by J. D. Robb
“Cut me a break, why doncha?”
“What, like go and sin no more? I look like a priest to you?”
“Goddamn cop.”
“That’s right.” She heard the amazed tourists take back their property with babbling thanks. “I’m a goddamn cop. Nice day, isn’t it?”
“I’ll drive back,” Eve said when that little bit of lunchtime business was finished. “I’d like to get to Central before my retirement kicks in.” She read her wrist unit. “And you’re going to have to get moving if you’re going to pick up Maureen Stibbs and bring her in for Interview.”
“I thought I’d put that off a day or two.”
Eve glanced over as she slid behind the wheel. “You said you were ready.”
“I am. But, well . . . You’re really busy right now, and not a hundred percent yet. I need you to observe in case I run into trouble. It can wait until you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it today, so don’t use me as an excuse.”
Peabody’s stomach jittered. “If you’re sure.”
“You’re the one who has to be sure. If you are, tag Trueheart. Two uniforms are more intimidating than one on a pickup. Fill him in, and have him go with you, then have him stand post inside the door in the interview room. He should say as little as possible, and look grim. As much as Trueheart can look grim. Snag a black-and-white for transpo. Use my authorization.”
“Should I drive or should he?”
“Let him. Tell him he should give her the occasional blank stare in the rearview. You do all the talking. Try to keep her from lawyering up too fast. You’ve just got a few questions, need to clear a few things up. You know she wants to cooperate as she was the victim’s friend, and this procedure may bring her husband some closure. Blah, blah. Get her in, then start playing her.”
“I just need one favor. If I start to lose her, if I start to go wrong, will you step in?”
“Peabody—”
“I’d just feel better about it, more confident, if I knew I had a net.”
“Okay. You take a tumble, I’ll catch you.”
“Thanks.” Peabody took out her communicator to signal Trueheart and fill him in on the assignment.
Eve went straight into a ’link conference with the primary in charge of the Denver homicide. Detective Green was seasoned and irritable.
Eve liked him immediately.
“Got a shit load of latents off the rooms. Coupla housekeepers, maintenance guy who dinked with the entertainment system after a complaint from the last tenants. Last tenants ID’d as Joshua and Rena Hathaway out of Cincinnati. Had the rooms for three days, checking out the day our girl checked in. They’re clean. Got the vic’s—just in the living area on him—coffee table, knife and fork, cup and saucer, juice glass. And we got Julianna Dunne’s every-fucking-where.”
He paused, slurped some coffee. “Got her visually ID’d from hotel discs, from the bellman and lobby staff. We’re running hair outta the bathroom traps for DNA, just to sew her up.”
“Sewing her up isn’t the problem. It’s bagging her first. Have you contacted Federal yet?”
Green shifted, snorted, slurped. “Don’t see there’s any fucking hurry for the Feebs.”
“You’re playing my song. That’s a lot of latents to sort through, Detective. Seems to me it might take some time to clear out all the excess and pinpoint Dunne.”
“Might. And shit has a habit of getting misplaced around here. Could be misplaced forty-eight hours anyway. Could be seventy-two if we have, say, a little equipment problem. Especially if I were pursuing other leads.”
“There’s a lot of data on her through IRCCA, but I’ve got more. Stretch that time frame out some, and I’ll send you everything, including my personal notes.”
“It so happens I’m a slow reader. And you know how you want to make sure you got everything in a nice package with a bow before you go and bother those busy Feebies with pesky stuff like murders. When I get to the point I have to make that call, I’ll contact you first and give you some lead time.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Campbell was one of the good ones. The genuine article. You bag her, Lieutenant, and you can count on Denver to help you sew her up so she can’t ooze her way out again.”
When she’d completed transmitting the data to Green, Eve pushed away from her desk, walked to her window. She focused on the window in the building across the street.
Hours of disc time, Julianna had said. So you watched me, Eve mused, but you didn’t see. Not what you thought you saw. Sisters, my butt. The only bond between us is murder.
Notching a hip on the narrow sill, she let her mind clear and empty as she watched the fretful air traffic. An ad blimp crept by hyping rental condos on the Jersey shore.
She’d gone to the Jersey shore once with Mavis for a very strange, very drunk weekend. Mavis had reminisced sentimentally about working the boardwalk one summer, scoping for marks, running cons. Just a couple of years before Eve had busted her for doing the same on Broadway.
That was a bond, Eve thought. If she had any sort of sister, it was Mavis.
Mavis changed her appearance more often than the average teenage boy changed his underwear. Julianna was doing the same now, but not for the fashion statement.
Or maybe that was part of it. It was that female exploration—one that had always baffled Eve—to re-invent oneself, to experiment with new looks. To attract someone? Maybe, maybe, she mused as she pushed away to pace. But there had to be more, something satisfying to self first. A person would look in the mirror and find themselves new, fresh, different.
When it came to fussing with hair and enhancements and treatments, Eve felt her personal space, and her control over self was violated. But it occurred to her that the opposite was true for most people. They liked having everything focused on themselves, on their appearance.
