Glory in Death

  “Not in here.”

  “But the victim was.”

  “She was alive then.” At some signal Eve didn’t catch, the droid took a smudged glass from a drinker midbar, poured some noxious looking liquid into it, and slid it back.

  “You were on duty.”

  “I’m a twenty-four/seven,” he told her, indicating he was programmed for full operation without required rest or recharge periods.

  “Did you ever see the victim before, in here, around the area?”

  “No.”

  “Who did she meet here?”

  “No one.”

  Eve drummed her fingers on the cloudy surface of the bar. “Okay, let’s just make this simple. You tell me what time she came in, what she did, when she left, and how she left.”

  “I am not required to maintain surveillance on the customers.”

  “Right.” Slowly, Eve rubbed a finger on the bar. When she lifted it, she pursed her lips at the smear of gunk staining the tip. “I’m Homicide, but I’m not required to overlook health violations. You know, I think if I called the Sensor Bugs in here, and they did a sweep, why they’d be shocked. So shocked they’d delete the liquor license.”

  As threats went, she didn’t think it was particularly clever, but it was logical.

  The droid took a moment to access the probabilities. “The woman came in at oh sixteen. She didn’t drink. She left at one twelve. Alone.”

  “Did she speak to anyone?”

  “She said nothing.”

  “Was she looking for someone?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Eve lifted a brow. “You observed her. Did it appear she was looking for someone?”

  “It appeared, but she found no one.”

  “But she stayed nearly an hour. What did she do?”

  “Stood, looked, frowned. Checked her watch often. Left.”

  “Did anyone follow her outside?”

  “No.”

  Absently, Eve scrubbed her soiled finger on her jeans. “Did she have an umbrella?”

  The droid looked as surprised by the question as droids were capable of looking. “Yes, a purple one, the same color as her suit.”

  “Did she leave with it?”

  “Yes; it was raining.”

  Eve nodded, then worked her way through the bar, questioning unhappy customers.

  All she really wanted when she returned to Cop Central was a long shower. An hour in the Five Moons had left what felt like a thin layer of muck on her skin. Even her teeth, she thought, running her tongue over them.

  But the report came first. She swung into her office, then stopped, studying the wiry-haired man sitting at her desk plucking candied almonds from a bag.

  “Nice work if you can get it.”

  Feeney crossed the feet he’d propped on the edge of her desk. “Good to see you, Dallas. You’re a busy lady.”

  “Some of us cops actually work for a living. Others just play computer games all day.”

  “You should’ve taken my advice and worked on your comp skills.”

  With more affection than annoyance, she knocked his feet from the desk and plopped her butt down in the vacated space. “You just passing by?”

  “I’ve come to offer my services, old pal.” Generously, he held out the bag of nuts.

  She munched and watched him. He had a hangdog face, one he had never bothered to have enhanced. Baggy eyes, the beginning of jowls, ears that were slightly too big for his head. She liked it just the way it was.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I got three reasons. First, the commander made an unofficial request; second, I had a lot of admiration for the prosecutor.”

  “Whitney called you?”

  “Unofficially,” Feeney explained again. “He thought that if you had someone with my outstanding skills working the data route with you, we’d tie this thing up faster. Never hurts to have a direct line to the Electronic Detection Division.”

  She considered it, and because she knew Feeney’s skills were indeed outstanding, she approved. “Are you going to sign on the case officially or unofficially?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “Then let’s make it officially, Feeney.”

  He grinned and winked. “I figured you’d say that.”

  “The first thing I need you to do is run the victim’s ’link. There’s no record either on the log or on the security tapes that she had a visitor the night she was killed. So somebody called her, arranged a meet.”

  “Good as done.”

  “And I need a run on everybody she put away—”

  “Everybody?” he interrupted, only slightly appalled.

  “Everybody.” Her face broke into sunny smiles. “I figure you can do it in about half the time I could. I need relatives, loved ones, associates, too. Also cases in progress and pending.”

