Rapture in Death

  “Sure. Baby it.”

  “Did you get all this last night, rounding up your suspect?”

  “No, before. He didn’t give me any trouble. Little bastard.” Her brows knit, digging a line between them. “Can’t nail him though. Just can’t nail it down.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Reeanna’s voice was soothing as she continued the treatment. “You’re thorough and involved. I saw you on one of the news channels. Going out on the ledge with Cerise Devane. Risking your life.”

  “Lost her.”

  “Yes, I know.” Efficiently, Reeanna coated the treated bruises with numbing cream. “It was horrible. Visually shocking. More so for you, I’d imagine. You’d have seen her face, her eyes, up close, as she went off.”

  “She was smiling.”

  “Yes, I could see that.”

  “She wanted to die.”

  “Did she?”

  “She said it was beautiful. The ultimate experience.”

  Satisfied she’d done all she could, Reeanna picked up another towel, spread it over Eve. “There are some who believe that. Death as the ultimate human experience. No matter how advanced medicine and technology, none of us escape it. Since we’re destined for it in any case, why not see it as a goal rather than an obstacle?”

  “It’s meant to be fought. Every bloody inch of the way.”

  “Not everyone has the energy or the need to fight. Some go gently.” She picked up Eve’s limp hand, automatically checking the pulse. “Some go resistantly. But all go.”

  “Somebody sent her. That makes it murder. That makes it mine.”

  Reeanna tucked Eve’s arm under the towel. “Yes, I suppose it does. Get some sleep. I’ll tell Summerset to wake you in time to make your meeting.”

  “Thanks. Really.”

  “It’s nothing.” She touched Eve’s shoulder. “Between friends.”

  She studied Eve a moment longer, then glanced at her diamond-studded watch. She was going to have to push to make her rescheduled salon date, but there was just one minor detail to see to yet.

  She repacked her kit, left a tube of numbing cream on the table for Eve, and hurried out.

  chapter eighteen

  Eve paced the soft, pretty carpet in Dr. Mira’s office, hands jammed in her pockets, head lowered like a bull preparing for the charge.

  “I don’t get it. How can his profile not fit? I’ve got him cold on the lesser charges. The little prick’s been playing with people’s brains, reveling in it.”

  “It isn’t a matter of fitting, Eve. It’s a matter of probabilities.”

  Patient, calm, Mira sat in her comfy, body-molding chair and sipped jasmine tea. She needed it, she mused. The air was foaming with Eve’s frustration and energy.

  “You have his confession and the evidence that he has been experimenting with individualized brain pattern influence. And I quite agree he has a lot to answer for. But as to coercion to self-termination, I can’t, in any decisive manner, corroborate your suspicions through my evaluation.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” She spun on her heel. Reeanna’s treatment and the hour’s nap had restored her. If anything, her color was high, her eyes overbright. “Without your corroboration, Whitney’s not going to buy the package, which means the PA won’t buy it.”

  “I can’t adjust my report to suit you, Eve.”

  “Who’s asking you to?” Eve threw up her hands, then dug them into her pockets. “What doesn’t fit, for Christ’s sake? The man’s got a God complex any idiot before vision reconstruction surgery could spot.”

  “I agree that his personality pattern leans toward an excess of ego and his temperament has a high caliber of the artiste under siege.” Mira sighed. “I wish you’d sit down. You’re making me tired.”

  Eve dropped into a chair, scowled. “There, I’m sitting. Explain.”

  Mira had to smile. The sheer drive and unrelenting focus was admirable. “Do you know, Eve, I can never understand why impatience is so attractive on you. And how, with such a high volume of it, you still manage to be thorough in your work.”

  “I’m not here for analysis, Doctor.”

  “I know. I only wish I could convince you to agree to regular sessions. But that’s another subject, for another time. You have my report, but to summarize my findings, the subject is egocentric, self-congratulatory, and one who habitually rationalizes his antisocial behavior as art. He’s also brilliant.”

