by J. D. Robb
Jerry Fitzgerald was definitely blooming.
Then there was the face, soft and slumberous as though she’d just climbed out of sex. Ebony hair was razor straight and curved to perfection, framing a round, feminine chin. Her mouth was full and wet and red, her eyes dazzling blue and edged with spiky, gold-tipped lashes.
As she glided to a chair like some sort of pagan sex goddess, Eve patted Feeney’s leg in support—and restraint.
“Ms. Fitzgerald,” Eve began.
“Yes,” she said in a voice like sacrificial smoke. Those killer eyes barely flickered on Eve before they latched like limpets on Feeney’s homely and dazed face. “Captain, it’s just so awful. I’ve tried the isolation tank, the mood elevator, even programmed the hologram for meadow walks, as that always relaxes me. But nothing I do gets all of this out of my mind.”
She fluttered, lifted both hands to her unbelievable face. “I must look like a hag.”
“You look beautiful,” Feeney babbled. “Stunning. You look—”
“Get a grip,” Eve muttered and jabbed him with an elbow. “We appreciate how upset you are, Ms. Fitzgerald. Pandora was a friend of yours.”
Jerry opened her mouth, closed it, smiled slyly. “I could tell you she was, but you’d find out quickly enough we weren’t friendly. We tolerated each other as we were in the same business, but frankly, we couldn’t stand one another.”
“She invited you into her home.”
“That’s because she wanted Justin to be there, and we’re very close right now. And Pandora and I did socialize, we even did a few projects together.”
She rose, either to show off the body or because she preferred to serve herself. From a cabinet in the corner she took out a decanter in the shape of a swan and poured its sapphire blue contents into a glass.
“Let me say first that I am sincerely upset about the way she died. It’s terrifying to think that anyone could hate so much. I am in the same profession, and as much in the public eye. A kind of image, as Pandora was. If it happened to her . . .” She broke off, drank deeply. “It could happen to me. One of the reasons I’m staying here with Justin until it’s all resolved.”
“Take me through your movements on the night she was killed.”
Jerry’s eyes widened. “Am I a suspect? That’s almost flattering.” She came back to the chair, drink in hand. After she sat, she folded up her exquisite legs in a way that made Feeney vibrate beside Eve. “I never had the guts to do more than give her a few verbal shots. Half the time she didn’t even know I was zinging her. Pandora wasn’t exactly a mental giant and never understood subtlety. All right then.”
She sat back, closed her eyes, and told basically the same story as Justin had, though she had, apparently, tuned in more closely on the altercation between Pandora and Mavis.
“I have to admit, I was cheering her on. The little one, not Pandora. She had a style to her,” Jerry mused. “Odd, memorable—somewhere between a waif and an Amazon. She was trying to hold her own, but Pandora would have mopped the floor with her if Justin and Paul hadn’t stopped it. Pandora was really strong. She was always in the health club working on muscle tone. I once saw her literally throw a fashion consultant across the room because the poor sap had mislabeled her accessories before a showing. Anyway . . .”
She waved that off, opened a drawer on the brass table beside her, and located an enameled box. She took out a glossy red cigarette, lighted it, blew out perfumed smoke. “Anyway, the woman started off trying to reason with Pandora, make some sort of a deal with her over Leonardo. He’s a designer. My take was Leonardo and the waif were an item and Pandora wasn’t ready to cut him loose. He’s got a show coming up.”
She smiled that cat’s smile again. “With Pandora gone, I’ll have to throw him my support.”
“You weren’t involved in the show before?”
“Pandora was headlining. I said Pandora and I had done a few projects together. A couple of videos. Her problem was, she had looks, even presence, but when she had to read someone else’s lines or try for charming on screen, she was an oak. Wooden. Just awful. But I’m good.” She paused to let more smoke stream through her lips. “Really good, and I’m concentrating on my acting work. But . . . stepping in on this show, with this designer, will be a nice boost for me media-wise. That sounds callous. Sorry.” She shrugged. “It’s life.”
