The door to his suite was open, and the laughter that poured out put Eve in a better frame of mind. There was no mistaking Mavis Freestone’s happy cackle.
Eve looked in and saw her oldest friend, still in mid-laugh as she stood in the center of the room. Mavis was made for the center, Eve thought.
She was such a little thing, almost fairylike. If you imagined your fairies in skin-baring sunsuits and neon gel sandals.
Mavis’s hair was summer blonde today, a conservative color until you got to the pink and blue tips, and noted those curling tips were topped by tiny silver bells that rang cheerfully with every movement. The sunsuit was short and backless with a complex series of crisscrossing strips of that same pink and blue over each breast, to a bare midriff and a pair of micro-shorts.
Though the belly was flat as a board, Eve was reminded—with a sharp jolt—that Mavis had a baby cooking in there.
It was, probably, some sort of high-fashion, I’m pregnant getup, Eve mused, designed by Mavis’s one true love, Leonardo, who was currently looking down from his great height on the stylish mother-to-be with such adoration Eve was surprised his pupils weren’t shaped like little hearts.
Looking on from a mobile chair, his sour face wreathed in smiles, was Summerset.
She felt a stir of pity as she saw the stiff angle of his supported leg, wrapped in the skin cast, and the sling support on his shoulder. She knew what it was to break bones and tear muscles—and how much worse the cure could seem to anyone used to doing for himself.
She might have said something consolatory, even marginally friendly, but he shifted his head, spotted her. She saw surprise flicker an instant before his face shut down into an icy sneer.
“Lieutenant. Is there something you need?”
“Dallas!” Mavis gave a shout of greeting and threw out her arms. “Come on in, join the party.”
Eve followed the direction of Mavis’s hands and saw the colorful banner that shouted: WELCOME HOME, SUMMERSET, hanging between the elegant draperies on his windows.
Only Mavis, Eve thought.
“Want a drink? We got fizzy ices.” Mavis spun over to an antique server that currently held a carnival setup of crushed ices, sparkling water, and syrups. “Nonalcoholic,” she added, “because, you know. Hitchhiker in here’s too young to drink.” She patted her belly, wiggled her hips.
“How’s it going?”
“I’m totally mag. Absolutely ult. Leonardo and I got the word on what happened to Summerset. Poor sweetie pie,” she murmured, and whirled back to kiss the top of his head.
Eve felt her gag reflex engage at the thought of Summerset and sweetie pie in the same sentence.
“So we gathered up some fun stuff, and zipped right over to keep him company.”
“We were at the doctor’s this morning, too.” Leonardo continued to beam at Mavis. He was draped in white, long, loose pants, long, loose shirt that flowed around his impressive body and gleamed against the gold-dust tone of his skin. He had a single pigtail draped down one side of his face, and like Mavis, had it tipped in pink and blue, and belled.
“Are you sick?” Eve demanded, forgetting her aversion to the room and moving quickly to Mavis. “Is the baby sick or something?”
“No, we’re RRA—rolling right along,” she explained. “We just had a checkup deal. And guess! We got pictures.”
“Of what?”
“Of the baby!” Mavis rolled her baby blue eyes. “Wanna see?”
“Oh, well, I don’t really have—”
“I’ve got them right here.” Leonardo pulled a portfolio from some canny split in the shirt. “We only took the ones that don’t show the baby’s personal area. Because we haven’t decided if we want to know.”
“Isn’t the whole . . .” Eve gestured vaguely toward Mavis’s belly. “. . . place its personal area?”
“He means any of the shots that would show if the baby has a penis or a vulva.”
“Oh.” She actually felt blood draining out of her face. “God.”
“Come on, come on, look at your godbaby.” Mavis took the portfolio from Leonardo, flipped it open. “Aww, can you believe that? Is that too cute for words?
Eve saw something that looked, sort of, like an underdeveloped, hairless monkey with a really big head. “Wow.”
“See, you can even count the tiny, little fingers.”