  Dr. Mira signed a little, shook her head. “A truly fine mind. He was nearly off the scale in the standard Trislow and Secour tests.”

  “Good for him,” Eve muttered. “Let’s put his brain on disc and give him a few suggestions.”

  “Your reaction is understandable,” Mira said mildly. “Human nature is resistant to any sort of mind control. Addicts rationalize by deluding themselves that they’re in control.” She rolled her shoulders. “In any case, the subject has an admirable, even astonishing skill for visualization and logic. He’s also fully aware, and smug if you will, about those skills. Under the surface charm, he is—to use your unscientific term—a prick. But I cannot, in good conscience, label him a murderer.”

  “I’m not worried about your conscience.” Eve set her teeth. “He’s able to design and operate equipment that is capable of influencing behavior in targeted individuals. I have four dead bodies whose minds I believe—no, I know—were influenced to self-termination.”

  “And logically, there should be a connection.” Mira sat back, reached over, and programmed tea for Eve. “But you don’t have a sociopath in holding, Eve.” She passed Eve a fragrant, steaming cup they both knew she didn’t want. “As there is, of yet, no clear motive for these deaths, and if they were indeed coerced, it’s my considered opinion that it’s a sociopath who is responsible.”

  “So what separates him?”

  “He likes people,” Mira said simply, “and wants, quite desperately, to be liked and admired by them. Manipulative, yes, but he believes he’s created a great boon to humankind. One he’ll make a profit on, certainly.”

  “So, maybe he just got carried away.” Isn’t that what he called his use of Roarke the night before? Eve thought. He’d just gotten carried away. “And maybe he isn’t as much in control of his equipment as he thinks.”

  “That’s possible. From another angle, Jess enjoys his work; he needs to be a party to the results of it. His ego requires that he see, experience at least a part of what he’s caused.”

  He wasn’t in the damn closet with us, Eve thought, but was afraid she understood Mira’s meaning: the way Jess had looked for her, at her when they’d come back to the party, the way he’d smiled. “This isn’t what I want to hear.”

  “I know that. Listen to me.” Mira set her cup aside. “This man is a child, an emotionally stunted savant. His vision and his music are more real to him, certainly more important than people, but he doesn’t discount people. Overall, I simply find no evidence that he would risk his freedom and his freedom of expression to kill.”

  Eve sipped tea out of reflex rather than desire. “If he had a partner?” she speculated, thinking of Feeney’s theory.

  “It’s possible. He wouldn’t be a man who would happily share his accomplishments. Still, he has a great need for both adulation and financial success. It might be possible, if he found himself in need of assistance on some level of his design, he entered into a partnership.”

  “Then why didn’t he roll over?” Eve shook her head. “He’s a coward; he’d have rolled. No way he’d take the heat for this alone.” She sipped again, letting her thoughts play out. “What if he were genetically imprinted toward sociopathic behavior? He’s intelligent, canny enough to mask it, but it’s simply part of his makeup.”

  “Branded at conception?” Mira nearly sniffed. “I don’t subscribe to that school. Upbringing, environment, education, choices both moral and immoral form us into what we are. We are not born monsters or saints.”

  “But there are experts in
the field who believe we are.” And she had one, Eve mused, at her disposal.

  Mira read her easily enough and couldn’t prevent the prick to her pride. “If you wish to consult with Dr. Ott on this matter, it’s your privilege. I’m sure she’d be thrilled.”

  Eve wasn’t sure whether to wince or smile. Mira very rarely sounded testy. “That wasn’t meant as an insult to your skills, Doctor. I need a hammer here; you can’t provide it.”

  “Let me tell you what I think about the branding at birth issue, Lieutenant. It’s a cop-out, plain and simple. It’s a crutch. I couldn’t help setting fire to that building and burning hundreds of people alive. I was born an arsonist. I couldn’t stop myself from battering that old woman to death for her handful of credits. My mother was a thief.”

  It quite simply infuriated her to think of that ploy being used to blot out responsibility—and on the other side to scar those who were defenseless against the monsters who bore them.

