He selected fitted trousers in chocolate brown with a kind of nubby finish, matched them with a three-button jacket in deep, strong blue, then managed to add an Oxford-style shirt with stripes that picked up both tones.
“A clean, confident presentation of someone who’s in charge and prepared to get down to the business at hand.”
“All that?”
“Wear your new boots.” He passed her the clothes. “They’ll work well with that, and with the coat as well.”
“What new boots?” Her eyebrows drew together as he took them off a shelf. “And where did they come from?”
“The boot elves, I assume.”
“The boot elves are going to be pissed when they’re dinged and scuffed inside a week.”
“Oh, I think they’re more tolerant than that.”
“Those elves keep this up I’m going to need a bigger closet.”
But she dressed as advised, then sat to pull on the boots while Roarke programmed breakfast for two.
They slid on like—as Peabody might say—butter. “Okay.” She stood, took some strides. “They’re great. Sturdy—I could definitely kick some teeth in with these.”
“The elves had that as top priority.”
“Huh.” She did a quick squat and rise then paddled her heels. “But they’re not stiff or heavy, so they could handle a serious foot-chase.”
“Second priority. I’ll pass your satisfaction on to the elves.” He set two plates of waffles on the table, gave Galahad a cool, warning stare, then looked Eve up and down. “You look confident, streamlined, and absolutely capable of kicking in those teeth.”
“I like the last part the best.”
“Only one of the myriad reasons I love you.”
She sat, and when he joined her, she laid a hand over his. “I feel confident and streamlined. I woke up that way because you were with me last night, because you loved me. And because you were sitting here this morning, doing what you always do instead of worrying about me.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stop worrying about me worrying?”
“It’s moving that way. We probably just need to have a good fight over something, finish it off. A good fight can work like a good orgasm, and clear things out.”
“Well now, I’m longing for a good fight. We’ll have to schedule one in.”
“Better, I think, when they’re more … organic.”
“Organic orgasm through temper.” He laughed as he passed her the syrup he knew she’d pour on in a flood. “I’m filled with anticipation.”
“Remember that when I piss you off next time.”
She drowned her waffles in syrup.
Within thirty, primed by waffles, Eve checked her ’link. “Everybody’s a go for the briefing. I’m going in early, make sure everything’s set up the way I want it.”
“Good luck. I should have some time this afternoon, either to deal with that fight we need to have or give Feeney some help.”
“Maybe we can work in both.” She gave him a quick kiss before heading for the door.
“Look after my cop,” he called after her. “Just you try licking off that plate, boy-o,” she heard him say to the cat, “and see what happens.”
It made her grin all the way downstairs.
She didn’t have as much luck with traffic as she had the day before, but used the time in snags and snarls to work out her approach.
She wanted a warrant to search Steinburger’s residence, his office, his vehicle—and one to dump all his electronics on Feeney and EDD.
Odds of getting them were slim, she knew. She could—she damn well would—convince everyone in the briefing that Steinburger had been killing people who annoyed him, got in his way, or just posed a serious inconvenience, for forty years.
And yet the pesky issue of probable cause would remain.
Still, she’d push for it, and if—most likely when—she got shut down, she’d push for one to monitor his ’links and comps.
And she wanted that in place before she talked to his ex-wives—the surviving ones—his boat pal, former college roommates, Buster Pearlman’s widow. Before she had another round with the Hollywood set.
A lot of people were going to feel the heel of her new boots on their necks before she was done.
She pulled into her slot in Central’s garage. She rode up in an elevator that stopped to let cops on, let cops off. And wished she’d opted for the glides when an undercover detective she recognized stepped in hauling a midget.
The midget boasted a shaved head covered with tats and showed gaps in his teeth in a feral snarl. That bald head might have only reached McGreedy’s waist, but its owner looked mean as a rattler.
Both of them smelled, strongly and distinctly, of shit.
“Jesus, McGreedy.” One of the cops stepped as far to the side as the car would allow. “You sleep in the sewer?”
