Creation in Death

by J. D. Robb

  His reaction had Mavis’s face clearing, and her laughter bubbling. “She wants her breakfast, too. Mostly everyone’s seen my boobies before.”

  “And, as I believe I’ve said, they’re absolutely charming. I wonder if I shouldn’t—”

  “No, sit.” Giggling now, Mavis picked up the juice, rose, easily balancing the glass and the baby at her breast. “You’ll get used to it before long, but right now, we’ll go on back. Usually we both want a little nap after breakfast. If I find anything on the hair enhancement, the products, I’ll tag you.”

  “Do that.”

  When they were alone again, Roarke stared down at his plate. “Why do you suppose I chose this morning to want my eggs sunny-side up?”

  “They do look like a pair of nice, shiny yellow breasts.” Grinning, Eve plucked up a piece of bacon. “And Mavis has been known to paint hers yellow on occasion.”

  “Every time she feeds the baby, I feel so…rude.”

  “I thought it was freaked.”

  “A bit of that, but more intrusive. It seems so intimate.”

  “I’d say we’re both going to have to get over it. We’ve got to get moving. Eat your boobies.”

  They separated at Central, Eve leading Trina through to where Yancy would work on the composite.

  “You know, if cops put more thought and creativity into fashion and grooming, it might improve public relations.”

  Eve hopped on an up glide and watched a trio she recognized from Illegals troop onto a down. Stubbled faces, scarred shoes, and a sag at the side of each jacket where the sidearm rested.

  They looked fine to her.

  “Yeah, we’re putting together a seminar on that. Defensive Fashion.”

  “That’s not out there,” Trina insisted. “Clothes can be like a defense, or an offense—”

  “Tell me.”

  “Or a statement or a reflection. Yours say you’re not only in charge but more than willing to kick ass.”

  “My pants say I’m in charge?” Eve didn’t need Mira’s various degrees to recognize babbling nerves.

  “The whole deal. Dark colors, but not somber. Good fabrics, clean lines. Could power things up now and again, strong reds or greens, sharp blues.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You should wear sunshades.”

  “I lose them.”

  “Well, stop. What are you, twelve? Sunshades would totally complete the package. Is this going to take long? Do you think this is going to take long? What if I can’t do it? What if I get it wrong? What if—”

  “Stop. What are you, twelve?” At Trina’s nervous laugh, Eve stepped off the glide. “It takes as long as it takes. You need to stop, you stop. Yancy’s the best I’ve got, best I’ve worked with. And if you get it wrong we’ll just toss you in a cage for a few hours, until you get it right.”

  “You’re rocking on this.”

  “Some.” She pushed through doors.

  Yancy was already there, setting up at his workstation. He rose, shot out his quick, easy smile. “Lieutenant.”

  “Detective. Appreciate you coming in early for this.”

  “No big. Trina?” He offered a hand. “How you doing?”

  “A little tipped, I guess. I never did this before.”

  “Just relax. I’ll steer you through it. How about something to drink? Something cold?”

  “Uh, maybe. Maybe like a lemon fizz? Diet.”

  “I’ll get that for you. Just have a seat.”

  Trina watched him walk out. “Whoa, daddy. He’s a yummy one.”

  “You’re not here to nibble on him.”

  “He’s got to go off-duty sometime.” Trina craned her neck to get a better view of Yancy’s ass before he rounded the corner. “Did you ever bump with that?”

  “No. Jesus, Trina.”

  “Bet that was your loss. Build like that, I bet he can hammer it all night.”

  “Thank you. Thanks so much for putting that into my head. It’ll certainly enhance my working relationship with Detective Yancy.”

  “I’d like to enhance his working relationship.” Trina blew out a breath. “Hey, thinking about sex makes me feel not so nervous. Good to know. Plus, it won’t be a hardship to work with Detective Hot Ass.”

  “Don’t screw around.” Eve raked a hand through her hair as Yancy came back with Trina’s drink and one for himself. “You know how to reach me,” she told him.

