Divided in Death

by J. D. Robb

  Peabody paused at the door. “You really don’t think she killed herself.”

  “If she did, I’ll eat my no longer shiny lieutenant’s badge. Let’s get to work.”

  There were no signs of struggle, no evidence of insult or injury to the body that would indicate force. Eve hadn’t expected any. She’d died shortly after three A.M. Painlessly, quietly. Uselessly, Eve thought.

  Her ’links were in working order, though they’d been shut down shortly after midnight. Reactivating, Eve found her last transmission was an incoming from Deena across the hall at twenty-one hundred and involved a great deal of weeping and sympathy.

  I’m coming over, Deena had said. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.

  Much tearful gratitude, then the transmission ended.

  But the data unit wouldn’t boot. Infected, she’d bet the bank on it. What would a silly art student have on a data unit that could worry the HSO, or techno-terrorists?

  When she’d done all she could with the body and the bedroom, she moved into the living area where Peabody worked with the sweepers. “They’re bagging her for transport. Suspicious death. Give me Deena Hornbock.”

  “Student, single, twenty-one. A theater major, with a eye toward set design. She’s got considerable work on her résumé. Lived at this location for a year. Prior to that did the dorm thing at Soho Theatrical Studies. Prior to that, lived with mother and stepfather in St. Paul. One younger sib, brother. No criminal except a suspended for recreational Zoner when she was eighteen. Pays the rent on time. I contacted the landlord.”

  “Good.”

  “McCoy’s also up to date on rent, though she tended to pay just before the late fee would kick in. She paid up yesterday, an e-transfer at sixteen thirty-three.”

  “Yeah? Really tidy to pay the month’s rent when you’re planning to kill yourself. Let’s see what her pal has to say.”

  Deena Hornbock was shaken but composed as she sat in a plush red chair and sipped continuously from a bottle of water. She was a thin, striking black woman with a small tattoo of a pair of red wings at her left temple.

  “Ms. Hornbock, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody. We need to ask you some questions.”

  “I know. I’m really going to try to help. I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t know, so I ran out and started yelling for somebody to call the police. Somebody did, I guess. I just sat down, right out in the hall until Officer Nalley came.”

  “How did you get into Chloe’s apartment?”

  “Oh, I have a key. She’s got one for mine, too. We were always in and out of each other’s places. Should I give it to you? The key?”

  “I’d appreciate that. We’ll get it before we leave. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  “Okay.” She drew breath in and out, scrubbed a hand over her face. “Okay. I got back from class, and I thought I’d see how she was doing. She was so upset about Blair’s death. Just flattened, you know?” Deena let out a long sigh. “I just went right in. When I left her last night I promised to come by this afternoon after class, so I didn’t bother to knock or anything. I just went in and called out that I was there.”

  “The door was locked?”

  “Yeah. When she didn’t answer, I went back to the bedroom. I was going to try to talk her into going out, or at least over to my place. Cheer her up. God. It’s hard to say it,” she managed. “It makes me see it again.”

  “I know.”

  “I went in. I saw her on the bed. I didn’t get it at first, just didn’t think . . . I said something like: ‘Oh, come on, Chlo.’ I said something like that . . .” Her voice started to break. “Jesus, ‘Come on, Chlo,’ a little impatient, I guess, because it was all so . . . stagey and dramatic. I was a little irritated with her as I walked over to the bed. And then . . .”

  “Take your time,” Eve instructed as Deena took a long, long sip from the bottle of water.

  “Her eyes were open. Staring and open, and I still didn’t get it. For just an instant, I couldn’t get it. It was like part of my brain shut down. I’ve seen someone dead before. My great-grandmother.” Deena knuckled a tear away. “She lived with us for a while, and she died in her sleep one night. I found her in the morning, so I’ve seen somebody dead before. But it’s not the same when they’re young, when you’re not expecting it.”

  It’s never the same, Eve thought. “Did you touch her, or anything else?”