“Chased this fucker into one. Caught you, too, didn’t I, you fucking little fucker. Fucker bit my ankle. I got midget teeth marks in my ankle.”
Even as he said it, his prisoner issued a sharp kick to the wounded ankle, another to the shin, and let out a kind of war cry as he leaped, fast and nimble as a spider, on the back of the uniformed cop ahead of him in the car.
Amid the chaos, and the unbelievable stench, Eve considered. Two cops were currently trying to haul the crazy little bastard off while he yanked hair, kicked feet, sank teeth.
She decided on a different approach. She drew her weapon, and keeping a careful distance, leaned forward, pressed it to the crazy little bastard’s head.
“Want a taste of this?”
He swung around, bared his gapped teeth, and she calculated he intended to use the uniform as a springboard into her face.
“I’ll drop you like a stone,” she warned. “No, like a pebble. An ugly, smelly pebble. Then I’ll personally drop-kick your ass into a cage.”
“I got him, Lieutenant.” Panting, snarling, sweating, McGreedy ripped his prisoner off the uniform, shoved him facedown on the floor of the car. “Fucker.”
“Officer?”
“Shit. Shit. Bingly, Lieutenant.”
“Officer Bingly, as you’re already due for a shower and a change of uniform, why don’t you assist Detective McGreedy in securing his little fucker and hauling same into detox?”
“Yes, sir. Shit.”
“It ain’t roses,” McGreedy agreed.
“Hold him back, would you?” Eve requested, and hopped off the elevator.
Never a dull moment, she thought as she took a cautious sniff of herself just in case.
She bypassed her office for the conference room where she re-created her case boards, loaded data into a computer.
By the time she was finished, she expected Peabody to clock in. Deciding she wanted another hit of decent coffee before things got rolling, she secured the conference room and started to her office.
She spotted Marlo—despite the long, sun-streaked brunette wig and oversized sunshades—coming off the glides.
“Dallas.”
“Not working today?”
“I’m not due in hair and makeup until nine, so I thought I’d take a chance you’d be in, and have a few minutes.”
“I’m in, and a few minutes is all I’ve got.” Eve nodded as Peabody and McNab came up the next glide. “Hang on a minute,” she told Marlo.
“Is that Marlo?” Peabody asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to talk to her. The two of you can head right into the conference room. I’ve got boards set up. Study, ponder, prepare to discuss. What’s in the box?”
“Doughnuts.” McNab grinned at her. “We figured, hey, cops, breakfast time, briefing. It’s the necessary ingredient.”
“It couldn’t hurt. I won’t be long.”
Eve considered the fact her murder board stood in her office, and deciding it might be an advantage, led Marlo in.
“Thanks for …” Marlo trailed off, her gaze on the board. “God, that’s stark. And r
eally, really disconcerting to see my own face up there, those of people I know and care about. Can I sit down?”
“Sure.” As she did, Eve rested a hip on the corner of her desk. Her mind went, unfortunately, to the idea of how many asses had sat on her candy in the last couple of days.
“You know, I thought I’d gotten so tough, prepping for this part. I’ve always kept in shape, but Christ, I trained for this. Physically, I mean. And, I thought, mentally. But I learned, fast, I’m not half as tough as I thought. I can work. I can put myself there, but as soon as I step out of you and into me? I’m just Marlo Durn, and I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“There’s no way around the fact one of us …” Her gaze went to the board again. “One of us killed K.T. There’s no way around it. And I know you believe whoever did that killed the man she hired to spy on Matthew and me. So I’m scared because I’m working with someone who could do that.”
“Did Asner approach you, Marlo, or Matthew about compensation in exchange for the recording?”
“No.” She stared at his photo on the board. “I’ve never seen him before. He was in the loft, in our bedroom. And now he’s dead.”
“Has anyone approached you?”
