Glory in Death

  “That’s what we assume is the natural instinct of a parent.”

  She slanted him a glance. “We both know better.”

  “I wouldn’t claim that either of our experiences are the norm, Eve.”

  “Okay.” Thoughtful, she sat on the arm of his chair. “So, if it’s normal for a mother to jump to shield her child against any trouble, Towers did exactly as her killer expected. He understood her, judged her character well.”

  “Perfectly, I’d say.”

  “She was also a servant of the court. It was her duty, and certainly should have been her instinct, to call the authorities, report any threats or blackmail attempts.”

  “A mother’s love is stronger than the law.”

  “Hers was, and whoever killed her knew it. Who knew her? Her lover, her ex-husband, her son, her daughter, Slade.”

  “And others, Eve. She was a strong, vocal supporter of professional motherhood, of family rights. There have been dozens of stories about her over the years highlighting her personal commitment to her family.”

  “That’s risking a lot, going by press. Media can be—and is—biased, or it slants a story to suit its own ends. I say her killer knew, not assumed, but knew. There’d been personal contact or extensive research.”

  “That hardly narrows the field.”

  Eve brushed that aside with a flick of the hand. “And the same goes for Metcalf. A meeting’s set, but it isn’t going to be specifically documented in her diary. How does the killer know that? Because he knows her habits. My job is to figure out his or hers. Because there’ll be another one.”

  “You’re so sure?”

  “I’m sure, and Mira confirmed it.”

  “You’ve spoken to her then.”

  Restless, she rose again. “He—it’s just easier to say he—envies, resents, is fascinated by powerful women. Women in the public eye, women who make a mark. Mira thinks the killings may be motivated by control, but I wonder. Maybe that’s giving him too much credit. Maybe it’s just the thrill. The stalking, the luring, the planning. Who is he stalking now?”

  “Have you looked in the mirror?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you realize how often your face is on the screen, in the papers?” Fighting back fear, he rose and put his hands on her shoulders, and read her face. “You’ve thought of it already?”

  “I’ve wished for it,” she corrected, “because I’d be ready.”

  “You terrify me,” he managed.

  “You said I was the best.” She grinned, patted his cheek. “Relax, Roarke, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “Oh, I’ll sleep easy now.”

  “How much longer before we land?” Impatient, she turned to walk to the viewscreen.

  “Thirty minutes or so, I imagine.”

  “I need Nadine.”

  “What are you planning, Eve?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m planning on getting lots of press.” She shoveled her fingers through her untidy hair. “Haven’t you got some ritzy affairs, the kind the media just love to cover, that we can go to?”

  He let out a sigh. “I suppose I could come up with a few.”

  “Great. Let’s set some up.” She plopped down in a seat and tapped her fingers on her knee. “I guess I can even push it to getting a couple of new outfits.”

  “Above and beyond.” He scooped her up and sat her on his lap. “But I’m sticking close, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t work with civilians.”

  “I was talking about the shopping.”

  Her eyes narrowed as his hand snaked under her shirt. “Is that a dig?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She swiveled around to straddle him. “Just checking.”

  chapter ten

  “I’m going to do my lead-in first.” Nadine looked around Eve’s office and cocked a brow. “Not much of a sanctum.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Casually, Nadine adjusted the angle of Eve’s monitor. It squeaked. “Up till now, you’ve guarded this room like holy ground. I expected something more than a closet with a desk and a couple of ratty chairs.”

  “Home’s where the heart is,” Eve said mildly, and leaned back in one of those ratty chairs.

  Nadine had never considered herself claustrophobic, but the industrial beige walls were awfully close together, making her rethink the notion. And the single, stingy window, though undoubtedly blast treated, was unshaded and offered a narrow view of an air traffic snarl over a local transport station.

  The little room, Nadine mused, was full of crowds.

  “I’d have thought after you broke the DeBlass case last winter, you’d have rated a snazzier office. With a real window and maybe a little carpet.”

