup suit, and he took it with him. Something else the sweepers didn’t come up with. The rest of the tokens. Six geese whatever and so on. He’s got them, too. He’ll be ready for the show. But where has he stashed it all? Where’s he keeping it, and himself?”

  She circled the room. “There’s no coming back here for him. He knows that. He risked coming back because he’s got to finish, and he can’t finish without his tools, his costume, his props. But he’s too smart, he’s too organized, too fucking anal not to have had a place to go.”

  “His life was here, with his mother and the memories,” Roarke pointed out. “And it was at his work.”

  She closed her eyes as it struck. “God, he went back to the building. He’s in that building.”

  “Then let’s find him.”

  Street traffic was vicious, the road skinned with thin icy patches, but the pedestrian jam had whittled down to a trickle. People rushed over the sidewalk, hurrying home to family, to friends. The few who were desperate for the eleventh-hour gift haunted the handful of shops and stores still open.

  Streetlights blinked on and offered cold pools of light. Eve watched an animated billboard Santa fly in his sleigh and wish Merry Christmas to all.

  And it began to rain ice.

  Perfect.

  When Roarke pulled to the curb, she got out quickly, slipped out her master code, then hesitated. After a brief internal debate, she bent over and unstrapped a weapon from her ankle holster. “Take my clutch piece. Just in case.”

  They stepped out of the cold and into the glow of security lights.

  “There were people in and out of the salon, the shops, the health clubs all day. He’d need privacy. There’s probably some empty offices, and we can run a check to save time, but my hunch is he’d use Piper’s apartment. He’d know she’s in the hospital and he’d know Rudy wouldn’t leave her, not even to come back here. It would’ve been safe and quiet. No reason for the cops to go back in after the sweep was done.”

  She jabbed the control for the elevator, swore. “Shut down.”

  “Would you like me to activate them for you, Lieutenant?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He slipped the weapon away and took out a small tool kit. “Just take a moment.” He removed the control plate, flicked a few keys on the mother board with his quick, clever fingers. There was a quiet hum, then the light over the glass doors blinked on.

  “Slick work—for a businessman.”

  “Thank you.” He gestured, then followed her into the car. “Hoffman apartment.”

  I’m sorry. That floor is only accessible with a key code or clearance.

  Eve bared her teeth, and started to reach for her master again, but Roarke already had the controls unplated. “Just as quick this way,” he said, and neatly overrode the block.

  The elevator rose, smooth and fast and quiet. As it began to slow, Eve shifted, putting her body between Roarke’s and the door.

  He narrowed his eyes at her back, waited. When the doors slid open, he bumped her aside, pivoted out, and swept the foyer with his weapon.

  “Don’t you ever do that again.” She hissed it at him, leaping out to cover his back.

  “Don’t you ever use yourself as a shield for me. I’d say we’re clear here. Ready for the door?”

  She was still vibrating with outrage. Something else to deal with later, she decided. “I go low,” she murmured, bypassing the locks. “That’s the way I like it.”

  “Fine. On three then. One, two.” They hit the door, smooth as a training program.

  Inside the lights blazed, and the recording system had been switched on to play bouncy Christmas tunes. Though the privacy screens had been pulled tight over the windows, the Christmas tree glowed in front of the glass.

  She pointed toward the left. On the route to the bedroom she noticed small things. The smears and smudges the sweep would have left had been polished away. The air smelled of flowers and disinfectant.

  There was a faint haze of steam over the spa. The water was still hot.

  The bedroom was tidied, the bed made, the spills mopped up.

  Eve tugged up the spread, swore under her breath. “He put on fresh sheets. The bastard slept in the bed where he raped her.” With fury edging along her stomach, she yanked open the closet. There among the flowing styles Rudy and Piper preferred, several shirts and slacks were neatly hung.

  “Making himself right at home.” She crouched down and opene
d the trim black suitcase lying on the closet floor. “The rest of his props.” Heart thudding, she nudged through the jewelry, muttering the numbers and lyrics. “All the way to twelve—this hair clip with a dozen guys drumming. They’re all here except number five. He’s got that with him.” She rose. “He took himself a nice relaxing bath, dressed in his suit, packed up his tools, and went out. And he’s planning on coming back.”

  “So, we wait.”

  She wanted to agree. More than she could stand to admit she wanted to be the one to take him down, to look in his face when she did. To know she’d beaten him, and that part of herself she faced in nightmares.

  “I’m calling it in. We’ll have a few slobs who’d’ve drawn duty tonight. I’ll need some men on the building, some inside. It’ll take an hour or so to set it up. Then we’ll go home.”

  “You don’t want to turn this over to someone else, Eve.”

  “No, I don’t. Maybe that’s why I need to. And . . .” She turned back to him, thinking of Mira’s words. “I’m entitled to the life I’ve started to carve out for myself. With you.”

  “Then make the calls.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “And let’s go home.”

  Peabody filed the last of her paperwork, let out a long, self-pitying sigh, then caught sight of McNab in the doorway. “What?”

  “Just passing by. I told you Dallas said you’re off duty.”

  “I’m off when my reports are finished and filed.”

  He smiled blandly as her machine reported filing complete. “Then I guess you’re off. Hot date with Mr. Slick?”

  “You’re really ignorant, McNab.” Peabody pushed away from the desk. “You don’t spend Christmas Eve with a guy you’ve only dated once.” Besides, she thought, Charles had already been booked for the evening.

  “Your family’s not around here, are they?”

  “No.” Stalling, willing him to leave, she fussed around the desk.