Which, to Eve’s mind, made it all creepier. What did it do with those fingers inside there?
“Leonardo’s going to print the best ones on fabric and make me some tops.” Mavis pursed her pink lips to blow Leonardo a kiss.
“Great. That’ll be great. Um.” Since they made her nervous, Eve looked over the top of the pictures to Summerset. “I just stopped by to see how everything was going.”
“Let me make you a cold drink.” Leonardo patted Eve’s shoulder.
“Yeah, good, okay. Where’s Roarke?”
“He’s in the bedroom with the physician assistant, making sure everything’s set up. Mavis and I will stay awhile.”
“Sure we will.” To prove it, Mavis perched on the arm of Summerset’s chair. “We’re going to be in town for the next couple weeks, so we’ll come by every day if you want. And you only have to give me a buzz if you’re lonely or feeling out of sorts. I’ll come right over.” She took Summerset’s good hand, patted it.
Eve slurped up the flavored ice Leonardo passed her. “Well, I’ll just see if Roarke . . . needs anything, then get going. I’ve got work to—” She let that hang, grateful when Roarke stepped in from the next room.
“Hello, Lieutenant. I wasn’t sure you’d make it by.”
“I was in the neighborhood.” He looked harried, she thought. You wouldn’t notice it, not unless you knew every inch of that fabulous face. And she did. “I had an hour to spare, so I thought I’d swing in, see if you needed any help.”
“I think we’re under control here. PA Spence is satisfied with the arrangements.”
There was a quick, and audible sniff from Summerset. “I’m sure she’s more than satisfied at the prospect of sitting around doing nothing but annoying me for the next several days, while you pay her an exorbitant salary.”
“That’s all right,” Roarke said pleasantly, “I’ll dock it out of yours.”
“I don’t want that woman hovering over me every minute of the day and night. I’m perfectly capable of seeing to my own needs.”
“It’s her, or it’s the hospital.” The pleasant tone had taken on the faintest edge, one Eve recognized very well.
“And I’m just as capable about making my own decisions regarding my medical care.”
“I guess they didn’t get to do that anal probe while you were in the hospital,” Eve said before Roarke could speak. “And extract that stick from your ass.”
“Eve.” Roarke pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start.”
“Here now.” The woman who came out from the bedroom was perhaps fifty, with a long white coat over pale pink shirt and pants. She had what seemed to be cushy, round breasts to go with a cushy, round butt. They suited her face, also cushy and round. She wore her hair in ginger-colored curls pulled back into a bouncing tail.
Her voice had that peppy, behave yourself tone used by child-care workers and novice parole officers.
“Isn’t it nice to have company? But it’s time for our nap.”
“Madam.” Summerset’s tone was barbed wire. “WE do not nap.”
“We do today,” she said, unfailingly pert. “A nice hour’s rest, then an hour of therapy.”
“Eve, this is PA Spence. She’ll be seeing to Summerset’s at-home care for the next several days. Ms. Spence, my wife, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Oh yes, a policewoman, how exciting.” She marched to Eve, grabbed her hand and pumped. The skin might have been soft, Eve thought, but the woman had the grip of a wrestler. “Don’t you worry about a thing, not a thing. Mr. Summerset’s in good hands.”
“Yeah, I bet. I gue
ss we should clear out.”
“I am not going to be put to bed like a toddler. Or spoonfed, or clucked over by this—this person.” Summerset snarled out the words. “If I can’t be left in peace in my own quarters, then I’ll go somewhere I can be left in peace.”
“Now, Summerset.” Still on the arm of his chair, Mavis, stroked his head. “It’s just for a few days.”
“I’ve made my feelings on this matter abundantly clear.” Summerset folded his lips and stared holes in Roarke.
“As I have mine,” Roarke returned. “And as long as you’re living under my roof and in my employ, you’ll—”
“That, too, can be rectified.”
“Oh, you bet your ass.”
It wasn’t Roarke’s response—one that was music to Eve’s ears—that had her stepping forward. It was the tone, thick with Ireland that warned her he was about to snap.