“Her death comes at an opportune moment for you.”
“When I see an opportunity, I take it. I don’t kill for it.” She moved her shoulders again. “That was more Pandora’s style.”
Now she leaned forward, and her bodice gaped carelessly. “Look, let’s not play games. I’m clear. I was with Justin all night, didn’t see her after about midnight. I can be honest, tell you I couldn’t stand her, that she was certainly a professional rival, and that I knew that she’d have liked to lure Justin away from me just for spite. And maybe she could have done it. I don’t kill over men, either.” She warmed Feeney with a glance. “There are so many charming ones out there. And the simple fact is, you couldn’t fit all the people who detested her into this apartment. I’m just one of the crowd.”
“What was her mood on the night she died?”
“Razzed and jazzed.” In a quick change of mood, Jerry threw back her head and laughed lustily. “I don’t know what she’d been knocking back, but it sure as hell put a glint in her eye. She was on fast forward.”
“Ms. Fitzgerald,” Feeney began in slow, apologetic tones, “you believed Pandora had ingested an illegal?”
She hesitated a moment, then moved her alabaster shoulders. “Nothing legal makes you feel that good, honey. Or that mean. And she was feeling good and mean. Whatever it was, she was chasing it with champagne by the bucketload.”
“Were you and the other guests offered illegal substances while you were there?” Eve asked.
“She didn’t invite me to share. But then, she knew I didn’t use. My body’s a temple.” She smiled as Eve’s glance focused on her glass. “Protein drink, Lieutenant. Pure protein. And this?” She waved her slim cigarette. “Veggie, with a lace of perfectly legal calmer, for my nerves. I’ve watched a lot of the mighty fall, taking a short, fast trip. I’m in for the long haul. I allow myself three herbal smokes a day, an occasional glass of wine. No chemical stimulants, no happy pills. On the other hand . . .” She set her drink aside. “Pandora was a champion user. She’d gulp down anything.”
“Do you know the name of her supplier?”
“Never thought to ask her. Just wasn’t interested. But at a guess, I’d say this was something new. I’ve never seen her so powered up, and though it pains me to say it, she looked better, younger. Skin tone and texture. She had, well, a glow on. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d had a full treatment, but we both use Paradise. I know she wasn’t in the salon that day, because I was. Anyway, I asked her, and she just smiled and said she’d found a new beauty secret, and she was going to make a pile on it.”
“Interesting,” Feeney commented when he plopped back down in Eve’s car. “We talked to two of the three people who last socialized with the victim. Neither of them could stand her.”
“They could have done it together,” Eve mused. “Fitzgerald knew Leonardo, wanted to work with him. Simplest thing in the world to alibi each other.”
Feeney tapped his pocket where he’d slipped the security discs from the building. “We’ll run these, see what we find. Still seems to me we’re missing motive. Whoever took her out didn’t just want to kill her, they wanted to erase her. We’ve got a powerful kind of rage here. Didn’t seem to me either one of those two would work up a sweat.”
“Push the right buttons, everybody sweats. I want to swing by ZigZag, see if we can start pinning down Mavis’s moves. And we need to contact the producer, set up an interview. Can you put one of your drones on the car companies, Feeney? I can’t see our heroine taking the subway or a bus downtown to Leonardo’s.”
“Sure.” He took out
his communicator. “If she took a cab or a private transpo service, we should be able to nail it down in a couple hours.”
“Good. And let’s see if she made the trip alone, or if she had company.”
ZigZag didn’t do much hopping in the middle of the day. It lived for night. The sunlight crowd were mostly tourists or the harried urban professionals who didn’t much care if the decor looked tawdry and the service was surly. The club was like a carnival that glittered at night, and showed its age and its flaws in the harsh light of day. Still, it maintained that underlying mystique that drew crowds of dreamers.
There was a steady drone of music, which would be cranked up to ear-splitting once the sun set. The open, two-level structure was dominated by five bars and twin revolving dance floors that would begin their circuit at nine P.M. Now they were still, stacked one over the other, the clear floors scarred from the beatings of nightly feet.