  “Are you here to decorate or to do a story?”

  “And your equipment’s pathetic.” Enjoying herself, Nadine clucked her tongue over Eve’s work units. “At the station, relics like this would be delegated to some low-level drone, or more likely, kicked to a charity rehab center.”

  She would not scowl, Eve told herself. She would not scowl. “Remember that, the next time you’re tagged for a donation to the Police and Security Fund.”

  Nadine smiled, leaned back on the desk. “At Channel 75, even drones have their own AutoChef.”

  “I’m learning to hate you, Nadine.”

  “Just trying to get you pumped for the interview. You know what I’d like, Dallas, since you’re in the mood for exposure? A one-on-one, an in-depth interview with the woman behind the badge. The life and loves of Eve Dallas, NYPSD. The personal side of the public servant.”

  Eve couldn’t stop it. She scowled. “Don’t push your luck, Nadine.”

  “Pushing my luck’s what I do best.” Nadine dropped down into a chair, shifted it. “How’s the angle, Pete?”

  The operator held his palm-sized remote up to his face. “Yo.”

  “Pete’s a man of few words,” Nadine commented. “Just how I like them. Want to fix your hair?”

  Eve caught herself before she tunneled her fingers through it. She hated being on camera, hated it a lot. “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” Nadine took a small, mirrored compact out of her oversized bag, patted something under her eyes, checked her teeth for lipstick smears. “Okay.” She dropped the compact back in her bag, crossed her legs smoothly with the faintest whisper of silk against silk, and turned toward camera. “Roll.”

  “Rolling.”

  Her face changed. Eve found it interesting to watch. The minute the red light glowed, her features became glossier, more intense. Her voice, which had been brisk and light, slowed and deepened, demanding attention.

  “This is Nadine Furst, reporting direct from Lieutenant Eve Dallas’s office in the Homicide Division of Cop Central. This exclusive interview centers on the violent and as yet unsolved murders of Prosecutor Cicely Towers and award-winning actor Yvonne Metcalf. Lieutenant, are these murders linked?”

  “The evidence indicates that probability. We can confirm from the medical examiner’s report that both victims were killed by the same weapon, and by the same hand.”

  “There’s no doubt of that?”

  “None. Both women were killed by a thin, smooth-edged blade, nine inches in length, tapered from point to hilt. The point was honed to a V. In both cases, the victims were frontally attacked with one swipe of the weapon across the throat from right to left, and at a slight angle.”

  Eve picked up a signature pen from her desk, causing Nadine to jerk and blink when she slashed it a fraction of an inch from Nadine’s throat. “Like that.”

  “I see.”

  “This would have severed the jugular, causing instant and dramatic blood loss, disabling the victim immediately, preventing her from calling for help or defending herself in any way. Death would have occurred within seconds.”

  “In other words, the killer needed very little time. A frontal attack, Lieutenant. Doesn’t that indicate that the victims knew their attacker?”


  “Not necessarily, but there is other evidence that leads to the conclusion that the victims knew their attacker, or were expecting to meet someone. The absence of any defense wounds for example. If I came at you . . .” Eve thrust out with the pen again, and Nadine threw a hand in front of her throat. “You see, it’s automatic defense.”

  “That’s interesting,” Nadine said and had to school her face before it scowled. “We have the details on the murders themselves, but not on the motive behind them, or the killer. What is it that connects Prosecutor Towers to Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “We’re investigating several lines of inquiry.”

  “Prosecutor Towers was killed three weeks ago, Lieutenant, yet you have no suspects?”

  “We have no evidence to support an arrest at this time.”

  “Then you do have suspects?”

  “The investigation is proceeding with all possible speed.”

  “And motive?”

  “People kill people, Ms. Furst, for all manner of reasons. They’ve done so since we crawled out of the muck.”

  “Biblically speaking,” Nadine put in, “murder is the oldest crime.”