“No. I’d tell you. It’s way beyond the invasion of privacy, the embarrassment. Even the anger over it. I wanted to come here, see you, ask you if you’re any closer to finding out who. And I know you probably can’t tell me, but I hate being this way. Hate being scared, hate wondering about these people I care about. Hate locking my trailer door, even when I’m inside.”
“Are you afraid of anyone in particular?”
Marlo shook her head. “Matthew’s handling it better, and so’s Andi. Julian’s worse than I am. He’s a wreck. Connie was supposed to fly to Paris to shoot some ads. Their daughter was going to meet her so they’d have a few days over there together. She rescheduled because she doesn’t want to leave Roundtree. I know that’s not really important in the bigger sense, but—”
“It’s hard to reorder your life, even in the short-term. It’s hard to wonder if someone you know isn’t someone you know at all.”
“Yes.” Marlo closed her eyes. “God, yes. Can you tell me anything? Anything at all.”
“We’re having a major briefing on the investigation and some new angles this morning.”
“That’s good then.” Marlo let out a breath. “That’s good.”
And that would get around, Eve thought. She wondered what Stein-burger would think when he heard.
“There’s a minor detail I meant to check out,” Eve continued. “You’d probably know, save me some steps.”
“Anything.”
“Does anyone besides Harris smoke? Herbals, or otherwise?”
“Oh.” Marlo slumped a little. “I do. A little. Occasionally. Not herbals. Tobacco, and I know, I know, I know. Bad for me, painfully expensive. And you have to hide like a thief. I’ve cut them out almost completely because of that, and more—might as well be honest—because Matthew dislikes it so much. He insists I can get the same effect with yoga breathing, which only proves he’s never smoked anything.”
“So he objects?”
“Disapproves. Worries. I tried to switch to herbals as he’s not as rabid about those, but hell. It’s not the same.”
“Anyone else? Smoke or object to it?”
“Andi will bum a drag now and then, either from me or off an herbal. A lot of the crew sneak off for an herbal during breaks. Roundtree designated an area for them, though the studio wouldn’t approve. And Joel pitched a fit.”
Inside, Eve smiled. “Did he?”
“He’s the smoking gestapo.” She straightened again, rolled her eyes dramatically. “I swear, he can tell if you’ve had a single puff an hour before from a half mile away.” She made sniffing sounds, lowered her brows, roughened her voice, and did a dead-on mimic of Steinburger. “Who’s been smoking! I won’t be exposed to it. Preston! Valerie! Get this place aired out, right now!” She made hacking noises, covered her mouth with her forearm. “Somebody get me a lozenge and some spring water!”
Then she laughed, sat back. “I swear, his eyes start watering if somebody so much as thinks about smoking. He and K.T. were at it on that all the time. They’d … Oh, I didn’t mean. It’s not like he’d kill somebody over it. He just can’t stand it, and his eyes do get red.”
“Understood.” Eve smiled. “We know Harris smoked herbals on the roof, inside the dome. DNA. From what you’ve said it doesn’t seem likely she got them from someone else at the party.”
“She wouldn’t ask, believe me. Or share.”
“Then that covers that. Just a minor detail, as I said. I’ve got to get to the briefing, Marlo.”
“Okay. Thanks. Really.” She rose, took Eve’s hand. “It’s probably stupid, but I feel better just talking to you.”
“Glad I could help. I’ll walk you out.”
“You probably think it’s silly,” Marlo said and tugged on her wig. “Wigs and shades and oversized coats.”
“I think I’d hate it if I couldn’t walk down the street, buy a soy dog, take a stroll, grab a slice without having people staring at me, pushing at me, taking pictures of me.”
“It’s part of the package.”
“Everybody’s got a package. You don’t have to like all of it.”
“Matthew and I are talking about going public. What the studio wants, it just doesn’t seem important now. Two people are dead. That’s what’s important, so … And you know what else?” She pulled off the wig, shaking out her short hair as she stuffed it in her bag. “God! That feels better. Screw it. I’m Marlo Durn.”
