The In Death Collection, Books 1-5

by J. D. Robb

  “Mom.” With a bolstering smile, Linda interrupted. “Just answer the question. Don’t elaborate.”

  “But this is ridiculous.” Some of Anna’s puzzlement edged over into irritation. It was her home, after all, her family. “Lieutenant Dallas already knows the answers.”

  “I’m sorry to go over the same ground, Mrs. Whitney. Would you describe your relationship with David Angelini?”

  “David? Why I’m his godmother. I watched him grow up.”

  “You’re aware that David Angelini was in financial distress prior to the death of his mother.”

  “Yes, he was . . .” Her eyes went huge. “You don’t seriously believe that David . . . That’s hideous.” She snapped it out before her mouth compressed into a thin red line. “I’m not going to dignify this with an answer.”

  “I understand you feel protective toward your godson, Mrs. Whitney. I understand you would go to some lengths to protect him—and to some expense. Two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Anna’s face whitened under her careful cosmetics. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Mrs. Whitney, do you deny paying to David Angelini the sum of two hundred thousand dollars, in installments of fifty thousand dollars over a four-month period, beginning in February of this year and ending in May?”

  “I . . .” She clutched at her daughter’s hand, avoided her husband’s. “Do I have to answer that, Linda?”

  “A moment please, to confer with my client.” Briskly, Linda scooped an arm around her mother and led her into the next room.

  “You’re very good, Lieutenant,” Whitney said tightly. “It’s been some time since I observed one of your interviews.”

  “Jack.” Feeney sighed, hurting for everyone. “She’s doing her job.”

  “Yes, she is. It’s what she’s best at.” He looked over as his wife came back into the room.

  She was pale, trembling a little. The burning in his gut flared.

  “We’ll continue,” Linda said. There was a warrior glint in her eye when she focused on Eve. “My client wishes to make a statement. Go ahead, Mom, it’s all right.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears starred on her lashes. “Jack, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. He was in trouble. I know what you said, but I couldn’t help it.”

  “It’s all right.” Resigned, he took the hand that reached out for his and stood beside her. “Tell the lieutenant the truth, and we’ll deal with it.”

  “I gave him the money.”

  “Did he threaten you, Mrs. Whitney?”

  “What?” Shock seemed to dry up the tears swimming in her eyes. “Oh my goodness. Of course he didn’t threaten me. He was in trouble,” she repeated, as if that should be enough for anyone. “He owed a very great deal of money to the wrong kind of people. His business—that portion of his father’s business that he oversaw—was in some temporary upheaval. And he had a new project he was trying to get off the ground. He explained it,” she added with a wave of her free hand. “I don’t remember precisely. I don’t bother overmuch with business.”

  “Mrs. Whitney, you gave him four payments of fifty thousand. You didn’t relay this information to me in our other interviews.”

  “What business of yours was it?” Her spine was back, snapped hard and cold so that she sat like a statue. “It was my money, and a personal loan to my godchild.”

  “A godchild,” Eve said with straining patience, “who was being questioned in a murder investigation.”

  “His mother’s murder. You might as well accuse me of killing her as David.”

  “You didn’t inherit a sizable portion of her estate.”

  “Now, you listen to me.” Anger suited her. Anna’s face glowed as she leaned forward. “That boy adored his mother, and she him. He was devastated by her death. I know. I sat with him, I comforted him.”

  “You gave him two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “It was my money to do with as I chose.” She bit her lip. “No one would help him. His parents refused. They’d agreed to refuse this time. I spoke with Cicely about it months ago. She was a wonderful mother, and she loved her children, but she was a very strong believer in discipline. She was determined that he had to handle his problem on his own, without her help. Without mine. But when he came to me, desperate, what was I to do? What was I to do?” she demanded, turning to her husband. “Jack, I know you told me to stay out of it, but he was terrified, afraid they would cripple him, even kill him. What if it had been Linda, or Steven? Wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help?”

  “Anna, feeding his problem isn’t help.”