  “I think I touched her shoulder, or her arm. I think I reached down to touch her because I didn’t see how she could be dead. But she was cold. God, her skin was cold, and I knew. That’s when I ran out and started yelling.”

  “You sat down in the hall, and stayed there until Officer Nalley came.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Did you or anyone else go into the apartment before the officer responded?”

  “No. I just sat in front of her door, crying. Some people came out of their apartments, and asked me what was going on. I said, ‘She’s dead.’ I said, ‘Chloe’s dead,’ that she killed herself.”

  “Okay. You talked to her last night.”

  “I called when I got home. I’d been out working on a set for a play on the West Side. I knew she was having a rough time. We talked awhile, then I went over. Kept her company for a little while. I stayed till about eleven. I had an early class, and she said she was going to bed. Escape into sleep, that’s what she said. She said things like that, but I didn’t think she meant . . .” Deena reached out to grip Eve’s arm.

  “Officer Dallas. I’d never have left her alone if I’d understood what she meant. I’d never have let her do it.”

  “This isn’t your fault. You were a good friend.” And because she could see how the guilt was pricking, she didn’t correct Deena on her rank. “How was the apartment?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I wondered what sort of state the rooms were in last night when you were there.”

  “Oh. It was pretty neat, I guess. Chloe liked to keep things neat. Well, there were tissues everywhere. She was crying a lot at first, and tossing them around.”

  “Did you have anything to eat or drink?”

  “We had some wine. I brought over a bottle, and we went through about half of it, maybe.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “Ice cream? No, I didn’t think of it. That would’ve been good, though.”

  “Did you clean up the wineglasses?”

  “The glasses? Ah, no. I didn’t think about it. I was tired, and she’d about cried herself out. We just left everything in the living room.”

  “Not the bedroom?”

  “No, we sat on the floor in the living room, just a couple hours. Maybe if I’d stayed over with her . . .”

  “I want to ask you to look at this note.” Eve took out the pink paper in an evidence bag. “Do you know if this is Chloe’s handwriting?”

  “Yeah. Big and splashy, that’s Chloe. But she was wrong. There was life without him. There’s always more life. And for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. It was all just a fantasy.”

  “Did you ever meet Blair Bissel?”

  “No.” She took a balled-up tissue, blew her nose. “She kept him really close. I didn’t even know about him. I mean, I knew there was somebody, and I knew the somebody was married, but she wouldn’t tell me his name, or anything. Made a vow, she said. A solemn vow. It’s so like her to say that: ‘I made a solemn vow.’ That, and the fact she knew I didn’t see him as the love of her life the way she did, meant she didn’t tell me a lot of specifics about him. I didn’t know his name, or that it was the guy she worked for part-time in the gallery until after it happened. After his wife killed him, I mean, and she told me about it last night.”

  “So he never came here.”

  “Yeah, he did. At least I think he did. We had this signal, Chloe and I. If either of us had something going on and didn’t want other company—if you get me—we’d hang this pink
ribbon on the doorknob. That was her idea. As far as I know, and I’m pretty sure I’d know, she wasn’t seeing anybody but the artist for the last few months. And there’d be a pink ribbon on the door about once a week.”

  “Did she usually turn off her ’links when she was entertaining?”

  “Oh yeah. That was Chloe. She didn’t want anything from the outside world to disturb the ambiance.”

  “When you left her last night, did you hear or see anything?”

  “I went right to bed. I’d had a couple glasses of wine, and the whole emotional scene. I was wiped. I didn’t hear anything until the alarm kicked me out of bed this morning at six-thirty.”

  “What time did you leave for class?”

  “About quarter after seven. Give or take.”

  “See anything then?”

  “No, nothing. I thought about running in and checking on Chloe, but figured she’d be . . .” Her voice wavered again. “I thought she’d be asleep—and I was cutting it close anyway, so I just went straight out, and to class.”

