by J. D. Robb
“But you know what it is. Were you ever there with Pandora?”
“No.”
“Alone?”
“I said I hadn’t been there.”
“Where were you on June tenth, at approximately two A.M.?”
“What is this?”
“Can you verify your whereabouts on that date and time?”
“I don’t know where I was. I don’t have to answer that.”
“Were your payments to Pandora business payments, gifts?”
“Yes, no.” He fisted his hands under the table. “I believe I’d like to consult with counsel now.”
“Sure. Your choice. We will break this interview to allow subject to exercise his right to consult counsel. Disengage.” She smiled. “You’d better tell them all you know. You’d better tell someone. And if you’re not in this alone, I’d advise you to start thinking seriously about rolling over.” She pushed back from the table. “There’s a public ’link outside.”
“I have my own,” he said stiffly. “If you could show me to a room where I can make my call privately.”
“No problem. Come with me.”
Eve managed to avoid Whitney by transmitting an update and steering clear of her desk. She snagged Peabody and headed out.
“You shook Redford. You really shook him.”
“That was the idea.”
“It was the way you kept coming at him from different angles. Everything straight down the line at first, then pow. You tripped him up with the club.”
“He’ll get his balance back. I still have the payment he made to Fitzgerald to pitch at him, but he’ll be more prepared. This reprieve with his lawyers.”
“Yeah, and he won’t underestimate you again. You think he did it?”
“I think he could have. He hated her. If we can link him to the drugs . . . we’ll see.” So many angles to explore, Eve thought, and time was racing—racing toward Mavis’s pretrial hearing. If she didn’t have something solid within the next couple of days . . . “I want that unknown ID’d. I want to know the source. We find the source, we follow it.”
“Is that when you’re going to bring Casto in? That’s a professional inquiry.”
“He’d have better contacts. I’ll share the wealth once we have the unknown nailed.” Her ’link beeped, and she winced. “Shit, shit, shit. I know that’s Whitney. I can feel it.” She blanked her face and answered. “Dallas.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sir, checking a lead. I’m en route to the lab.”
“I left orders for you to be in my office at oh nine hundred.”
“I’m sorry, Commander, I didn’t receive that transmission. I haven’t been to my desk. If you’ve received my report, you’ll see that I’ve been tied up in interview this morning. Subject is currently consulting counsel. I believe—”
“Cut the tap dance, Lieutenant. I spoke with Dr. Mira a few minutes ago.”
Her skin seemed to ice over, go stiff. “Sir.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Lieutenant.” He spoke slowly, his eyes hard on hers. “That you would consider wasting the department’s time and manpower on such a matter. We have no intention nor desire to investigate formally, or to launch any informal inquiries into the incident. This matter is closed, and will remain closed. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”
Emotions swirled: relief, guilt, gratitude. “Sir, I—Yes. Understood.”
“Very well. The leak to Channel 75 has caused major problems here.”
“Yes, sir.” Snap back, she ordered herself. Think of Mavis. “I’m sure it has.”
“You are aware of departmental policy on unauthorized leaks to the media.”
“Well aware.”
“How is Ms. Furst?”
“I thought she looked quite well on screen, Commander.”
He scowled, but there was a glint in his eye. “You stay on the balls of your feet, Dallas. And you be here, my office, eighteen hundred. We have a fucking press conference.”
“Good dodge,” Peabody congratulated. “And all truth, except that you told him we were en route to the lab.”
“I didn’t say which lab.”
“What was that other business? He seemed pretty steamed over it. Have you got something else going on? Does it hook with this?”
“No, it’s old business. Dead business.” Grateful to have gotten through it, Eve glided toward the gate of Futures Laboratories and Research, a subsidiary of Roarke Industries. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD,” she announced into the scanner.
“You are expected, Lieutenant. Please proceed to Blue parking facility. Leave your vehicle and take transport C to the East complex, sector six, level one. You will be met.”