“Okay, everybody out. You—” She pointed at Spence. “Take five.”
“I don’t believe—”
“Take five,” Eve repeated in a tone that made even seasoned officers tremble. “Now. Mavis, Leonardo, give me a minute here.”
“Sure.” Mavis leaned over, kissed Summerset’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay, honeybunch.”
“You, too.” She jerked a thumb at Roarke. “Out.”
Those blue eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said clear out. Go down to the gym and beat up a workout droid, or up to your office and buy Greenland. You’ll feel better. Take off,” she said and gave him a good, solid nudge.
“Fine.” He bit the word off. “I’ll just go and let the two of you snipe each other to death. At least that’ll put paid to the bickering around here.”
He strode out, slammed the door.
Summerset remained, arms folded, face set. And trapped in his chair. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Good.” Eve nodded, slurped a little more flavored ice. “Keep your mouth shut. Personally, I don’t care if you roll yourself out of here in that chair, and get mowed down by a maxibus, but he does. He’s spent the last, what is it?” She checked her wrist unit. “Oh, thirty hours or so worried sick about you, arranging things, re-arranging things so you’d be comfortable, and as happy as your demon soul allows you to be. You scared him, and he doesn’t scare easily.”
“I hardly think—”
“Shut up. You don’t want to be in the hospital. Okay, there we’ve got a point of agreement. You don’t want the PA—”
“She smiles too goddamn much.”
“You’ll take care of that in no time. I wouldn’t want her either, and I’d kick about it some. But if I came out of my own little bitch-world long enough to see how miserable it was making him, I’d put a plug in it. And that’s what you’re going to do, or I’ll put one in for you.”
“He needn’t worry about me.”
“Maybe not, but he will, and you know it. He loves you. And it rips him when someone he loves is hurt.”
Summerset opened his mouth, shut it again. Sighed. “You’re right. It burns my tongue to say it, but you are. I hate this.” He rapped his fist on the arm of the chair. “I don’t like being tended.”
“Can’t blame you for that. Got any alcohol in here? The drinking kind?”
“Perhaps.” Suspicion covered his face. “Why?”
“I figure Spence is going to poo-poo any alcoholic beverage, and if I was stuck with her, I’d need a belt now and then to counteract the bouncy smile and chirpy voice. Plus, if it became absolutely necessary, I could bash her over the head with the bottle and put her down for a while.”
Eve tucked her thumbs in her front pockets, eyeing Summerset closely as she heard him emit some sound that might have been a laugh. “Anyway, you might want to take this opportunity to stash a bottle somewhere close to the bed, where she won’t find it.”
Amusement loosened the tightness around his mouth. “That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”
“No problem. Now I’ll go get Smiley, so you guys can have your nap.”
“Lieutenant,” he said as she walked to the door.
“What?”
“She won’t let me have the cat.”
She glanced back, and saw a tinge of embarrassed color run into his cheeks. Since it embarrassed her, too, she studied a point on the wall six inches above his head. “You want him?”
“I just fail to see why he should be banned from my quarters.”
“I’ll fix it. You want to get that bottle now,” she told him. “I’ll hold her off a few minutes, but then you’re on your own.”
She heard the quiet purr of the chair as she slipped out the door.
She wound her way through to the kitchen and found Roarke placating Spence. The woman was still smiling, but there was something maniacal about it.
“Just give him a moment or two to compose himself,” Eve said, and headed for coffee. “He wants the cat.”
“I’d prefer keeping the area sterile,” Spence began.
“He wants the cat,” Eve said flatly, and turned her own smile—the one she used to loosen the bladders of suspects and rookies—on Spence. “He gets the cat. And you might want to tone down the cheer meter. He was a medic during the Urban Wars, and will respond better to direct, clear orders than cooing. You’re going to have your hands full, Spence. I pity you.” She gestured with the mug. “So just let us know if you need a break to go bang your head against the wall.”