  “He was going to pay me back,” she insisted. “He wasn’t going to gamble with it. He promised. He only needed to buy some time. I couldn’t turn him away.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas,” Linda began. “My client lent her own money to a family member in good faith. There is no crime in that.”

  “Your client hasn’t been charged with a crime, counselor.”

  “Did you, in any of your previous interviews, ask my client directly about disposition of funds? Did you ask my client if she had any financial dealings with David Angelini?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Then she is not required to volunteer such information, which would appear to be personal and unconnected to your investigation. To the best of her knowledge.”

  “She’s a cop’s wife,” Eve said wearily. “Her knowledge ought to be better than most. Mrs. Whitney, did Cicely Towers argue with her son over money, over his gambling, over his debts and the settlement thereof?”

  “She was upset. Naturally they argued. Families argue. They don’t hurt each other.”

  Maybe not in your cozy little world, Eve thought. “Your last contact with Angelini?”

  “A week ago. He called to make sure I was all right, that Jack was all right. We discussed plans for setting up a memorial scholarship fund in his mother’s name. His idea, Lieutenant,” she said with swimming eyes. “He wanted her to be remembered.”

  “What can you tell me about his relationship with Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “The actress.” Anna’s eyes went blank before she dabbed at them. “Did he know her? He never mentioned it.”

  It had been a shot in the dark, and hadn’t found a target. “Thank you.” Eve picked up her recorder, logged in the end of the interview. “Counselor, you should advise your client that it would be in her best interest not to mention this interview or any portion of it to anyone outside this room.”

  “I’m a cop’s wife.” Anna neatly tossed Eve’s words back in her face. “I understand the drill.”

  The last glimpse Eve had of the commander as she stepped outside, he was holding his wife and daughter.

  Eve wanted a drink. By the time she’d logged out for the day, she had spent the better part of the afternoon chasing after David Angelini’s tail. He was in a meeting, he was out of contact, he was anywhere but where she looked. Without any other choice, she’d left messages at every possible point on the planet and figured she’d be lucky to hear from him before the following day.

  Meanwhile, she was faced with an enormous, empty house and a butler who hated the air she breathed. The impulse struck as she zipped through the gates. She grabbed her car ’link and ordered Mavis’s number.

  “Your night off, right?” she asked the instant Mavis’s face blipped on screen.

  “You bet. Gotta rest those vocal chords.”

  “Plans?”

  “Nothing that can’t be tossed out for better. What do you have in mind?”

  “Roarke’s off planet. You want to come over here and hang, stay over, get drunk?”

  “Hang at Roarke’s, stay over at Roarke’s, get drunk at Roarke’s? I’m on my way.”

  “Wait, wait. Let’s do it up big. I’ll send a car for you.”

  “A limo?” Mavis forgot her vocal chords and squealed. “Jesus, Dallas, make sure the driver wears, like, a uniform. The people in my building will be hanging out the windows
with their eyes popped out.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Eve broke transmission and all but danced up the steps to the door. Summerset was there, just as expected, and she sent him a haughty nod. She’d been practicing. “I’m having a friend over for the evening. Send a car and driver to 28 Avenue C.”

  “A friend.” His voice was ripe with suspicion.

  “That’s right, Summerset.” She glided up the stairs. “A very good, very close friend. Be sure and tell the cook there’ll be two for dinner.”

  She managed to get out of earshot before doubling over with laughter. Summerset was expecting a tryst, she was sure. But it was going to be even more of a scandal when he got a load of Mavis.

  Mavis didn’t disappoint her. Though for Mavis, she was conservatively dressed. Her hair de jour was rather tame, a glittery gold fashioned in what was called a half-swing. One glistening side curved to her ear while the other half skimmed her shoulder.

  She’d only worn perhaps a half dozen varied earrings—and all in her ears. A distinguished look for Mavis Freestone.

  She stepped out of a torrential spring downpour, handing a speechless Summerset her transparent cloak strung with tiny lights, and turned three circles. More, Eve thought, in awe of the hallway than to show off her skin-hugging red body suit.