  “I know this is a tough time for you, and appreciate you answering all the questions.” She started to rise, then sat again, as if just remembering something. “Oh, I noticed—when I reviewed the ’link transmissions—that she was wearing a necklace when she talked to you. A heart on a chain, I think. Pretty. She kept playing with it while she talked.”

  “The locket? I think the artist gave it to her a couple months ago. She never took it off. She was really sentimental.”

  She wasn’t wearing a locket,” Peabody said as they stepped back into Chloe’s apartment.

  “Nope.”

  “No locket found on premises.”

  “Negative.”

  “So, potentially, whoever killed her or induced her to kill herself took the locket.”

  “It sure as hell’s missing. People put things in lockets, don’t they?”

  “Sure, pictures, locks of hair, DNA samples.”

  “If Bissel gave it to her, could be there was something more than romantic inside it—or about it.”

  “Am I going to have to eat my shiny new badge?”

  Eve shook her head. “Doesn’t mean she knew what she had. But I’m betting she died because of it, and whatever she might have had on her data unit.”

  Peabody adjusted her thinking and looked around the living room. “She tidied up, or someone did. I can’t see why anyone who came in would wash the neighbor’s wineglass or pick up the place. If she did it, she had a reason. Expecting someone? That means she’d have gotten a call, but there’s no record of one on any ’link.”

  “None that show. The data unit’s down. Could be somebody sent her an e-mail.”

  “So we have the EDD whizzes look closer on data and on communication.”

  “There you go.”

  “The building’s got minimal security, but they should take a look at the run for last night through the 911 call.”

  “I’ll arrange a pickup.”

  “We can make all those contacts while fueling our bodies with nutrition. After all, you missed your candy fix.”

  “Don’t remind me.” She didn’t have to look over to know there would be the beginnings of a pout on Peabody’s face. “Okay, we’ll eat. I want to juggle some things in my head anyway.”

  Eve couldn’t have said why she picked the Blue Squirrel for anything resembling food, and a passing resemblance was as close as anything on the menu came to food. Maybe she needed to touch base with something from her old life—to indulge in a few memories of sitting at one of the sticky tables, half lit on a Zombie while Mavis bounced on stage and screeched out songs for the crowd.

  Or maybe, she thought as she studied the soy burger on her plate, she had a death wish.

  “I know better than to eat this,” she muttered, and took a bite anyway. “Nothing in this comes from the natural universe.”

  “You’ve gotten spoiled.” Peabody plowed through a chicken wrap and side of veggie chips with apparent pleasure. “Meat from actual cows, real coffee, genuine chicken eggs, and all that.”

  Eve scowled and bit into the burger again. Now she could say why she’d opted for the Squirrel. She’d wanted to prove to herself she wasn’t spoiled.

  “Somebody helps themselves to the coffee from my office AutoChef whenever she damn well pleases.”

  “Sure, it’s the first degree of separation rule.” Peabody wagged a veggie chip that was, remotely, carrot-colored. “I get spoiled by association. Or maybe it’s second degree, because the coffee comes from Roarke to you. So you’re first degree. But since you’re married—”

  “Shut up and eat.”

  Obviously, Eve thought, since she was eating the mysterious substance purporting to be meat substitute that was slapped between two bricks of some sort of bread matter, she wasn’t spoiled.

  A person got used to what they were used to, that’s all. And since Roarke insisted on having cow meat and other natural food products around the house, she was accustomed to them. She didn’t even notice the difference now. The food was just there, like a chair, or a picture on the wall that she didn’t really look at . . .

  Because it was day to day.

  She yanked out her communicator.

  “Feeney.” His face filled her screen. “And this better be good.”

  Eve noted that his hair, however he’d shortened it, was sticking up in mad tufts. Whatever he was working on, she concluded, wasn’t going well.

  “I need you to take the civilian and his magic fingers over to Queens. Take those sculptures apart.”

  “You want us to take sculptures apart.”

