Holiday in Death

  She leaned back against the pillows, looked up through the sky window at the dark winter sky. And told him.

  "It was cruel," she said at length. "But that's not it, really. I've seen things that were more cruel. She was innocent -- there was something about her space, her walk, about her face, I don't know, but she had an innocence. I know that's not really it, either. Innocence is often destroyed. I know what it's like -- not to be innocent; I don't remember being innocent. But I know what it's like to be destroyed."

  She cursed under her breath and set the wine aside.

  "Eve." He took her hand, waiting until she turned her gaze to his. "A rape-murder might not be the best way for you to get back into active duty."

  "I might have passed on it." It shamed her to admit it, enough that she looked away again. "If I'd known, I'm not sure I would have taken the call."

  "You can still pass it to someone else in your division. No one would blame you for it."

  "I'd blame me. I've seen her now. I know her now." Eve closed her eyes, but only for a moment. "She's mine now. I can't turn my back on that."

  Eve pushed at her hair, ordered herself to focus. "She looked so surprised and happy when she opened the door. Like a kid might. Oh boy, a present. You know?"

  "Yes."

  "The way the bastard looked at the camera before he went in. The big smile, the cagey little wink. And after, doing his victory dance into the elevator."

  Her eyes fired up as she spoke of it, as she shoved herself straighter in the bed. Not just cop's eyes now, Roarke thought. But the avenging angel.

  "There was no passion, just sheer delight." She closed her eyes again, bringing that image back, clearly, and when she opened them again, the fire was banked, smoldering deep. "It made me sick."

  Annoyed with herself, she picked up the wine again, sipped once. "I had to tell the parents. I had to watch their faces when I did. And Vandoren, watching him go to pieces, seeing him try to understand that his world had just fallen apart. She was a nice woman, a nice simple woman who was happy in her life, about to get engaged, and she opens the door to someone who's symbolically a figure of innocence. Now she's dead."

  Because he knew her, he took her hand, unballing the fist she'd made. "It doesn't make you less of a cop because it touches you."

  "Too many of them touch you and the edges get blurred. You get closer to the limit, to the time you know you're not going to be able to face another of the dead."

  "Did it ever occur to you to take a break?" When her brows drew together, he only smiled. "No, of course not. You'll face the next, Eve, because that's what you do. That's who you are."

  "I might be facing one sooner than I'd like." She linked fingers with the hand that held hers. "Was she the one, Roarke? His true love? Or are there eleven more?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eve circled the parking deck at the sky mall a second time. And ground her teeth.

  "Why aren't these people at work? Why don't they have lives?"

  "For some," Peabody said solemnly, "shopping is life."

  "Yeah, yeah." Eve passed a section where cars were stacked like poker chips, six high in their slots. "Screw this." She whipped the wheel, threaded through the stacks, skinning by bumpers close enough to have Peabody closing one eye. "You know, you can buy anything you want right on screen in the privacy of your own home. I don't get this."

  "Screen shopping doesn't give you the same buzz." Peabody braced a hand on the dash as Eve jerked to a stop in the fire lane right outside of Bloomingdale's. "You can't use the senses, or your elbows to jab people out of the way. There's no sport in screen shopping."

  With a snort, Eve engaged her On Duty sign and stepped out of the car. Immediately her ears were assaulted with a blast of music. Christmas carols pumped, full blast, into the air. She decided that people ran inside, ready to buy anything, just to escape the noise.

  Though the temperature in the computer-controlled environment hovered at a pleasant seventy-two, a light, synthetic snow swirled in the enormous dome. The windows of the department store were filled with costumed droids. Santas and elves labored away in a workshop, reindeer flew or danced on rooftops, young, golden-haired children with angelic faces unwrapped bright packages.

  Behind another window, a teenage boy, decked out in the latest fashion trend of black unisuit and neon checked over-shirt, did circles and flips on his new Flyer 6000 airskate -- this year's hot-ticket item. A push of the button beside the glass would engage the recording of his excited voice hawking the skate's options and virtues, as well as its price and location in the store.

  "I'd like to try one of those suckers," Peabody said under her breath as she followed Eve to the door.

  "Aren't you a little old for toys?"

  "It's not a toy, it's an adventure," Peabody said, reciting the tag line for the airskate.

  "Let's get this over with. I hate these places."

  The doors slid smoothly open and greeted them with a soothing promise:Welcome to Bloomingdale's. You're our most important customer.