  “It excuses us from humanity,” she continued, “from morality, from right and wrong. We can say we were marked in the womb and never had a chance.” She angled her head. “You of all people should know better.”

  “This isn’t about me.” Eve set her cup down with a snap. “It isn’t about where I came from or what I made myself. It’s about four people, that I’m aware of, who weren’t given a choice. And someone has to answer for that.”

  “One thing,” Mira added as Eve rose. “Are you focused on this man because of personal insults to you and those you love, or because of the dead you represent?”

  “Maybe it’s both,” Eve admitted after a moment.

  She didn’t contact Reeanna, not yet. She wanted a little time to let it stew in her mind. And she was delayed by finding Nadine Furst in her office.

  “How’d you get past desk security?” Eve demanded.

  “Oh, I have my ways.” Nadine swung her leg, beamed a friendly smile. “And most of the cops around here know you and I have a history.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”

  Grudgingly, Eve turned to the AutoChef, pumped up two cups. “Make it fast, Nadine. Crime is rampant in our city.”

  “And that keeps us both in business. What did you get called out on last night, Dallas?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on. I was at the party. Mavis was terrific, by the way. First you and Roarke take off.” She sipped delicately. “It didn’t take a sharp reporter like me to get an inkling of what that was about.” She wiggled her brows, chuckling when Eve simply stared. “But your sex life isn’t news—at least on my beat.”

  “We were running out of shrimp patties. We ran down to the kitchen and made some up. It would have been so embarrassing.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Nadine waved that away and concentrated on her coffee. Even in the upper echelons of Channel 75 they rarely had access to such potent brew. “Then I notice, being the keen observer that I am, that you sweep Jess Barrow off and out at the end of the set. Never came back. Either of you.”

  “We’re having a mad, illicit affair,” Eve said dryly. “You may want to turn that over to the gossip desk.”

  “And I’m boinking a one-armed sex droid.”

  “You always were an explorer.”

  “Actually, there was this unit once . . . but I digress. Roarke, in his usual charming fashion, manages to move the lingering guests along, herds the hangers-on into the recreation center—great hologram deck, by the way—and gives your regrets. Duty calls?” Nadine angled her head. “Funny. Nothing shows on my cop scanner that would have pulled our ace homicide detective out at that time of night.”

  “Not everything goes out on the scanner, Nadine. And I’m just a soldier. I go when and where I’m told.”

  “Sell it to someone else. I know how tight you are with Mavis. Nothing but top level would have pulled you away at her big moment.” She leaned forward. “Where’s Jess Barrow, Dallas? And what the hell has he done?”

  “I don’t have anything to give you, Nadine.”

  “Come on, Dallas, you know me. I’ll hold it down until I get the go-ahead. Who’d he kill?”

  “Switch the channel,” Eve advised, then pulled out her communicator when it beeped. “Display only, no audio.”

  Quickly, she scanned the transmission from Peabody, manually requested a meeting, including Feeney, in twenty minutes. She set the communicator on the desk, turned back to the AutoChef to see if there were any soy chips available. She needed something to sop up the caffeine.

  “I’ve got work, Nadine,” Eve continued, when she discovered she had nothing but an irradiated egg sandwich in stock. “And nothing to bump up your ratings.”

  “You’re holding out on me. I know you’ve got Jess in custody. I’ve got sources in Holding.”

  Annoyed, Eve turned back. Holding was innately ripe with leaks. “I can’t help you.”

  “Are you charging him?”

  “The charges are not for broadcast at this time.”

  “Damn it, Dallas.”

  “I’m on the edge here,” Eve snapped. “And it could go either way. Don’t push me. If and when I’m free to speak to the media on the matter, you’ll be the first. You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

  “You mean I have to be satisfied with nothing.” Nadine rose. “You’re got something big, or you wouldn’t be so snotty about it. I’m only asking for a—”

  She broke off as Mavis burst in. “Jesus, Dallas, Jesus. How could you arrest Jess? What are you doing?”