The lunch offerings ran to sandwiches and salads, all named after dead rockers. Today’s special was peanut butter and banana on white, with a side of vidalia onions and jalapeῆos. The Elvis and Joplin combo.
Eve settled with Feeney at the first bar, ordered black coffee, and sized up the bartender. She was human rather than the usual droid. In fact, Eve hadn’t noticed any droids employed in the club.
“You ever work the night shift?” Eve asked her.
“Nope. I’m a day worker.” The bartender set Eve’s coffee on the bar. She was the perky kind, one who looked more like the front woman for a health food chain than a drink swiller at a club.
“Who’s on the ten to three who notices people, remembers them?”
“Nobody around here notices people, if they can help it.”
Eve took out her badge, laid it on the bar. “Would this clear somebody’s memory?”
“Couldn’t say.” Unconcerned, she shrugged. “Look, this is a clean joint. I’ve got a kid at home, which is why I work days and why I was fussy about where I took a job. I checked this place out through and through before I hooked up. Dennis, he runs a friendly club, which is why you’ve got servers with pulses instead of chips. It might get a little wild, but he keeps the lid on.”
“Who is Dennis, and where do I find him?”
“His office is up the twisty stairs to your right, behind the first bar. He owns the place.”
“Hey, Dallas. We could take a minute for some eats,” Feeney complained as he walked behind her. “The Mick Jagger sounded worth a try.”
“Get him to go.”
The bar wasn’t open on this level, but obviously Dennis had been alerted. A mirrored panel slid aside, and he stood there, a slight, aesthetic-faced man with a pointed red beard and a monk’s circle of raven black hair.
“Officers, welcome to ZigZag.” His voice was whisper quiet. “Is there a problem?”
“We’d like your help and cooperation, Mr. . . . ?”
“Dennis, just Dennis. Too many names are unwieldy.” He ushered them inside. The carnival atmosphere ended at the threshold. The office was spartan, streamlined, and quiet as a church. “My sanctuary,” he said, well aware of the contrast. “One can’t enjoy nor can one appreciate the pleasures of noise and crowds and tangling humanity unless one experiences its opposite. Please sit.”
Eve took a chance on a stern-looking, straight-backed chair while Feeney eased himself into its mate. “We’re trying to verify the movements of one of your customers last night.”
“For?”
“Official reasons.”
“I see.” Dennis sat behind a slab of high-gloss plastic that served as his desk. “And the time?”
“After eleven, before one.”
“Open screen.” At his order, a section of the wall slid open to reveal a viewer. “Replay security scan five, begin eleven P.M.”
The screen, and the room, erupted with sound and color and movement. For an instant it dazzled the eye, then Eve focused. It was an overview of the club in full swing. A rather lordly view, she mused, as if the watcher soared quietly over the heads of the celebrants.
It suited Dennis down to the ground.
He smiled, judging her reaction. “Delete audio.” Abruptly, silence descended. Now the movement seemed unworldly. Dancers gyrated on the circling floors, lights flashed over their faces, catching expressions, intense, joyful, feral. A couple at a corner table snarled at each other, body action clearly demonstrating an argument in progress. At another, a mating ritual with soulful looks and intimate touches.
Then she spotted Mavis. Alone.
“Can you enhance?” Eve rose, jabbed a finger to the center left of the screen.
“Of course.”
Frowning, Eve watched Mavis brought closer, clearer. It was, according to the time display, twenty-three forty-five. There was a bruise already darkening under Mavis’s eye. And when she turned her head to brush off an advance, the signs of raw scratches on her neck. But not her face, Eve noted with a sinking heart. The bright blue drape she wore was torn a bit at the shoulder, but it was still attached.
She watched Mavis flick off a couple of other men, then a woman. She downed her drink, set the glass down beside a matching pair of empty ones on her table. She listed a bit as she rose, balanced herself, then with the exaggerated dignity of the greatly impaired, Mavis elbowed her way through the crowd.