Julianna would have missed that in prison. Making use of the prison salon would hardly have satisfied her.
Would she risk giving herself that satisfaction here? Not in the city, Eve decided. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to risk exposing herself to a beauty consultant in the same pool where she killed. Where her face was splashed all over the screen.
No, they were spinning wheels looking there.
People who worked on faces, on features and hair and bodies noticed faces and features and bodies. How many times had she heard Mavis and the terrifying consultant Trina chattering about this one or that one.
Eve didn’t doubt Julianna was dealing with her own hair these days. Somehow most women appeared to know how, even though those who could afford it went to consultants. But she’d be yearning for a relaxing, indulgent day, even a weekend, of treatments.
And it would have to be top drawer.
Europe, Eve decided. She’d continue to check all the major salons and spa centers in the city, but her money was on Paris or Rome.
“Computer.” She whipped back to her desk. “Run a global search on beauty salons, spas, and treatment centers. List top twenty. No, make that fifty. Worldwide.”
WORKING . . .
“Secondary search. Top five transportation companies that have service between New York and Europe.”
SECONDARY SEARCH ACKNOWLEDGED. WORKING . . .
“Okay, it’s worth a shot.” She checked at her wrist unit, swore. “When search is complete, save data on hard drive, copy and save same on disc.”
ACKNOWLEDGED . . .
Satisfied with the new thread to tug, Eve made one quick ’link call then headed out to keep her promise to Peabody.
On the way, she juggled her mental notes. Poison, she thought as she nipped onto a glide. Both personal and aloof, traditionally more a female weapon than blades or bludgeons.
Kill without contact. That was important to Julianna. The sex had been a kind of necessary evil in the past.
Demeaning to both parties, she’d said, Eve remembered. Penetrating. Plunging.
No, she’d nev
er use a blade, ramming it into flesh was too much like sex.
Another difference between us, Eve thought before she could stop herself. Then wiped her suddenly damp hands on her trousers.
You’ve killed. Julianna’s voice echoed in her head. You know.
Not for pleasure, Eve reminded herself. Not for profit.
Yet she’d taken her first life at the age of eight. Even Julianna couldn’t top that.
Feeling slightly ill, Eve rubbed her hands over her face.
“Interview C.”
When she jumped, McNab grabbed her elbow. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you. I hopped on behind you. Thought you heard me.”
“I was thinking. What are you doing in this section?”
“I wanted to catch some of Peabody in action. I didn’t say anything to her in case it distracts her. But I thought I could slip into observation for ten or fifteen. Is that okay with you, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah, sure. McNab?”
“Sir?”
She started to speak, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
They moved down a narrow corridor past a grim set of gray doors that led to a temporary holding tank and coded into Observation.
It was little more than another corridor, fronted by two-way glass. There were no chairs. The lighting was dim and dreary and it smelled of someone’s obsessively pine aftershave or a pine-scented cleaner. Either way, it filled the air like a forest.
They could have opted for one of the trio of more comfortable screen rooms in this section where there were chairs, credit-operated Auto-Chef, and equipment that would allow them to hear and view the interview.
But Eve found the facilities there kept the observer too distant and detached. She preferred the glass.
“You want me to get you a chair or something?”
Distracted, she looked over at McNab. “What?”
“You know, a chair in case you get tired of standing.”
“Golly, McNab, are we on a date?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets and sulked. “Boy, try to be considerate because somebody got her head cracked and her face pounded and see where it gets you.”
She’d all but forgotten about the state of her face, and found herself annoyed at being reminded. “If I need a chair, I can get one myself. But thanks.”
When the door opened on the other side of the glass, he brightened. “Here she comes. Go get ’em, baby.”
“Officer Baby,” Eve corrected and settled in to watch the show.
Chapter 18
She watched while Peabody settled Maureen Stibbs in a chair at the wobbly table, set the record, offered the interview subject a drink of water.
Brisk, professional, Eve thought with approval. Not too threatening. Not yet.
And there was Officer Troy Trueheart posted at the door looking young and All-American . . . and about as grim as a cocker spaniel puppy.
She could sense Peabody’s nerves, see them in the quick glance she flicked toward the glass as she poured the water.
But the uniform was enough, Eve decided as Maureen’s eyes darted between Peabody and Trueheart.
People usually saw what they expected to see.
“I still don’t understand why I had to come all the way down here.” Maureen took a tiny sip of water, like a butterfly at a blossom. “My husband and daughter will be expecting me home soon.”
“This shouldn’t take long. We appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Stibbs. I’m sure your husband will appreciate your help in this matter. It must be difficult for both of you to have this case remain open.”
Good, good, put it in her lap, Eve urged. Make her a part of it, bring up the husband every chance you get.
Eve shifted her weight, tucked her thumbs in her front pockets as Peabody took Maureen through the story and statement she’d given before, asked her to repeat or expand on certain details.
“In EDD we don’t do a lot of interviews.” McNab toyed restlessly with the nest of earrings on his left ear. “How’s she doing?”