  “Mavis, damn it.” She could visualize Nadine’s reporter’s ears growing longer and sharper. “Sit,” she demanded, stabbing a finger at a chair, then at Nadine. “You, out.”

  “Have a heart, Dallas.” Nadine attached herself to Mavis. “Can’t you see how upset she is? Let me get you some coffee, Mavis.”

  “I said out, and I mean it.” At her wit’s end, Eve rubbed her hands over her face. “Take off, Nadine, or I’ll put you on the blackout list.”

  As a threat, it had punch. The blackout list meant there wouldn’t be a cop in the homicide division who’d give Nadine the right time, much less a story lead. “Okay, fine. But I’m not dropping this.” There were other ways to dig, she thought, and other tools to dig with. She snatched up her bag, gave Eve one last bitter look, then flounced out.

  “How could you?” Mavis demanded. “Dallas, how could you do this?”

  To insure some level of privacy, Eve shut the door. Her headache had come full circle and was now gleefully throbbing behind her eyes. “Mavis, this is my job here.”

  “Your job?” Her eyes were laser blue today, and red-rimmed from weeping. It was touching the way they matched the cobalt streaks in her scarlet hair. “What about my career? I finally get the break I’ve been waiting for, working for, and you toss my partner into a cage. And for what?” Her voice hitched. “Because he came on to you and pissed Roarke off.”

  “What?” Her mouth fell open, worked silently before she could get her tongue around words. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  “I just got off the ’link with Jess. He’s devastated. I can’t believe you’d play this way, Dallas.” Her eyes began to leak again. “I know Roarke’s premiere with you, but we’ve got history.”

  At that moment, with Mavis noisily weeping into her hands, Eve could have cheerfully strangled Jess Barrow. “Yeah, we’ve got history, and you should know I don’t play that way. I don’t toss someone in a cage because I find them a personal annoyance. Would you sit down?”

  “I don’t need to sit.” She wailed it, made Eve wince as the sound acted as the dull point of an edgy knife on her brain.

  “Well, I do.” She dropped into a chair. How much could she safely tell a civilian without crossing the line? And how far over the line was she willing to go? She looked at Mavis again, sighed. As far as it took. “Jess is the prime suspect in four deaths.”

  “What? What bend did you go aro
und since last night? Jess wouldn’t—”

  “Be quiet,” Eve snapped. “I haven’t got him solid on that yet, but I’m working on it. I do, however, have him on other charges. Serious charges. Now, if you’d stop blubbering and sit the hell down, I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “You didn’t even stay and watch my whole act.” Mavis managed to fall into a chair, but she didn’t manage to stop blubbering.

  “Oh, Mavis, I’m, sorry.” Eve dragged a hand through her hair. She was lousy with weepers. “I couldn’t—there was nothing I could do. Mavis, Jess is into mind control.”

  “Huh?” It was such a wild statement coming from the most grounded person she knew that Mavis stopped crying long enough to sniffle and gape. “Huh?”

  “He’s developed a program that accesses brain wave patterns and influences behavior. And he’s used it on me, on Roarke, and on you.”

  “On me? No, he didn’t. Get genuine here, Dallas, this is too Frankenstein. Jess isn’t a mad scientist. He’s a musician.”

  “He’s an engineer, a musicologist, and a prick.” Eve took a deep breath, then related as much as she felt was necessary. As she spoke, Mavis’s tears dried up, hardening her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered once, then thinned.

  “He used me to get to you, to get to Roarke. I was just a spring. Then once I’d bounced him to you, he fucked with your mind.”

  “This is not your fault. Stop it,” Eve ordered when Mavis’s eyes started to shimmer again. “I mean it. I’m tired, I’m pressed, and my head is about to explode. I don’t need this soggy routine from you right now. It’s not your fault. You were used, and so was I. He was hoping for Roarke’s backing on his project. It doesn’t make me less of a cop or you less of a performer. You’re good, and you got better. He knew you could, and that’s why he used you. He’s too damn arrogant about his talent to have linked himself up with a dud. He wanted somebody who could shine. And you did.”