She shot Eve the megastar smile and strolled toward the glide.
Armed with the additional data, Eve strode to the conference room. Inside, McNab stuffed the last of a doughnut into his mouth.
Peabody turned from the board, goggled. “Holy shit, Dallas.”
“Convinced?”
“Are you kidding? The pattern’s there. Right there. He kills people.”
“Not quite a habit,” McNab put in, “more than a hobby. Or maybe there are others, people who didn’t have a connection to him. In between he kills complete strangers.”
“Possible. But it strikes me as more likely his killing is, to him, just part of doing business. Sometimes you fire, sometimes you dissolve a partnership. Sometimes you kill.”
“It’s almost sicker that way.” Peabody looked back to the board. “If he profiled like a true serial, we could at least say he’s compelled. But it’s not compulsive when you go years between. It’s—”
“Convenience.”
“Sicker. And to think I was so juiced because he talked to me about the cameo, and how they’d play me up.”
“We’ll get him, She-Body.”
“Now I want a damn doughnut.”
“Got your cream-filled with sugar glaze right here.” McNab pulled it out of the box for her.
She took the first enormous bite as Whitney came in.
“Commander,” Eve began. “Thank you for making the time.”
“You made it sound urgent. Are those doughnuts?”
Peabody, unable to speak with a mouth full of cream, nodded.
“Detectives Peabody and McNab thought they were called for,” Eve told him.
“When aren’t they?” Whitney selected a jelly, topped with sprinkles. But the board caught his eye before he could sample. In silence he studied the data, the pattern.
“Nine?”
“Yes, sir. It’s possible there are more, but these dates, times, circumstances I can verify. I’m expecting Doctor Mira, Captain Feeney, APA Reo, and would like to brief everyone on the data and my conclusions at once.”
“Yes. Kyung will join us here at oh-nine-hundred. I can bump that time if you need more.”
“Hopefully not.”
Whitney shook his head. “This is a shit storm.”
A lot of that going around, Eve thought.
/>
She stayed out of the way as Feeney came in, reacted enthusiastically to the doughnuts, then stood munching one as he studied the board. Mira and Reo came in together, and Eve heard a snippet of their continued conversation about a shoe sale.
Eve waited as each caught the board, as Mira accepted the cup of tea Peabody brought her. As she sat, sipped, studied.
Eve judged the timing, then walked up to the board, faced the room.
“The data, my gut, and a probability of seventy-three-point-eight say that Joel Steinburger killed the nine individuals on these boards. Motives may be murky as yet, but beginning with Bryson Kane, when the victim and the suspect were twenty and twenty-one respectively, the suspect had received a warning of imminent academic suspension due to spotty attendance and failing grades. While records show the suspect’s attendance did not significantly improve, he went from near suspension to honors list in a four-week period.”
“You figure he cheated,” Feeney commented.
“I do. I figure he paid the victim, who was a straight honors student, to write his papers, crib any tests or exams. I believe the victim either wanted to stop or asked for more money. They argued, and the suspect pushed him down the stairs. The suspect’s grades dipped sharply for the three weeks after his roommate’s death. This was put down to natural emotional upheaval at the time. I call bullshit. His grades dipped because he killed his source. He had to find another.”
“How do you prove it?” Reo asked her.
“By analyzing financial data from that period. By interviewing the other roommates, instructors, students.
“Second victim,” she continued. “His fiancée’s wealthy, influential great-grandfather, and the suspect’s boss. At his death, the great-granddaughter—who married the suspect—came into a considerable inheritance. And from the pattern that emerges here, the suspect has a fondness for women.”
“A cheat’s a cheat,” Feeney commented. “He cheats on the girlfriend, Granddaddy finds out, tells him to blow.”
“That’s the one I like,” Eve agreed. “The suspect ends up with a wealthy wife, a solid position at the studio, and the potential to become heir apparent.
“Victim three,” Eve said and worked her way down.