  “Wow.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Eve said. She’d hovered near the hallway waiting, not wanting Mavis to face Summerset alone. The strategy was obviously unnecessary, as the usually disdainful butler was struck dumb.

  “It’s just mag,” Mavis said in reverent tones. “Really mag. And you’ve got the whole digs to yourself.”

  Eve sent Summerset a cool, sidelong glance. “Just about.”

  “Decent.” With a flutter of inch-long lashes, Mavis held out a hand with interlinking hearts tattooed on the back. “And you must be Summerset. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Summerset took the hand, so staggered he nearly lifted it to his lips before he remembered himself. “Madam,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh, you just call me Mavis. Great place to work, huh? You must get a hard charge out of it.”

  Unsure if he was appalled or enchanted, Summerset stepped back, managed a half bow, and disappeared down the hall with her dripping cloak.

  “A man of few words.” Mavis winked, giggled, then clattered down the hall on six-inch inflatable platforms. And let out a sensual groan at the first doorway. “You’ve got a real fireplace.”

  “A couple dozen of them, I think.”

  “Jesus, do you do it in front of the fire? Like in the old flicks?”

  “I’ll leave that up to your imagination.”

  “I can imagine good. Christ, Dallas, that car you sent. A real limo, a classic. It just had to be raining.” She whirled back, sending her earrings dancing. “Only about half the people I wanted to impress saw me. What are we going to do first?”

  “We can eat.”

  “I’m starving, but I’ve got to see the place first. Show me something.”

  Eve pondered. The roof terrace was incredible, but it was raining furiously. The weapon room was out, as was the target range. Eve considered those areas off limits to guests without Roarke’s presence. There was plenty more, of course. Dubiously Eve studied Mavis’s shoes.

  “Can you really walk in those?”

  “They’re air glided. I hardly know I’ve got them on.”

  “All right then, we’ll take the stairs. You’ll see more that way.”

  She took Mavis to the solarium first, amused by her friend’s dropped-jaw reaction to the exotic plants and trees, the sparkling waterfalls, and chattering birds. The curved glass wall was battered with rain, but through it the lights of New York gleamed.

  In the music room, Eve programmed a trash band and let Mavis entertain her with a glass-shattering short set of current favorites.

  They spent an hour in the game room, competing with the computer, each other, and hologram opponents at Free Zone and Apocalypse.

  Mavis did a lot of oohing and ahing over the bedrooms, and finally chose the suite for her overnight stay.

  “I can have a fire if I want?” Mavis ran a possessive hand over the rich lapis lazuli of the hearth.

  “Sure, but it is nearly June.”

  “I don’t care if I roast.” Arms out, she took long swinging steps over the floor, gazed up through the sky dome, and plopped down on the lake-sized bed with its thick silver cushions. “I feel like a queen. No, no, an empress.” She rolled over and over while the floating mattress undulated beneath her. “How do you stay normal in a place like this?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t lived here very long.”

  Still rolling lavishly from one side of the air cushions to the other, Mavis laughed. “It would only take me one night. I’m never going to be the same.” Scooting up to the padded headboard, she punched buttons. Lights flickered on and off, revolved, sparkled. Music throbbed, pulsed. Water began to run in the next room.

  “What’s that?”

  “You programmed your bath,” Eve informed her.

  “Oops. Not yet.” Mavis flicked it off, tried another, and had the panel on the far wall sliding open to reveal a ten-foot video screen. “Definitely decent. Wanna eat?”

  While Eve settled in the dining room with Mavis, enjoying her first full evening off in weeks, Nadine Furst scowled over the editing of her next broadcast.

  “I want to enhance that, freeze on Dallas,” she ordered the tech. “Yeah, yeah, bring her up. She looks damn good on camera.”

  Sitting back, she studied the five screens while the tech worked the panel. Editing Room One was quiet, but for the murmuring clash of voices from the screen. For Nadine, putting images together seamlessly was as exciting as sex. The majority of broadcasters left the process to their techs, but Nadine wanted her hand in here. Everywhere.

