The In Death Collection, Books 1-5

by J. D. Robb

  “I don’t have any jurisdiction here,” Eve began as she took a cushioned chair with a low back, “but I’d like to record this meeting, with your permission.”

  Mirina looked at Slade, bit her lip. “Yes, of course.” She cleared her throat when Eve took out her recorder and set it on the table between them. “You know about the . . . difficulties Randy had several years ago in Sector 38.”

  “I know,” Eve confirmed. “I was told you didn’t.”

  “Randy told me yesterday.” Mirina reached up blindly, and his hand was there. “You’re a strong, confident woman, Lieutenant. It may be difficult for you to understand those of us who aren’t so strong. Randy didn’t tell me before because he was afraid I wouldn’t handle it well. My nerves.” She moved her thin shoulders. “Business crises energize me. Personal crises devastate me. The doctors call it an avoidance tendency. I’d rather not face trouble.”

  “You’re delicate,” Slade stated, squeezing her hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “In any case, this is something I have to face. You were there,” she said to Roarke, “during the incident.”

  “I was on the station, probably in the casino.”

  “And the security at the hotel, the security Randy called, they were yours.”

  “That’s right. Everyone has private security. Criminal cases are transferred to the magistrate—unless they can be dealt with privately.”

  “You mean through bribes.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Randy could have bribed security. He didn’t.”

  “Mirina.” He hushed her with another squeeze of his hand. “I didn’t bribe them because I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to bribe them. If I had, there wouldn’t have been a record, and we wouldn’t be discussing it now.”

  “The heavy charges were dropped,” Eve pointed out. “You were given the minimum penalty for the ones that stood.”

  “And I was assured that the entire matter would remain buried. It didn’t. I prefer something stronger than tea. Roarke?”

  “Whiskey if you have it, two fingers.”

  “Tell them, Randy,” Mirina whispered while he programmed two whiskeys from the recessed bar.

  He nodded, brought Roarke his glass, then knocked back the contents of his own. “Cicely called me on the night she was murdered.”

  Eve’s head jerked up like a hound scenting blood. “There was no record of that on her ’link. No record of an outgoing call.”

  “She called from a public phone. I don’t know where. It was just after midnight, your time. She was agitated, angry.”

  “Mr. Slade, you told me in our official interview that you had not had contact with Prosecutor Towers on that night.”

  “I lied. I was afraid.”

  “You now choose to recant your earlier statement.”

  “I wish to revise it. Without benefit of counsel, Lieutenant, and fully aware of the penalty for giving a false statement during a police investigation. I’m telling you now that she contacted me shortly before she was killed. That, of course, gives me an alibi, if you like. It would have been very close to impossible for me to have traveled cross-country and killed her in the amount of time I had. You can, of course, check my transmission records.”

  “Be sure that I will. What did she want?”

  “She asked me if it was true. Just that, at first. I was distracted, working. It took me a moment to realize how upset she was, and then when she was more definite, to understand she was referring to Sector 38. I panicked, made some excuses. But you couldn’t lie to Cicely. She pinned me to the wall. I was angry, too, and we argued.”

  He paused, his eyes going to Mirina. He watched her, Eve thought, as if he waited for her to shatter like glass.

  “You argued, Mr. Slade?” Eve prompted.

  “Yes. About what had happened, why. I wanted to know how she had found out about it, but she cut me off. Lieutenant, she was furious. She told me she was going to deal with it for her daughter’s sake. Then she would deal with me. She ended transmission abruptly, and I settled down to brood and to drink.”

  He walked back to Mirina, laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked. “It was early in the morning, just before dawn, when I heard the news report and knew she was dead.”

  “She had never spoken to you about the incident before.”

  “No. We had an excellent relationship. She knew about the gambling, disapproved, but in a mild way. She was used to David. I don’t think she understood how deeply we were both involved.”

  “She did,” Roarke corrected. “She asked me to cut you both off.”

  “Ah.” Slade smiled into his empty glass. “That’s why I couldn’t get through the door of your place in Vegas II.”

  “That’s why.”

  “Why now?” Eve asked. “Why have you decided to revise your previous statement?”

  “I felt it was closing in on me. I knew how hurt Mirina would be if she heard it from someone else. I needed to tell her. It was her decision to contact you.”

  “Our decision.” Mirina reached for his hand again. “I can’t bring my mother back, and I know how it will affect my father when we tell him Randy was used to hurt her. Those are things I have to learn to live with. I can do that, if I know that whoever used Randy, and me, will pay for it. She would never have gone out there, she would never have gone, but to protect me.”

  When they were flying west, Eve paced the comfortable cabin. “Families.” She tucked her thumbs into her back pockets. “Do you ever think about them, Roarke?”

  “Occasionally.” Since she was going to talk, he switched the business news off his personal monitor.

  “If we follow one theory, Cicely Towers went out on that rainy night as a mother. Someone was threatening her child’s happiness. She was going to fix it. Even if she gave Slade the heave-ho, she was going to fix it first.”

  “That’s what we assume is the natural instinct of a parent.”

  She slanted him a glance. “We both know better.”