  “Jesus, Dallas.” But he rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers like a pianist about to play a concert. “My wife’s going to miss me.”

  “Being married to a cop sucks,” she said, patting his shoulder.

  “Is that what Roarke says?”

  She dropped her hand. “We’re not married.”

  Feeney merely hummed in his throat. He enjoyed seeing Eve’s quick frown, quick nerves. “So how’s he doing?”

  “He’s fine. He’s in Australia.” Her hands found their way into her pockets. “He’s fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Caught the two of you on the news a few weeks ago. At some fancy do at the Palace. You look real sharp in a dress, Dallas.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, caught herself, and shrugged. “I didn’t know you took in the gossip channels.”

  “Love them,” he said unrepentantly. “Must be interesting, leading that high life.”

  “It has its moments,” she muttered. “Are we going to discuss my social life, Feeney, or investigate a murder?”

  “We’ll have to make time to do both.” He rose and stretched. “I’ll go run the check on the victim’s ’link before I get started on the years of perps she put away. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Feeney.” When he turned at her door, she cocked her head. “You said there were three reasons you wanted in. You only gave me two.”

  “Number three, I missed you, Dallas.” He grinned. “Damn if I haven’t missed you.”

  She was smiling when she sat down to work. Damn if she hadn’t missed him, too.

  chapter four

  The Blue Squirrel was one teetering step up from the Five Moons. Eve had a cautious affection for it. There were times she even enjoyed the noise, the press of bodies, and the ever-changing costumes of the clientele. Most of the time she enjoyed the stage show.

  The featured singer was one of the rare people Eve considered a genuine friend. The friendship might have had its roots in Eve’s arrest of Mavis Freestone several years earlier, but it had flowered, nonetheless. Mavis might have gone straight, but she would never go ordinary.

  Tonight, the slim, exuberant woman was screeching out her lyrics against the scream of trumpets, the brass waved by a three-piece female band on the holoscreen backdrop. That, and the quality of the single wine Eve had risked were enough to make her eyes water.

  For tonight’s show, Mavis’s hair was a stunning emerald green. Eve knew Mavis preferred jewel colors. She continued the theme with the single swatch of glistening sapphire material she had somehow draped over herself to cover one generous breast and her crotch. Her other breast was decorated with shimmering stones, with a strategically placed silver star over the nipple.

  One misplaced stud or swatch, and the Blue Squirrel could be fined for exceeding its license. The proprietors weren’t willing to pay the hefty fee for nude class.

  When Mavis whirled, Eve saw that the singer’s heart-shaped butt was similarly decorated on each slim cheek. Just, she mused, within the limits of the law.

  The crowd loved her. When she stepped from the stage after her set, it was to thunderous applause and drunken cheers.
Patrons in the private smoking booths thumped fists enthusiastically on their tiny tables.

  “How do you sit down in that?” Eve asked when Mavis arrived at her booth.

  “Slowly, carefully, and with great discomfort.” Mavis demonstrated, then let out a sigh. “What’d you think of the last number?”

  “A real crowd pleaser.”

  “I wrote it.”

  “No shit?” Eve hadn’t understood a single word, but pride swelled, nonetheless. “That’s great, Mavis. I’m awed.”

  “I might have a shot at a recording contract.” Beneath the glitter on her face, Mavis’s cheeks flushed. “And I got a raise.”

  “Well, here’s to it.” In toast, Eve lifted her glass.

  “I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” Mavis punched her code into the menu and ordered bubble water. She had to baby her throat for the next set.

  “I’m meeting someone.”

  “Roarke?” Mavis’s eyes, currently green, shone. “Is he coming? I’ll have to do that last number again.”

  “He’s in Australia. I’m meeting Nadine Furst.”

  Mavis’s disappointment at the opportunity to impress Roarke shifted quickly to surprise. “You’re meeting a reporter? On purpose?”

  “I can trust her.” Eve lifted a shoulder. “I can use her.”

  “If you say so. Hey, you think maybe she’d do a piece on me?”