  “You could say it has a long tradition. We may be able to filter out certain undesirable tendencies through genetics, chemical treatments, beta scans, we deter with penal colonies and the absence of freedom. But human nature remains human nature.”

  “Those basic motives for violence that science is unable to filter: love, hate, greed, envy, anger.”

  “They separate us from the droids, don’t they?”

  “And make us susceptible to joy, sorrow, and passion. That’s a debate for the scientists and the intellectuals. But which of those motives killed Cicely Towers and Yvonne Metcalf?”

  “A person killed them, Ms. Furst. His or her purpose remains unknown.”

  “You have a psychiatric profile, of course.”

  “We do,” Eve confirmed. “And we will use it and all of the tools at our disposal to find the murderer. I’ll find him,” Eve said deliberately flicking her eyes toward the camera. “And once the cage door is closed, motive won’t matter. Only justice.”

  “That sounds like a promise, Lieutenant. A personal promise.”

  “It is.”

  “The people of New York will depend on you keeping that promise. This is Nadine Furst, reporting for Channel 75.” She waited a beat, then nodded. “Not bad, Dallas. Not bad at all. We’ll run it again at six and eleven, with the recap at midnight.”

  “Good. Take a walk, Pete.”

  The operator shrugged and wandered out of the room.

  “Off the record,” Eve began. “How much airtime can you give me?”

  “For?”

  “Exposure. I want plenty of it.”

  “I figured there was something behind this little gift.” Nadine let out a little breath that was nearly a sigh. “I have to say I’m disappointed, Dallas. I never figured you for a camera hound.”

  “I’ve got to testify on the Mondell case in a couple of hours. Can you get a camera there?”

  “Sure. The Mondell case is small ratings, but it’s worth a couple zips.” She pulled her diary out and noted it.

  “I’ve got this thing tonight, too, at the New Astoria. One of those gold plate dinners.”

  “The Astoria dinner ball, sure.” Her smile turned derisive. “I don’t work the social beat, Dallas, but I can tell the assignment desk to cue on you. You and Roarke are always good for the gossip eaters. It is you and Roarke, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll let you know where you can catch me over the next couple of days,” Eve continued, ignoring the insult. “I’ll feed you regular updates to air.”

  “Fine.” Nadine rose. “Maybe you’ll trip over the killer on your way to fame and fortune. Got an agent yet?”

  For a moment, Eve said nothing, just tapped her fingertips together. “I thought it was your job to fill airtime and guard the public’s right to know, not to moralize.”

  “And I thought it was yours to serve and protect, not to cash in.” Nadine snagged up her bag by the strap. “Catch you on the screen, Lieutenant.”

  “Nadine.” Pleased, Eve tipped back in her chair. “You left out one of those basic human motives for violence before. Thrill.”

  “I’ll make a note of it.” Nadine wrenched at the door, then let it slip out of her hands. When she turned back, her face was white and shocked under its sheen of camera makeup. “Are you out of your mind? You’re bait? You’re fucking bait?”

  “Pissed you off, didn’t it?” Smiling, Eve allowed herself the luxury of propping her feet on the desk. Nadine’s reaction had brought the reporter up several notches on Eve’s opinion scale. “Thinking about me wanting all that airtime, and getting it, really steamed you. It’s going to steam him, too. Can’t you hear him, Nadine? ‘Look at that lousy cop getting all my press.’ ”

  Nadine came back in and sat down carefully. “You had me. Dallas, I’m not about to tell you how to do your job—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Let me see if I’m figuring this right. You deduce the motive was, at least partially, for the thrill, for the attention in the media. Kill a couple of ordinary citizens, you get press, sure, but not so intense, not so complete.”

  “Kill two prominent citizens, familiar faces, and the sky’s the limit.”

  “So you make yourself a target.”

  “It’s just a hunch.” Thoughtfully, Eve scratched a vague itch on her knee. “It could be that all I’ll end up with is a lot of idiotic blips of me on screen.”

  “Or a knife at your throat.”