They were met by a lab droid, an attractive brunette with milk-white skin, clear blue eyes, and a security badge that identified her as Anna-6. Her voice was as melodious as church bells.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. I hope you had no trouble finding us.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Very good. Dr. Engrave will see you in the solarium. It’s very pleasant there. If you’d follow me.”
“That’s a droid,” Peabody murmured to Eve, and Anna-6 turned, smiled beautifully.
“I’m a new, experimental model. There are only ten of us at this stage, all in use here, at this complex. We hope to be on the market within six months. The research behind us is very extensive, and unfortunately the cost is still prohibitive for most general markets. We hope that larger industries will find the expense worthwhile until we can be cost-effectively mass produced.”
Eve cocked a head. “Has Roarke seen you?”
“Of course. Roarke approves all new products. He was very involved in the design.”
“I bet he was.”
“Through here, please,” Anna-6 continued, turning into a long, arched corridor in hospital white. “Dr. Engrave has found your specimen highly interesting. I’m sure you will find her very helpful.” She stopped by a mini wall screen and coded in a sequence. “Anna-6,” she announced. “Accompanied by Lieutenant Dallas and aide.”
The tiles parted, opening up into a large room filled with flora and lovely artificial sunlight. There was the tinkle of running water and the lazy drone of contented bees.
“I will leave you here and return to lead you out. Please request any refreshment you might like. Dr. Engrave often forgets to offer.”
“Go smile someplace else, Anna.” The testy voice seemed to come from a clump of ferns. Anna-6 merely smiled, stepped back, and let the tiles click together. “I know droids have their place, but damned if they don’t make me itchy. Over here, in the spirea.”
Warily, Eve stepped to the ferns, and through. There, kneeling in rich black dirt, was a woman. Her graying hair was scooped up in a messy knot, her hands reddened and soiled. Coveralls that might have once been white were stained with too many streaks to identify. She looked up, and her plain, narrow face proved to be as filthy as her clothes.
“I’m checking my worms. Trying out a new breed.” She held up a clump of dirt that wiggled.
“Very nice,” Eve decided and was faintly relieved when Engrave buried the busy clump.
“So, you’re Roarke’s cop. Always figured he’d choose one of those fussy purebreds with the skinny necks and big boobs.” She pursed her lips as she looked Eve over. “Glad he didn’t. Trouble with purebreds is, they need constant pampering. Give me a good hybrid any day.”
Engrave wiped her dirty hands on her dirty clothes. When she rose, she proved to be about five feet tall. “Digging around with worms is good therapy. More people should try it, then they wouldn’t need drugs to get through the day.”
“Speaking of drugs . . .”
“Yes, yes, over here.” She started off at marching pace, then began to slow, to meander. “Need some pruning here. More nitrogen. Underwatered. Root bound.” She paused beside spearing green leaves, trailing vines, explosive blooms. “It’s gotten to the stage they pay
me to garden. Nice work if you can get it. Know what this is?”
Eve looked at a purple trumpet-shaped bloom. She was pretty sure, but wary of a trap. “A flower.”
“Petunia. Hah. People have forgotten the charm of the traditional.” She stopped by a sink, washed some of the dirt off her hands, left more under her short ragged nails. “Everybody wants exotic nowadays. Bigger, better, different. A good bed of petunias will give a lot of pleasure for little care. You plant them, don’t expect them to be something they’re not, and enjoy. They’re simple, don’t wither up on you if you look cross-eyed. A good bed of petunias means something. Well then.”
She hoisted herself onto a stool in front of a workbench crowded with garden tools, pots, papers, an AutoChef that blinked on empty, and a top-of-the-line computer system.
“That was an interesting bag of tricks you sent over with that Irishman. Who knew his petunias, by the way.”
“Feeney’s a man of many talents.”
“Gave him a nice flat of pansies for his wife.” Engrave engaged the computer. “Already ran analysis on the sample Roarke brought by. Sweet-talked me into putting a rush on it. Another Irishman. God love ’em. Believe in crossing my t’s on something like this. The fresh sample gave me more to work with.”