  Not for worlds would Eve have extinguished the light in Mavis’s eyes. “I’ll mention it.”

  “Decent. Listen, tomorrow’s my night off. Want to catch some dinner or hang someplace?”

  “If I can manage it. But I thought you were seeing that performance artist—the one with the pet monkey.”

  “Flicked him off.” Mavis illustrated by brushing a finger over her bare shoulder. “He was just too static. Gotta go.” She slid out of the booth, her butt decor making little scraping sounds. Her emerald hair gleamed in the swirling lights as she edged through the crowd.

  Eve decided she didn’t want to know what Mavis considered too static.

  When her communicator hummed, Eve pulled it out and punched in her code. Roarke’s face filled the miniscreen. Her first reaction, unbidden, was a huge, delighted smile.

  “Lieutenant, I’ve tracked you down.”

  “Apparently so.” She worked on dimming the smile. “This is an official channel, Roarke.”

  “Is it?” His brow lifted. “It doesn’t sound like official surroundings. The Blue Squirrel.”

  “I’m meeting someone. How’s Australia?”

  “Crowded. With luck I’ll be back within thirty-six hours. I’ll find you.”

  “I’m not hard to find.” She smiled again. “Obviously. Listen.” To amuse them both, she tilted the unit as Mavis roared into her next set.

  “She’s unique,” Roarke managed after several bars. “Give her my best.”

  “I will. I’ll—ah—see you when you get back.”

  “Count on it. You’ll think of me.”

  “Sure. Safe trip, Roarke.”

  “Eve, I love you.”

  She let out a baffled breath when his image dissolved.

  “Well, well.” Nadine Furst moved from her position behind Eve’s shoulder and slid into the booth opposite. “Wasn’t that sweet?”

  Torn between annoyance and embarrassment, Eve jammed her communicator back in her pocket. “I thought you had more class than to eavesdrop.”

  “Any reporter worth her salary eavesdrops, Lieutenant. Just like a good cop.” Nadine stretched back in the booth. “So, what does it feel like to have a man like Roarke in love with you?”

  Even if she could have explained it, Eve wouldn’t have. “Thinking of switching from hard news to the romance channel, Nadine?”

  Nadine merely held up a hand, then let out a sigh when she scanned the club. “I can’t believe you wanted to meet here again. The food’s terrible.”

  “But the atmosphere, Nadine, the atmosphere.”

  Mavis hit a piercing note and Nadine shuddered. “Fine, it’s your deal.”

  “You got back on planet quickly.”

  “I managed to catch a flash transport. One of your boyfriend’s.”

  “Roarke’s not a boy.”

  “You’re telling me. Anyway . . .” Nadine waved that away. She was obviously tired and a little lagged. “I’ve got to eat, even if it kills me.” She scanned the menu and settled dubiously on the stuffed shells supreme. “What are you drinking?”

  “Number fifty-four; it’s supposed to be a chardonnay.” Experimentally, Eve sipped again. “It’s at least three steps up from horse piss. I recommend it.”

  “Fine.” Nadine programmed her order and sat back again. “I was able to access all the data available on the Towers’s homicide on the trip back. Everything the media has broadcast so far.”

  “Morse know you’re back?”

  Nadine’s smile was thin and feral. “Oh, he knows. I’ve got seniority on the crime beat. I’m in, he’s out. And is he pissed!”

  “Then my mission is a success.”

  “But it’s not complete. You promised an exclusive.”

  “And I’ll deliver.” Eve studied the noodle dish that slid through the serving slot. It didn’t look half bad. “Under my terms, Nadine. What I feed you, you broadcast when I give you the light.”

  “What else is new?” Nadine sampled the first shell, decided it was nearly palatable.

  “I’ll see that you get more data, and that you get it ahead of the pack.”

  “And when you’ve got a suspect.”

  “You’ll get the name first.”

  Trusting Eve’s word, Nadine nodded as she forked up another shell. “Plus a one-on-one with the suspect and another with you.”