  “Yep. Trina and I…” He sent Trina a wink. “We’ll get this guy’s face for you. So, Trina, how long have you been in the business of beauty?”

  Eve knew that was the way he worked, getting the witness to relax, talking small, easing them in. She fought back the need to tell him to push it, and simply stepped back. Walked away.

  She had enough time to get to her office, organize the data—and her own thoughts—for the briefing. Pull in Peabody, Eve mused, as she aimed for Homicide. Get said data set up.

  Do the briefing, then move out for the stupid, annoying morning media briefing. She needed to run the probabilities on herself as a target, work in some time during the day to discuss that with Mira. But she needed to get out in the field, needed to be out on the streets.

  If this bastard was watching her, she might spot the tag.

  She beelined for her office, then pulled up short when she saw Feeney sitting in her visitor’s chair, brooding over a mug of her coffee.

  He got to his feet. Worse for wear, she thought. That’s how he looked, a hell of a lot worse for wear. Her back went up even as her stomach churned.

  His eyes, baggy and shadowed, stayed on hers. “Got a minute?”

  “Yeah.” She stepped in, closed the door. And for once wished her office was bigger. There wasn’t enough room for them to maneuver around each other, she thought, or to give each other enough space for whatever was coming.

  Then it popped out of her, simply popped out without thought or plan. “I want to apologize for—”

  “Stop.” He tossed it out so quickly her head nearly snapped back as from a blow. “Just stop right there. Bad enough, this is bad enough without that. I was off. Out of line. You’re primary of this investigation, and you’re heading up this task force. I was off, questioning you and your authority. And I was out of line with what I said to you. So.” He paused, took a good slug of coffee. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it,” she repeated. “That’s how it’s going to be?”

  “It’s your call on how it’s going to be. You want me off the team, you got cause. You got my notes, and I’ll get you a replacement.”

  At that moment she wished he had popped her one instead of handed her these hurtful insults. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you think I’d want you off?”

  “In your shoes, I’d think about it. Seriously.”

  “Bullshit. That’s bullshit.” She didn’t kick her desk. Instead she kicked the desk chair, sending it careening into the visitor’s chair, then bouncing off to slam against the wall. “And you’re not in my shoes. Stupid son of a bitch.”

  His droopy eyes went huge. “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me. You’re too tight-assed, too stubborn, too stupid to put your hurt feelings aside and do the job with me, you’re going to have to get the fuck over it. I can’t afford to lose a key member at this stage of the investigation. You know that. You know that, so don’t come in here and tell me I’ve got cause to boot you.”

  “You’re the one who’s going to get a boot, right straight up your ass.”

  “You couldn’t take me ten years ago,” she shot back, “you sure as hell can’t take me now.”

  “Want to test that out, kid?”

  “You want a round, you got one. When this case is closed. And if you’re still carrying that stick up your ass, I’ll yank it out and knock you cold with it. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Her voice broke, just a little, making them both miserable. “You come in here, stiff and snarly, and won’t ev
en let me apologize. You start spouting off, won’t even let me apologize for fucking up.”

  “You didn’t, goddamn it. I fucked up.”

  “Great. Fine. We’re a couple of fuckups.”

  He sank down in the chair as if the wind had gone out of him. “Maybe we are, but I got more years at it than you.”

  “Now you want to pull rank on fuckup status? Great. Fine,” she repeated. “You get the salute. Feel better?”

  “No, I don’t feel any goddamn better.” He let out a tired sigh that smothered the leading edge of her temper.

  “What do you want, Feeney? What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to listen. I let it eat at me. This one got away from me and I let it eat at me. Taught you, didn’t I, that you can’t get them all, and you can’t beat yourself up when you can’t put the pieces together, not when you gave it your best.”

  “Yeah, you taught me.”