  “I wouldn’t claim that either of our experiences are the norm, Eve.”

  “Okay.” Thoughtful, she sat on the arm of his chair. “So, if it’s normal for a mother to jump to shield her child against any trouble, Towers did exactly as her killer expected. He understood her, judged her character well.”

  “Perfectly, I’d say.”

  “She was also a servant of the court. It was her duty, and certainly should have been her instinct, to call the authorities, report any threats or blackmail attempts.”

  “A mother’s love is stronger than the law.”

  “Hers was, and whoever killed her knew it. Who knew her? Her lover, her ex-husband, her son, her daughter, Slade.”

  “And others, Eve. She was a strong, vocal supporter of professional motherhood, of family rights. There have been dozens of stories about her over the years highlighting her personal commitment to her family.”

  “That’s risking a lot, going by press. Media can be—and is—biased, or it slants a story to suit its own ends. I say her killer knew, not assumed, but knew. There’d been personal contact or extensive research.”

  “That hardly narrows the field.”

  Eve brushed that aside with a flick of the hand. “And the same goes for Metcalf. A meeting’s set, but it isn’t going to be specifically documented in her diary. How does the killer know that? Because he knows her habits. My job is to figure out his or hers. Because there’ll be another one.”

  “You’re so sure?”

  “I’m sure, and Mira confirmed it.”

  “You’ve spoken to her then.”

  Restless, she rose again. “He—it’s just easier to say he—envies, resents, is fascinated by powerful women. Women in the public eye, women who make a mark. Mira thinks the killings may be motivated by control, but I wonder. Maybe that’s giving him too much credit. Maybe it’s just the thrill. The stalking, the luring, the planning. Who is he stalking now?”

  “Have you
looked in the mirror?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you realize how often your face is on the screen, in the papers?” Fighting back fear, he rose and put his hands on her shoulders, and read her face. “You’ve thought of it already?”

  “I’ve wished for it,” she corrected, “because I’d be ready.”

  “You terrify me,” he managed.

  “You said I was the best.” She grinned, patted his cheek. “Relax, Roarke, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “Oh, I’ll sleep easy now.”

  “How much longer before we land?” Impatient, she turned to walk to the viewscreen.

  “Thirty minutes or so, I imagine.”

  “I need Nadine.”

  “What are you planning, Eve?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m planning on getting lots of press.” She shoveled her fingers through her untidy hair. “Haven’t you got some ritzy affairs, the kind the media just love to cover, that we can go to?”

  He let out a sigh. “I suppose I could come up with a few.”

  “Great. Let’s set some up.” She plopped down in a seat and tapped her fingers on her knee. “I guess I can even push it to getting a couple of new outfits.”

  “Above and beyond.” He scooped her up and sat her on his lap. “But I’m sticking close, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t work with civilians.”

  “I was talking about the shopping.”

  Her eyes narrowed as his hand snaked under her shirt. “Is that a dig?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She swiveled around to straddle him. “Just checking.”

  chapter ten

  “I’m going to do my lead-in first.” Nadine looked around Eve’s office and cocked a brow. “Not much of a sanctum.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Casually, Nadine adjusted the angle of Eve’s monitor. It squeaked. “Up till now, you’ve guarded this room like holy ground. I expected something more than a closet with a desk and a couple of ratty chairs.”

  “Home’s where the heart is,” Eve said mildly, and leaned back in one of those ratty chairs.

  Nadine had never considered herself claustrophobic, but the industrial beige walls were awfully close together, making her rethink the notion. And the single, stingy window, though undoubtedly blast treated, was unshaded and offered a narrow view of an air traffic snarl over a local transport station.

  The little room, Nadine mused, was full of crowds.

  “I’d have thought after you broke the DeBlass case last winter, you’d have rated a snazzier office. With a real window and maybe a little carpet.”

  “Are you here to decorate or to do a story?”

  “And your equipment’s pathetic.” Enjoying herself, Nadine clucked her tongue over Eve’s work units. “At the station, relics like this would be delegated to some low-level drone, or more likely, kicked to a charity rehab center.”

  She would not scowl, Eve told herself. She would not scowl. “Remember that, the next time you’re tagged for a donation to the Police and Security Fund.”

  Nadine smiled, leaned back on the desk. “At Channel 75, even drones have their own AutoChef.”

  “I’m learning to hate you, Nadine.”

  “Just trying to get you pumped for the interview. You know what I’d like, Dallas, since you’re in the mood for exposure? A one-on-one, an in-depth interview with the woman behind the badge. The life and loves of Eve Dallas, NYPSD. The personal side of the public servant.”

  Eve couldn’t stop it. She scowled. “Don’t push your luck, Nadine.”

  “Pushing my luck’s what I do best.” Nadine dropped down into a chair, shifted it. “How’s the angle, Pete?”

  The operator held his palm-sized remote up to his face. “Yo.”

  “Pete’s a man of few words,” Nadine commented. “Just how I like them. Want to fix your hair?”