  “I can’t guarantee the suspect. You know I can’t,” Eve continued before Nadine could interrupt. “The perp has rights to choose his own media, or to refuse it all. The best I can do is suggest, maybe even encourage.”

  “I want pictures. Don’t tell me you can’t guarantee. You can find a way to see that I get video of the arrest. I want to be on the scene.”

  “I’ll weigh that in when the time comes. In exchange, I want everything you have, every tip that comes in, every rumor, every story lead. No broadcast surprises.”

  Nadine slipped pasta between her lips. “I can’t guarantee,” she said sweetly. “My associates have their own agenda.”

  “What you know, when you know it,” Eve said flatly. “And anything that comes out of intramedia espionage.” At Nadine’s innocent expression, Eve snorted. “Stations spy on stations, reporters spy on reporters. Getting the story on air first is the name of the game. You’ve got a good batting average, Nadine, or I wouldn’t be bothering with you.”

  “I’ll say the same.” Nadine sipped her wine. “And for the most part, I trust you, even if you have no taste in wine. This is barely one step up from horse piss.”

  Eve sat back and laughed. It felt good, it felt easy, and when Nadine grinned in return, they had a deal.

  “Let me see yours,” Nadine requested. “And I’ll let you see mine.”

  “The biggest thing I’ve got,” Eve began, “is a missing umbrella.”

  Eve met Feeney at Cicely Towers’s apartment at ten the following morning. One look at his hangdog expression and she knew the news wasn’t going to be sunny.

  “What wall did you hit?”

  “On the ’link.” He waited while Eve disarmed the police security on the door, then followed her inside. “She had plenty of transmissions, kept the unit on auto record. Your tag was on the disc.”

  “That’s right, I took it into evidence. Are you trying to tell me no one contacted her to arrange a meet at the Five Moons?”

  “I’m trying to tell you I can’t tell you.” In disgust, Feeney ran a hand through his wiry hair. “Her last call came in at eleven thirty, the transmission ended at eleven forty-three.”

  “And?”

  “She erased the rec
ording. I can get the times, but that’s it. The communication, audio, video, are zapped. She zapped them,” he continued. “From this unit.”

  “She erased the call,” Eve murmured and began to pace. “Why would she do that? She had the unit on auto; that’s standard for law enforcers, even for personal calls. But she erased this one. Because she didn’t want any record of who called and why.”

  She turned back. “You’re sure nobody tampered with the disc after it was in evidence?”

  Feeney looked pained, then insulted. “Dallas,” was all he said.

  “Okay, okay, so she zapped it before she went out. That tells me she wasn’t afraid, personally, but was protecting herself—or somebody else. If it had to do with a case, she’d have wanted it on record. She’d have made damn sure it was on record.”

  “I’d say so. If it was a snitch, she could have put a lock on it under her private code, but it doesn’t make sense to zap it.”

  “We’ll check her cases anyway, all the way back.” She didn’t have to see his face to know Feeney was rolling his eyes. “Let me think,” she muttered. “She left City Hall at nineteen twenty-six. That’s on her log. And several witnesses saw her. Her last stop was the women’s lounge where she freshened up for the evening and chatted with an associate. The associate tells me her mood was calm but upbeat. She’d had a good day in court.”

  “Fluentes is going up. She laid the groundwork. Taking her out won’t change that.”

  “He might have thought different. We’ll see about that. She didn’t come back here.” Frowning, Eve scanned the room. “She didn’t have time, so she went straight to the restaurant and met Hammett. I’ve been by there. His story and his time frame check out with the staff.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Time’s passing. The maître d’ called them a cab, a Rapid. They were picked up at a twenty-one forty-eight. It was starting to rain.”

  In her mind, Eve pictured it. The handsome couple in the back of the cab, chatting, maybe brushing fingertips while the cab zipped uptown with raindrops pattering on the roof. She’d been wearing a red dress and matching jacket, according to their server. Power colors for court that she’d dressed up with good pearls and silver heels for the evening.