  “Didn’t listen to myself this time. And that bile just kept rising up out of my belly into my throat over it.” His lips tightened as he shook his head. “You find a fresh angle, and instead of jumping on that, grabbing hold and pushing on that, I jump on you. Part of me’s thinking, ‘Did I miss that? Did I miss that before, and did all those women die hard because I did?’”

  “You know better than that, Feeney. And yeah, I get knowing better isn’t always enough. How good was I nine years ago?”

  “Needed seasoning.”

  “That wasn’t the question. How good was I?”

  He drank again, then looked up at her. “You were the best I ever worked with, even then.”

  “And I worked that case with you, minute by minute, step by step. We didn’t miss it, Feeney. It wasn’t there. The evidence, the statements, the pattern. If he got them that way, or some of them that way, the evidence wasn’t there to show us.”

  “I spent a lot of time yesterday going over the files. I know what you’re saying. What I’m saying is that’s the reason I jumped on you.”

  He thought of what his wife had said the night before. That he’d railed at Dallas because she was his family. That she’d let him rail because he was her family. Nobody, according to his Sheila, beat each other up as regularly or as thoughtlessly as family.

  “Didn’t like you telling me I needed a break either,” he muttered. “Basically telling me I needed a damn nap, like somebody’s grandfather.”

  “You are somebody’s grandfather.”

  His eyes flashed at her, but there was some amusement in the heat. “Watch your step, kid.”

  “I should’ve run the new angle by you before the briefing. No, I should have,” she insisted when he shook his head. “Like you should’ve known I would have if everything hadn’t been moving so fast. There’s nobody on the job, nobody with a badge I respect more than you.”

  It took him a moment to clear his throat. “Same goes. I got one more thing, then this is closed.” He rose again. “I didn’t put you here. You never were a rookie,” he told her in a voice roughened with emotion. “So I saw good, solid cop the minute I laid eyes on you. I gave you a hell of a foundation, kid, a lot of seasoning and pushed you hard because I knew you could take it. But I didn’t put you here, and saying that, well, that was stupid. You put yourself here. And I’m proud. So that’s it.”

  She only nodded. Neither of them would handle it well if she blubbered.

  As he went out, he gave her two awkward pats on the shoulder, then closed the door behind him.

  She had to stand where she was a minute until she was sure she had herself under control. After a few steadying breaths she turned, started to sit at her desk. Someone knocked on the door.

  “What?” She wanted to snarl, then did just that when Nadine poked a head in. “Media conference at nine.”

  “I know. Are you okay?”

  “Peachy. Go away.”

  Nadine just sidled in, shut the door at her back. “I came by a little while ago, and…well, let’s say overheard a few choice words in raised voices. The reporter in me fought with the reasonably well-mannered individual. It was a pitched battle, and did take a couple of minutes. Then I wandered off until I thought the coast was clear. So again, are you okay?”

  “That was a private conversation.”

  “You shouldn’t have private conversations in public facilities at the top of your lungs.”

  Point well taken, Eve was forced to admit. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Just something we had to work out.”

  “It made me think it might be interesting to do a segment on tension in the workplace, and how cops handle it.”

  “You’re going to want to leave this one alone.”

  “This particular one, yes. Price of friendship.”

  “If that’s all—”

  “It’s not. I know you didn’t think much of the Romanian psychic, but—”

  “Actually, there may have been a nugget there. Got another?”

  “Really? I expect to be fully filled in on that. And, yes, I may just.” In her slim-skirted suit the color of raspberry jam, Nadine managed to ease a hip down on the corner of Eve’s desk.

  “Bolivia,” she began. “We’ve been digging through the tabloids. You’d be surprised what nuggets can be found there that you cops disdain.”

  “Yeah, those alien babies are a menace to society.”

  “A classic for a reason. But we found an interesting story about the Moor of Venice.”

  “Last time I checked, Venice was in Italy.”

  “No, Othello—Shakespeare? And Verdi. Othello was this black dude, important guy, married to a gorgeous white women—mixed race marriages were not common back then in…whenever the hell it was.”

  “Nine years ago?”