  Eve caught herself before she tunneled her fingers through it. She hated being on camera, hated it a lot. “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” Nadine took a small, mirrored compact out of her oversized bag, patted something under her eyes, checked her teeth for lipstick smears. “Okay.” She dropped the compact back in her bag, crossed her legs smoothly with the faintest whisper of silk against silk, and turned toward camera. “Roll.”

  “Rolling.”

  Her face changed. Eve found it interesting to watch. The minute the red light glowed, her features became glossier, more intense. Her voice, which had been brisk and light, slowed and deepened, demanding attention.

  “This is Nadine Furst, reporting direct from Lieutenant Eve Dallas’s office in the Homicide Division of Cop Central. This exclusive interview centers on the violent and as yet unsolved murders of Prosecutor Cicely Towers and award-winning actor Yvonne Metcalf. Lieutenant, are these murders linked?”

  “The evidence indicates that probability. We can confirm from the medical examiner’s report that both victims were killed by the same weapon, and by the same hand.”

  “There’s no doubt of that?”

  “None. Both women were killed by a thin, smooth-edged blade, nine inches in length, tapered from point to hilt. The point was honed to a V. In both cases, the victims were frontally attacked with one swipe of the weapon across the throat from right to left, and at a slight angle.”

  Eve picked up a signature pen from her desk, causing Nadine to jerk and blink when she slashed it a fraction of an inch from Nadine’s throat. “Like that.”

  “I see.”

  “This would have severed the jugular, causing instant and dramatic blood loss, disabling the victim immediately, preventing her from calling for help or defending herself in any way. Death would have occurred within seconds.”

  “In other words, the killer needed very little time. A frontal attack, Lieutenant. Doesn’t that indicate that the victims knew their attacker?”

  “Not necessarily, but there is other evidence that leads to the conclusion that the victims knew their attacker, or were expecting to meet someone. The absence of any defense wounds for example. If I came at you . . .” Eve thrust out with the pen again, and Nadine threw a hand in front of her throat. “You see, it’s automatic defense.”

  “That’s interesting,” Nadine said and had to school her face before it scowled. “We have the details on the murders themselves, but not on the motive behind them, or the killer. What is it that connects Prosecutor Towers to Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “We’re investigating several lines of inquiry.”

  “Prosecutor Towers was killed three weeks ago, Lieutenant, yet you have no suspects?”

  “We have no evidence to support an arrest at this time.”

  “Then you do have suspects?”

  “The investigation is proceeding with all possible speed.”

  “And motive?”

  “People kill people, Ms. Furst, for all manner of reasons. They’ve done so since we crawled out of the muck.”

  “Biblically speaking,” Nadine put in, “murder is the oldest crime.”

  “You could say it has a long tradition. We may be able to filter out certain undesirable tendencies through genetics, chemical treatments, beta scans, we deter with penal colonies and the absence of freedom. But human nature remains human nature.”

  “Those basic motives for violence that science is unable to filter: love, hate, greed, envy, anger.”

  “They separate us from the droids, don’t they?”

  “And make us susceptible to joy, sorrow, and passion. That’s a debate for the scientists and the intellectuals. But which of those motives killed Cicely Towers and Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “A person killed them, Ms. Furst. His or her purpose remains unknown.”

  “You have a psychiatric profile, of course.”

  “We do,” Eve confirmed. “And we will use it and all of the tools at our disposal to find the murderer. I’ll find him,” Eve said deliberately flicking her eyes toward the camera. “And once the cage door is closed, motive
won’t matter. Only justice.”

  “That sounds like a promise, Lieutenant. A personal promise.”

  “It is.”

  “The people of New York will depend on you keeping that promise. This is Nadine Furst, reporting for Channel 75.” She waited a beat, then nodded. “Not bad, Dallas. Not bad at all. We’ll run it again at six and eleven, with the recap at midnight.”

  “Good. Take a walk, Pete.”

  The operator shrugged and wandered out of the room.

  “Off the record,” Eve began. “How much airtime can you give me?”

  “For?”

  “Exposure. I want plenty of it.”

  “I figured there was something behind this little gift.” Nadine let out a little breath that was nearly a sigh. “I have to say I’m disappointed, Dallas. I never figured you for a camera hound.”

  “I’ve got to testify on the Mondell case in a couple of hours. Can you get a camera there?”

  “Sure. The Mondell case is small ratings, but it’s worth a couple zips.” She pulled her diary out and noted it.

  “I’ve got this thing tonight, too, at the New Astoria. One of those gold plate dinners.”

  “The Astoria dinner ball, sure.” Her smile turned derisive. “I don’t work the social beat, Dallas, but I can tell the assignment desk to cue on you. You and Roarke are always good for the gossip eaters. It is you and Roarke, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll let you know where you can catch me over the next couple of days,” Eve continued, ignoring the insult. “I’ll feed you regular updates to air.”

  “Fine.” Nadine rose. “Maybe you’ll trip over the killer on your way to fame and fortune. Got an agent yet?”

  For a moment, Eve said nothing, just tapped her fingertips together. “I thought it was your job to fill airtime and guard the public’s right to know, not to moralize.”

  “And I thought it was yours to serve and protect, not to cash in.” Nadine snagged up her bag by the strap. “Catch you on the screen, Lieutenant.”