  “Gee, Nadine, I’m going to start to think you care.”

  “I think I do.” She spent a moment studying Eve’s face. “I’ve worked with, around, and through cops for a long time now. You get instincts on who’s putting in time and who gives a damn. You know what worries me, Dallas? You give too much of a damn.”

  “I carry a badge,” Eve said soberly and made Nadine laugh.

  “Obviously you’ve been watching too many old videos, too. Well, it’s your neck—literally. I’ll see to it that you get it exposed.”

  “Thanks. One more thing,” she added when Nadine stood again. “If this theory has weight, then future targets would fall into the well-known, media-hyped female variety. Keep an eye on your own neck, Nadine.”

  “Jesus.” Shuddering, Nadine rubbed fingers over her throat. “Thanks for sharing that, Dallas.”

  “My pleasure—literally.” Eve had time to chuckle between the time the door closed and the call came through from the commander’s office.

  Obviously, he’d heard about the broadcast.

  She was still stinging a bit when she bolted up the steps of the courthouse. The cameras were there, as Nadine had promised. They were there in the evening at the New Astoria when she stepped out of Roarke’s limo and tried to pretend she was enjoying herself.

  After two days of tripping over a camera every time she took three steps, she was surprised she didn’t find one zooming over her in bed, and she said as much to Roarke.

  “You asked for it, darling.”

  She was straddling him, in what was left of the three-piece cocktail suit he’d chosen for her to wear to the governor’s mansion. The glittering black and gold vest skimmed her hips and was already unbuttoned to her navel.

  “I don’t have to like it. How do you stand it? You live with this stuff all the time. Isn’t it creepy?”

  “You just ignore it.” He flipped open another button. “And go on. I liked the way you looked tonight.” Idly he toyed with the diamond that hung between her breasts. “Of course, I’m enjoying the way you look right now more.”

  “I’m never going to get used to it. All the fancy work. Small talk, big hair. And I don’t fit the clothes, either.”

  “They might not suit the lieutenant, but they suit Eve. You can be both.” He watched her pupils dilate when he spread his hands over her breasts, cupped them. “You liked
the food.”

  “Well, sure, but . . .” She shivered into a moan as he scraped his thumbs over her nipples. “I think I was trying to make a point. I should never talk to you in bed.”

  “Excellent deduction.” He reared up and replaced his thumbs with his teeth.

  She was sleeping deeply, dreamlessly, when he woke her. The cop surfaced first, alert and braced.

  “What?” Despite being naked, she reached for her weapon. “What is it?”

  “I’m sorry.” When he leaned over the bed to kiss her, she could tell from the vibrations of his body that he was laughing.

  “It’s not funny. If I’d been armed, you’d have been on your ass.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Absently, she shoved at Galahad who’d decided to sit on her head. “Why are you dressed? What’s going on?”

  “I’ve had a call. I’m needed on FreeStar One.”

  “The Olympus Resort. Lights, dim,” she ordered and blinked to focus as they highlighted his face. God, she thought, he looked like an angel. A fallen one. A dangerous one. “Is there a problem?”

  “Apparently. Nothing that can’t be handled.” Roarke picked up the cat himself, stroked it, then set Galahad on the floor. “But I have to handle it personally. It may take a couple of days.”

  “Oh.” It was because she was groggy, she told herself, that this awful sense of deflation snuck in. “Well, I’ll see you when you get back.”

  He skimmed a finger over the dent in her chin. “You’ll miss me.”

  “Maybe. Some.” It was his quick smile that defeated her. “Yes.”

  “Here, put this on.” He shoved a robe in her hands. “There’s something I want to show you before I go.”

  “You’re going now?”

  “The transport’s waiting. It can wait.”

  “I guess I’m supposed to come down and kiss you good-bye,” she muttered as she fumbled into the robe.

  “That would be nice, but first things first.” He took her hand and pulled her from the platform to the elevator. “There isn’t any need for you to be uncomfortable here while I’m gone.”