The time was twenty-four eighteen.
“Is that what you were looking for?”
“More or less.”
“Disengage video.” Dennis smiled. “The woman in question comes in the club from time to time. She is usually more sociable, enjoys dancing. Occasionally she will sing. I find her a different sort of talent, and certainly a crowd pleaser. Do you need her name?”
“I know who she is.”
“Well then.” He rose. “I hope Miss Freestone isn’t in any trouble. She looked unhappy.”
“I can get a warrant for a copy of that disc, or you can give me one.”
Dennis lifted a bright red eyebrow. “I’ll be happy to give you one. Computer, copy disc and label. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, not at this time.” Eve accepted the disc and slipped it into her bag. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
“Cooperation is the glue of life,” he said as the panel slid shut behind them.
“Weird-o,” Feeney decided.
“An efficient one. You know, Mavis could have gotten into a tussle while she was club hopping. She could have gotten her face scratched, her clothes torn.”
“Yeah.” Determined to eat, Feeney stopped at an order table and requested a Jagger to go. “You ought to put something in your system, Dallas, besides worry and work.”
“I’m fine. I’m not much on the club scene, but if she had it in the back of her mind to go see Leonardo, she’d have walked south and east from here. Let’s check out what her most likely stop would have been.”
“Fine. Just hold on.” He made her wait until his takeout slid through the serving slot. He had the clear wrap off and the first bite in by the time they got to the car. “Damn good stuff. Always did like Jagger.”
“Hell of a way to live forever.” She started to request a map when her car ’link beeped, signaling incoming transmission. “Lab report,” she murmured and focused on the screen. “Oh, goddamn it.”
“Hell, Dallas, this is a mess.” Appetite gone, Feeney stuffed the sandwich in his pocket. Both of them fell into silence.
The report was very clear. It was Mavis’s skin, and only Mavis’s, under the victim’s nails. Mavis’s prints, and only Mavis’s, on the murder weapon. And it was her blood, and only hers, mixed with the victim’s on scene.
The ’link beeped again, and this time a face appeared on screen. “Prosecuting Attorney Jonathan Heartly, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Acknowledged.”
“We’re issuing an arrest warrant for Freestone, Mavis, charge of murder, second degree. Please hold for transmission.”
“Didn’t waste any time,”
Feeney grumbled.
chapter seven
She wanted to do it alone. Had to do it alone. She could count on Feeney to work on ferreting out any details that might weaken the case against Mavis. But the job had to be done, and she had to do it herself.
Still, she was glad when Roarke opened the door.
“I can see it in your face.” And he took her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Eve.”
“I have a warrant. I have to take her in, book her. There’s nothing else I can do.”
“I know. Come here.” He gathered her close, held her as she burrowed her face in his shoulder. “We’ll find the piece of this that clears her, Eve.”
“Nothing I’ve found, nothing, Roarke, helps her. Everything makes it worse. The evidence, it’s all there. The motive’s there, the timing.” She drew back. “If I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t have a doubt.”
“But you do know her.”
“She’s going to be scared.” Frightened herself, Eve looked up the stairs, toward where Mavis would be waiting. “The PA’s office told me they wouldn’t block bail, but still, she’s going to need . . . Roarke, I hate to ask you—”
“You don’t have to. I’ve already contacted the best criminal defense team in the country.”
“I can’t pay you back for that.”
“Eve—”
“I don’t mean the money.” She took a shuddering breath and gripped both of his hands. “You don’t really know her, but you believe in her because I do. That’s what I can’t pay you back for. I have to go get her.”
“You want to do it alone.” He understood, and had already convinced himself not to argue the point. “I’ll alert her lawyers. What are the charges?”
“Murder two. I’ll have to deal with the media. It’s certainly going to leak that Mavis and I have history.” She pulled her hands through her disordered hair. “That may bleed over onto you.”
“Do you think that worries me?”
She nearly smiled. “No, I guess not. This may take awhile. I’ll bring her back as soon as I can.”