  “No.” Nadine laughed. “More like centuries. Anyway, Othello ends up being manipulated by this other guy into believing his wife’s been cheating on him. Othello strangles her. And ends up in song and story.”

  “I’m not following this, Nadine.”

  “Just giving you some background. There was a big costume ball at the opera house in—”

  “Opera?”

  “Yeah.” Nadine’s eyes narrowed. “That means something.”

  “Just keep going.”

  “A woman in La Paz claimed she was attacked by a guy dressed like Othello. Black mask, cape, gloves. Claimed he tried to drag her off, tried to rape her. Since she didn’t have a mark on her, and witnesses stated that she was seen chatting amiably with a guy in that costume earlier in the evening, and she was skunk drunk when she started shrieking, her claims were dismissed by the police. But the tabs played it up. She was thirty-one, brunette, and the alleged incident occurred between the discovery of the second and third bodies. Had The Groom tried to claim another bride? Was the Moor of Venice seeking Desdemona? She played it up, too.”

  Nadine shifted on the desk. “Or maybe she was giving some of it straight. She claimed he spoke exceptional Spanish, but with an American accent, was knowledgeable about music and literature, and was well-traveled. Now, with a little more research we learned she was a party girl—and that several were peppered through the guests to…entertain.”

  “An LC?” Eve pursed her lips thoughtfully. “He hasn’t targeted any pros. Doesn’t fit his profile.”

  “The party girls at functions like this don’t advertise. They’re frosting.”

  “Okay, so it’s possible he didn’t make her as a pro.”

  “Exactly, and you can read between the lines and assume she smelled money and played it up with this guy. He suggested they go out for some air, which they did. Then that they go for a drive—which she couldn’t do or lose her event fee. In any case, she said she started feeling off—dizzy, woozy. She also claimed she hadn’t been drinking, which, of course, she had. But I’m betting she knew her limit when she was working, and they mistook drugged for skunk drunk.”

  “Could be.” Eve nodded. “Yeah, that could be.”

  “When she realized he was leading
her away from the opera house, she resisted. Here’s where I think she embellished or there would have been marks, tears, something. Figure when she started to struggle, to scream, he cut his losses. She tears back to the party. He slides off.”

  “You gotta have more than that.”

  “Yeah, I do. The third victim was a waitress, worked for the caterer who did this party. She worked the party. And a week later, she’s dead. So—”

  “He cherry-picks potentials at the event,” Eve concluded. “Weeds it down to two. The first doesn’t work out for him. So he goes for the second. Where was she last seen?” Eve turned to boot up the file.

  “Leaving her apartment four days before her body was found. She’d been scheduled to work that evening, called in sick. She wasn’t reported missing for two days because—”

  “She’s the one who took an overnight bag, clothes. Good clothes.”

  “Good memory. Yeah. It was assumed she’d gone off with some guy. Which, I guess she did. First woman said Othello had a voice like silk—soft and smooth. Wore heeled boots and a high headdress—compensating.”

  “Short guy, we got that.”

  Nadine’s brows lifted. “Oh, do you?”

  “You’ll get everything when you get it. Anything else?”

  “She said he talked about music—opera particularly—like it was a god. She said a lot of bullshit, actually. His eyes were burning red, his hands like steel as they closed around her throat. Blah, blah. But there was one more interesting thing that sounded true. She said she asked about his work, and he said he studied life and death. In a twisted way, that could be what he’s doing, or thinks he’s doing.”

  “Okay. That’s okay.”

  “Worth any inside info?”

  “I leak anything at this point, it’s my ass. Don’t bother with the media briefing. Send a drone. When I’m clear, you’ll get it all.”

  “Off the record. Are you close?”

  “Off the record. I’m getting closer.”

  Since the two conversations had eaten away her prep time, Eve just gathered everything up. She’d organize on the fly. Lining it up in her head, she headed out, reminding herself there was now—courtesy of Roarke—decent coffee in the conference room.