“All right then.” Spence squared her shoulders. “I’ll go tend to my patient now.”
Roarke stepped over, took the mug from Eve and drained it as Spence left the room. “You handled that with a great deal more skill than I.”
“I didn’t have to hassle with the prep work. I was just cleanup. Mavis and Leonardo?”
“I suggested they have a swim. They’re going to stay, cheer him on during the physical therapy. I’m so grateful, if they weren’t having a child, I believe I’d see if I could buy them one.” He rubbed the ache at the back of his neck. “Are you going to tell me what went on in there between you?”
“No.”
“Is he?”
“No. I’m going back to work. You ought to do the same, and let the dust settle around here without you. Oh, and take a blocker for the headache.” She grinned. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy saying that to you.”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Despite that remark, I love you. I will, indeed, take a blocker—though it doesn’t appear I’ll need the tanker load I wanted ten minutes ago—and get back to work. I’ve a meeting scheduled at Dochas,” he said, referring to the abuse shelter he’d financed. “It looks like I’ll make it.”
“Later then.” She started out, stopped. “Oh, where’d you dig up Smiley?”
“Who? Oh.” He managed a half laugh. “PA Spence? Louise recommended her.”
“I guess she had a reason.”
“I’ll be seeing her shortly.” Roarke opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of blockers. “Be sure I’ll ask her what it was.”
Chapter 7
Eve headed straight to her office, hunkered down at her desk, and called up the Howard file to see if Peabody had added the requested data.
As the list of businesses with attached residences streamed on-screen, she sat back. Okay, this was going to take time. She culled out any that dealt with photography or imaging, and focused on a more workable list of nine.
With them, she ran down the list of possible suspects looking for another link.
Diego Feliciano. Knew the vic, hustled and hassled her. Spent time and money on her, and didn’t get the bang for his buck. Several possession with intent arrests. Access to illegals. Alibi runs like a sieve. Access to data club and to a vehicle. Little guy, not much brawn; more hot-headed than cold-blooded. No known imaging skills.
Jackson Hooper. Knew the vic, desired her. Knew place of employment and home residence. Attended Columbia. Would know campus setup and vic’s cl
ass schedule. Alibi won’t hold. Access to data club. Vehicle? Big, athletic. Good brain. Knowledge of photography at least from modeling gigs.
Professor Leeanne Browning. Knew vic. One of the last to see victim alive. Teaches imaging. Frustrated photographer? Alibied by spouse and security discs. Technical knowledge to doctor discs? Tall woman, well-built. Strong. Knowledge of campus and vic’s class schedule.
Other possibles: Angela Brightstar, Browning’s spouse. Steve Audrey, bartender data club. Disc junkie at club yet to be ID’d. Fellow students at Imaging class. Neighbors. Teachers.
The killer had a camera, a good one, and imaging equipment, she thought. She’d go back to the tools.
“Okay, let’s just see here. Computer, split screen. Display map, ten square block radius around Columbia University, highlight listed addresses.”
WORKING . . .
When the map flashed on, she sat back, considered. “Computer, highlight Broadway parking port, Columbia. Calculate most direct routes from that location to marked addresses.”
WORKING . . .
“Yeah, you do that,” Eve mumbled, and rubbed her empty stomach. Why the hell hadn’t she thought to grab something besides coffee when she’d been home, in a fully stocked kitchen?
She glanced toward her open door. Through it, she could hear the buzz and beeps from the detective’s bullpen. Easing away from the desk, she walked to her door, poked her head out, scanned.
Satisfied, she closed the door, quietly. Locked it. She climbed onto her desk, stretched up and worked one of the ceiling tiles out of its slot. Playing her fingers over the back of its neighbor, she reached her goal, and laughed softly, almost evilly as she pulled down the candy.
“I have beaten you, Candy Thief. You sneaking bastard.”
With as much pride as avarice she stroked the wrapper. It was the real thing, genuine chocolate, rich and pricey as gold. And hers. All hers.