“Then you have the results—”
“Don’t rush me, girl. It only works with good-looking Micks. And I don’t like working for cops.” Engrave smiled widely. “They don’t appreciate the art of science. Bet you don’t even know your periodic table, do you?”
“Listen, Doctor—” To Eve’s relief the formula flashed on screen. “Is this unit controlled?”
“It’s passkeyed, don’t you worry. Roarke said it was top security. I’ve been off the turnip truck longer than you’ve been alive.” She brushed Eve off with one grimy hand, gestured toward the screen with the other. “Now, I don’t have to go into the basic elements here. A child could make them, so I assume you’ve ID’d them.”
“It’s the single unknown—”
“I know the drill, Lieutenant. Here’s your little problem.” She highlighted a series of factors. “You haven’t tagged it from this formula, because they coded it. What you got here’s just a bunch of jibberish. It’s what you’ve got here.” Reaching over, she took a small slide dusted with powder. “Even your top labs would have a tough time fining this down. It looks like one thing, it smells like another. And when it’s all blended together as it is in this form, it’s the reaction that changes the mix. You know much about chemistry?”
“Do I have to?”
“If more people understood—”
“Dr. Engrave, I want to understand murder. You tell me what it is, and let me go from there.”
“Impatience is another problem with people today,” Engrave huffed, then took out a small covered dish. Inside were a few drops of milky liquid. “Since you don’t give a rat’s skinny ass, I won’t tell you what I did. We’ll leave it that I ran some tests, did some basic chemistry, and separated your unknown.”
“Is that it?”
“In its liquid form, yes. I bet your lab tech told you it was some form of a valarian—southwest U.S. native species.”
Eve looked over. “And?”
“He’d be close, but no cigar. It’s a plant, all right, and valarian was used in the grafting of the specimen. This is nectar, the substance that seduces the birds and bees and makes the world go round. This nectar is not from any native species.”
“Not native to the U.S.”
“Not native anywhere. Period.” She reached over, picked up a potted plant, and set it down with a thud. “This is your baby.”
“It’s pretty,” Peabody said, leaning closer to the lush frilled-edged blooms that varied from creamy white to royal purple. She sniffed, closed her eyes, and sniffed deeper. “God, it’s wonderful. It’s like . . .” Her head swam. “Strong.”
“You bet your ass it’s strong. That’s enough or you’ll be buzzed for an hour.” Engrave shoved the plant clear.
“Peabody?” Eve took her arm, shook. “Snap out of it.”
“It’s like taking a full glass of champagne in one gulp.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “It’s wonderful.”
“An experimental hybrid,” Engrave explained. “Code name Immortal Blossom. This one is fourteen months old, and it’s never stopped blooming. They were grafted in the Eden Colony.”
“Sit down, Peabody. The nectar from this is what we’re looking for?”
“By itself the nectar is potent and causes a reaction in bees not unlike drunkenness. They have the same sort of reaction to overripe fruit, windfall peaches for example, where the juice is highly concentrated. Unless the intake is controlled, it’s been found that the bees OD on the nectar. They just can’t get enough of it.”
“Addicted bees?”
“You could say that. Basically, they don’t want to go fucking the other flowers because they’re so seduced by this one. Your lab didn’t hook into it because the hybrid’s on the horticultural colonies’ restricted list, and puts it under Galactic Customs’ jurisdiction. The colony is working to alleviate this problem with the nectar, as it puts a world of hurt on the potential for export.”
“So the Immortal Blossom is a controlled specimen.”
“For the moment. There are some medicinal uses, and particularly cosmetic ones. Ingestion of the nectar can cause a luminescence to the skin, a rejuvenation of elasticity, and an appearance of youth.”
“But it’s poison. Long-term use undermines the nervous system. Our lab confirmed that.”