  In the newsroom one level down, it would be bedlam. She enjoyed that, too. The scurry to beat the competition to the latest sound bite, the latest picture, the most immediate angle. Reporters manning their ’links for one more quote, bumping their computers for that last bit of data.

  The competition wasn’t all outside on Broadcast Avenue. There was plenty of it right in the Channel 75 newsroom.

  Everybody wanted the big story, the big picture, the big ratings. Right now, she had it all. And Nadine didn’t intend to lose it.

  “There, hold it there, when I’m standing on Metcalf’s patio. Yeah, now try a split screen, use the shot of me on the sidewalk where Towers bought it. Um-hmm.” Eyes narrowed, she studied the image. She looked good, she decided. Dignified, sober-eyed. Our intrepid, clear-sighted reporter, revisiting the scenes of the crimes.

  “Okay.” She folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “Cue in the voice-over.”

  Two women, talented, dedicated, innocent. Two lives brutally ended. The city reels, looks over its shoulder, and asks why. Loving families mourn, bury their dead, and ask for justice. There is one person working to answer that question, to meet that demand.

  “Freeze,” Nadine ordered, “Bleed to Dallas, exterior courtroom shot. Bring up audio.”

  Eve’s image filled the screens, full length, with Nadine beside her. That was good, Nadine, thought. The visual lent the impression they were a team, working together. Couldn’t hurt. There had been the faintest of breezes, ruffling their hair. Behind them, the courthouse speared up, a monument to justice, its elevators busily gliding up and down, its glass walkway crowded with people.

  My job is to find a killer, and I take my job seriously. When I finish mine, the courts begin theirs.

  “Perfect.” Nadine fisted her hand. “Oh yes, just perfect. Fade it there, and I’ll pick it up on live. Time?”

  “Three forty-five.”

  “Louise, I’m a genius, and you’re not so bad yourself. Print it.”

  “Printed.” Louise swiveled away from the console and stretched. They’d worked together for three years and were friends. “It’
s a good piece, Nadine.”

  “Damn right it is.” Nadine angled her head. “But.”

  “Okay.” Louise released her stubby ponytail and ran a hand through her thick, dark curls. “We’re getting close to retreading here. We’ve had nothing new in a couple of days.”

  “Neither has anybody else. And I’ve got Dallas.”

  “And that’s a big one.” Louise was a pretty woman, soft-featured, bright-eyed. She’d come to Channel 75 direct from college. After less than a month on the job, Nadine had scooped her up as her main tech. The arrangement suited them both. “She’s got a solid visual and an excellent throat. The Roarke factor adds a gold edge. That’s not including the fact she’s got a rep as a good cop.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m thinking,” continued Louise, “until you get some new bites on this, you might want to splice in some of the business from the DeBlass case. Remind people our lieutenant broke one of the big ones, took a hit in the line of duty. Build up confidence.”

  “I don’t want to take the focus off the current investigation.”

  “Maybe you do,” Louise disagreed. “At least until there’s a new lead. Or a new victim.”

  Nadine grinned. “A little more blood would heat things up. Another couple of days, we’ll be out of the sweeps and into the June doldrums. Okay, I’ll keep it in mind. You might want to put something together.”

  Louise cocked a brow. “I might?”

  “And if I use it, you get full on-air credit, you greedy bitch.”

  “Deal.” Louise tapped the pocket of her editing vest, winced. “Out of smokes.”

  “You’ve got to stop that. You know how the brass feel about employees taking health risks.”

  “I’m sticking with the herb shit.”

  “Shit’s right. Get me a couple while you’re at it.” Nadine had the grace to look sheepish. “And keep it to yourself. They’re tougher on the on-air talent than you techs.”

  “You’ve got some time before the midnight recap. Aren’t you going to take your break?”

  “No, I’ve got a couple of calls to make. Besides, it’s pouring out.” Nadine patted her perfectly coiffed hair. “You go.” She reached into her bag. “I’ll pay.”