“Good, she’s doing good. Getting her rhythm.”
Inside, Peabody wasn’t quite as confident, but she kept plugging.
“I’ve said all this before. Over and over.” Maureen pushed the cup of water aside. “What good does it do to make us all live through it again? She’s been gone for years.”
“She doesn’t say dead,” Eve commented. “She doesn’t say Marsha’s name. She can’t because it brings it too close to home. Peabody needs to press that button.”
“Marsha’s death must have shocked you very much at the time. You were close friends.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Everyone was shocked and upset. But we’ve put it behind us.”
“You and Marsha were close,” Peabody said again. “Friends and neighbors. But you say she never mentioned being dissatisfied in her marriage, never spoke of a relationship with another man.”
“Some things even friends and neighbors don’t discuss.”
“Holding in a secret like that would be hard, stressful.”
“I don’t know.” Maureen pulled the water back toward her, drank. “I’ve never cheated on my husband.”
“Your marriage is secure. Solid.”
“Of course it is. Of course.”
“You had a difficult obstacle to overcome.”
Water spilled over the rim of the cup as Maureen’s hand shook. “I’m sorry?”
“Marsha. She was an obstacle.”
“I don’t know what you mean. What are you saying?”
“A first wife in what was by all accounts a happy marriage. You agree, and have stated for the record in this investigation that Boyd Stibbs loved Marsha and you never observed any dissent or trouble between them.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you and others have stated, on record, that Boyd and Marsha were devoted to each other, enjoyed each other’s company, had many mutual interests, many mutual friends.”
“Yes, but . . . That was before. Before anything happened.”
“Would you state now, Mrs. Stibbs, that Boyd loved his first wife, Marsha Stibbs?”
“Yes.” Her throat worked. “Yes.”
“And to your personal knowledge, through your personal observations, Marsha Stibbs was committed to Boyd, and to her marriage?”
“She spent a lot of time on her work. She rarely bothered to prepare meals for him. He—he took care of the laundry more often than she did.”
“I see.” Peabody pursed her lips, nodded. “So you would say she neglected him, and their marriage.”
“I didn’t say that . . . I didn’t mean that.”
“Push,” Eve ordered from Observation. “Push now.”
“What did you mean, Mrs. Stibbs?”
“Just that she wasn’t as perfect as everyone likes to think, to say. She could be very selfish.”
“Did Boyd ever complain to you about this neglect?”
“No. Boyd never complains. He’s much too good-natured.”
“No one’s that good-natured.” Peabody used a smile now, big and wide, girl to girl. “Surely if he’d known or suspected his wife was seeing someone else, he’d have complained.”
“No, no.” Eve rocked up on her toes. “Don’t circle back, don’t give her space to think.”
“What?” Alarmed, McNab grabbed Eve’s arm. “What did she do wrong?”
“She should keep pressing on the victim, dig out the suspect’s buried resentments, get her to voice them. And she needs to keep hitting her with the husband, so she can allude that maybe we’re looking at him after all. The suspect’s obsessed with Boyd Stibbs and the perfect world she’s created around him. You’ve got to chip at the foundation of that, let her feel it crumbling. She’s going off on the other man now, and that gives the suspect the chance to rebuild the fantasy, helps her believe there was another man.”
“Is she losing it?”
Eve dragged a hand through her hair. “She lost some ground.”
> “Maybe you should go in.”
“No. She can get it back.”
They went well over McNab’s fifteen minutes, but Eve didn’t order him back to work. She watched Maureen’s confidence rebuild and Peabody’s falter. At one point, Peabody stared into the glass with such obvious panic, Eve had to imagine her own boots bolted to the floor so she couldn’t stride in and take over.
“Got anything to write on?” Eve asked.
“You mean, like paper?” McNab asked. “I’m EDD. We don’t use paper. That would just be wrong.”
“Give me your e-book.” She snatched it from him, coded in a few key phrases. “Go around and knock. Try to look like a cop for a change. Pass this to Trueheart, tell him to pass it to her, then you get out again. Got that?”
“You bet.” He scanned the miniscreen as he hurried out.
Shatter her fantasies
Implicate husband
Make her talk about victim—by name
Obstacle angle was good, keep using it
Watch her hands. Plays with wedding ring when she’s nervous
Dallas
It made McNab grin, so he had to take a minute to set his face into serious lines before he knocked.
“From Dallas,” he whispered, putting his mouth close to Trueheart’s ear, and adding the little flourish of skimming a hard look over Maureen.
“I beg your pardon, Officer Peabody.” Trueheart stepped to the table. “This data just came in.”
He handed her the mini-unit, then stepped back to his post.
When Peabody read the note, she experienced a flood of relief, a geyser of new energy. Very carefully, she set the unit screen down on the table, folded her hands over it.
“What is that?” Maureen demanded. “What did he mean by data?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Peabody said in a tone that indicated there was a great deal to worry about. “Can you tell me, Mrs. Stibbs, when you and Mr. Stibbs began to see each other as more than friends?”