“So’s arsenic, but fine ladies once took it in small doses to make their skin whiter, clearer. Beauty and youth are desperate matters for some.” Engrave shrugged her bony shoulders in dismissal. “In combination with the other elements in this formula, this nectar is an activator. The result is a highly addictive chemical that causes increased energy and strength, sexual desire, and the feeling of renewed youth. And since uncontrolled, these hybrids will propagate like rabbits, it has the potential to be produced cheaply and in great bulk.”
“They’ll propagate in on planet conditions?”
“Absolutely. The Eden Colony produces vegetation, flora, and plant life for on planet conditions.”
“So you get a few plants,” Eve mused. “A lab, the other chemicals.”
“And you’ve got yourself an illegal with mass appeal. Pay up,” Engrave said with a sour smile, “be strong, be beautiful, be young and sexy. Whoever came up with this formula knew his chemistry and his human nature and understands the beauty of profit.”
“Fatal beauty.”
“Oh sure, four to six years of regular use will take you down. Your nervous system will just give out. But in four to six years, you’ll have a hell of a time, and somebody’s going to make big, fat credits.”
“How do you know so much about this—what, Immortal Blossom—if its cultivation is limited to the Eden Colony?”
“Because I’m the top in my field, I do my homework, and my daughter happens to be head beekeeper on Eden. A licensed lab, such as this, or a horticulture expert can, with limitations, import a specimen.”
“You mean we’ve already got some of these down here, on planet?”
“Mostly replicas, harmless simulations, but some of the genuine article. Regulated—for indoor, controlled use only. Now, I’ve got roses to graft. Take the report and the two samples to your bright boys at Cop Central. If they can put it all together from that, they ought to be hanged anyway.”
“You all right, Peabody?” Cautious, Eve kept a firm hand on Peabody’s arm as she opened the car door.
“Yeah, just really relaxed.”
“Too relaxed to drive,” Eve noted. “I was going to have you drop me off at the florist. Plan B, we swing by and get you something to eat to counteract your flower sniffing, then you take the samples and Engrave’s report by the lab.”
“Dallas.” Peabody let her head rest against the seat back. “
I really feel wonderful.”
Cautious, Eve eyed her. “You’re not going to kiss me or anything?”
Peabody slanted her a look. “You’re not my type. Anyway, I don’t feel particularly sexy. Just good. If taking that stuff is anything like smelling that flower, people are going to go crazy for it.”
“Yeah. Someone’s already gone crazy enough to kill three people.”
Eve dashed into the florist shop. She had twenty minutes on the outside if she was going to track down her other suspects, badger them, get back to the station to file her report, and make the press conference.
She spotted Roarke loitering near a display of small, flowering trees.
“Our floral consultant is waiting for us.”
“Sorry.” She wondered why anyone would want trees that were less than a foot tall. They made her feel like a freak. “I’m backed up.”
“I just walked in myself. Was Dr. Engrave helpful?”
“And then some. She’s quite a character.” She followed him under a trellis of fragrant vines. “I got a load of Anna- 6.”
“Ah, the Anna line. I think it’s going to be a hit.”
“Especially with teenage boys.”
Roarke laughed and urged her through. “Mark, this is my fiancée, Eve Dallas.”
“Ah, yes.” He looked like everyone’s favorite uncle when he extended a hand, and his grip was like an arm wrestler’s on a dare. “Let’s see what we can do for you. Weddings are such a complicated business, and you haven’t left me much time.”
“He didn’t give me a hell of a lot, either.”
Mark laughed, patted his silvery hair. “Sit, relax, have a little tea. I have a great deal to show you.”
She didn’t mind really, Eve decided. She liked flowers. She just hadn’t known there were so damn many of them. And after five minutes, her head began to swim with orchids and lilies, roses and gardenias.
“Simple,” Roarke decided. “Traditional. No simulations.”
“Yes, of course. I have some holograms that may spark some ideas. You’re having it outdoors, so I might suggest arbors, wisteria. Very traditional, and with a lovely, old-fashioned fragrance.”