  “You didn’t find eyes and ears in the house yet, right?”

  “I got a couple of boys doing another sweep.”

  “Move them out, and you and Roarke move in. The sculptures, Feeney. She wouldn’t have thought twice about the sculptures. Reva wouldn’t have checked them because he brought them in. She wouldn’t have thought twice about them, and they’re every fucking where inside and out. Take them apart.”

  “Fine, fine. I could use a change of scene.”

  “Have Roarke talk to her, see if there was anywhere in particular where she might’ve done some work at home in addition to her office. Or had conversations with him or anyone regarding Securecomp. When you nail those locations, concentrate on the artwork—such as it is—in that sector.”

  “I got it. I’ll leave McNab on this detail here. Boy’s young enough a little frustration won’t kill him.”

  Eve stuck the communicator away. “Finish that off,” she said with a nod at Peabody’s plate. “We’re going back to the Flatiron, and tearing down Bissel’s works-in-progress.”

  “You got all that because I said you were spoiled?”

  “You never know what’s going to kick it off, do you? Another thing I’m thinking: Chloe didn’t have any of Bissel’s work in her place. Wouldn’t you think she’d have wheedled something? Some small piece of her lover’s work? She’s in love with him, or so she believes. She’s an art major, she works in his gallery, but she doesn’t have a sample of his genius.”

  “You’re thinking that’s gone the way of her locket.”

  “We’ll contact Deena on the way, and see.”

  Eve stood in the studio, hands on hips, as she studied the complicated twists and marriages of metals that formed the sculptures.

  “Okay, I miscalculated this. Taking these apart’s going to require specific tools. We’ve got them around here, but using them’s another matter.”

  “I actually know how to use some of them.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Eve circled the tallest of the works. “Thing is, if we cut or melt or just fucking blast, we’d damage or eradicate the device. If there is indeed a device. And we need EDD or one of those handy scanners to verify that.”

  “The sweepers went over them.”

  “I’m betting it wouldn’t register on a standard sweep. Even on a deeper one. A spook sweep,
now that might be different. This guy sold these pieces of crap all over the world. Corporations, private residences, even government facilities.”

  “And if they’re bugged, it’s a pretty slick way of getting intel.”

  “Mmm.” Eve kept circling, studying. “I can’t see them wasting his talent. This makes sense to me. It’s logical. I bet they’d have loved to have had one of these inside one of Roarke’s companies. Trouble was, he didn’t like the work, and even with Reva’s influence he didn’t pony up. Didn’t matter so much, since they bugged her.”

  “It’s going to sound paranoid, but do you think somebody’s watching us now?”

  “Maybe.” In case, Eve offered a wide grin. Screw security and lockdowns and silent runnings. She hoped they were watching. It was time to go hand to hand.

  “If they are, they’d better come out and play real soon. Unless they’re sniveling cowards on top of murdering bastards and perverted peepers. I’m having these dissected. We’re shutting down this floor until I do. So they’d better take a good look while they still have the chance.”

  She called for the elevator, stepped in. “Peabody, I don’t like Carter Bissel in the wind. I want him found.”

  “I’ll give the locals a goose.”

  “Do that. In person.”

  “Huh?”

  “Go down, talk to the local PSD, interview the partner, and everyone who knew him. Get us a line on the brother. There’s a reason Felicity went to see him. I want the reason.”

  “To Jamaica?” Peabody’s voice rose three registers. “I’m going to Jamaica?”

  “One of us has to stay here, work this from here. You can get this done in forty-eight, max. I don’t want you skipping naked through the surf.”

  “Can I skip through the surf with appropriate swimwear for maybe one hour?”

  It took considerable effort for Eve to keep her lips from twitching. “I don’t want to hear about it. Especially since I’m sending McNab with you.”

  “Oh my God. I’m having the best dream.”

  Okay, maybe she couldn’t quite stop it from twitching. “You can leave as soon as Feeney clears him. This isn’t an island holiday.”