  Inside, the music continued to play, but at a lower volume. But the voice level rose, dozens of people speaking at once making a cacophony of sound that rose up and up, to echo off the ceiling, where angels soared in graceful circles.

  It was a palace of consumption, with merchandise displayed temptingly on twelve glossy floors.

  Droids and staff swept through the crowds modeling fashions, accessories, the hair- and body-styles that could be purchased in the salons. The electronic map just inside the door stood ready to guide customers to their heart's desire.

  Licensed child, pet, and elderly care facilities were located handily on the main level for those who didn't care to shop with Junior, Fido, or Grandpa underfoot.

  Mini-carts to carry customers, their purchases, or both were available for a small rental fee. Hourly or daily rates available.

  A droid with hair in snaking, flame-colored ropes approached with a small crystal bottle.

  "Keep that thing away from me," Eve ordered.

  "I'd like some." Obligingly, Peabody tilted back her head so the droid could spritz some perfume on her throat.

  "It's called Do Me," the droid purred. "Wear it, and prepare to be ravished."

  "Hmm." Peabody angled her head toward Eve. "What do you think?"

  Eve took one sniff, shook her head. "It's not you."

  "Could be me," Peabody muttered, trudging after her.

  "Let's try to keep our focus here." Eve took Peabody's arm as her aide paused at a cosmetic counter where a woman was being painted with sparkling gold from the neck up. "Let's hit the men's department, see if we can find out who waited on Hawley day before yesterday. She used credit so they'd have her address."

  "I could finish up my Christmas shopping in about twenty minutes."

  "Finish it?" Eve turned back as they stepped on the people guide going up.

  "Sure, I've only got a couple of little things left." Peabody pursed her lips, then bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the grin. "Haven't started yet, have you?"

  "I've been thinking about it."

  "What are you getting Roarke?"

  "I've been thinking about it," Eve said again and jammed her hands in her pockets.

  "They've got great clothes here." Peabody nodded toward the display droids as they turned left on the glide toward Men's Casual Wear.

  "He's got a closet the size of Maine full of clothes already."

  "Have you ever bought him any?"

  Eve felt her shoulders hunch defensively and straightened her spine. "I'm not his mother."

  Peabody paused by a droid modeling a dull silver silk shirt and black leather trousers. "He'd look good in this." She fingered the sleeve. "Of course, Roarke would look good in anything." She wiggled her brows at Eve. "Guys really love having a woman buy them clothes."

  "I don't know how to buy clothes for somebody else. I barely know how to buy them for myself." When she caught herself trying to i
magine Roarke's face and body in place of the droid's, she hissed out a breath. "And we're not here to shop."

  Scowling, she strode straight to the first checkout counter, then slapped her badge on it under the nose of the clerk.

  He cleared his throat and tossed his long black hair over his shoulder. "Is there something I can do for you, Officer?"

  "Lieutenant. You had a customer a couple of days ago, Marianna Hawley. I want to know who waited on her."

  "I'm sure I can check on that for you." His eyes, a trendy gold, shifted right, then left. "Lieutenant, would you mind putting your identification away, and perhaps, uh, buttoning your jacket over your weapon. I believe our customers would be more at ease."

  Saying nothing, Eve jammed her shield back in her pocket, then hitched her jacket over her side arm.

  "Hawley," he said, obviously relieved. "Would you know if her transactions were made with cash, credit, or store accounts?"

  "Credits. She bought two men's shirts -- one silk, one cotton -- a cashmere sweater and jacket."

  "Yes." He stopped running the scan on his register. "I remember. I waited on her myself. An attractive brunette of about thirty. She was selecting gifts for her partner. Ah ..." He closed his eyes. "Shirts in fifteen and a half, thirty-one-inch sleeves. Sweater and jacket, forty-two chest."

  "Good memory," Eve commented.

  "It's my job," he said, opening his eyes to smile. "Remembering customers, their tastes and needs. Ms. Hawley had excellent taste, and the foresight to bring along a wallet hologram of her young man so that we could program a color chart for him."

  "Did she deal with anyone but you?"

  "Not in this department. I gave her my full time and attention."

  "You have her address on record?"

  "Yes, of course. As I recall I offered to have her purchases sent, but she said she wanted to take them with her. She laughed and said that it added to the fun. She enjoyed her shopping experience very much." His eyes clouded. "Does she have a complaint?"

  "No." Eve looked him in the eye and knew in her gut she was wasting her time. "She isn't complaining. Did you notice anyone hanging around while she was shopping, talking to her, watching her?"

  "No. We were quite busy, though. Oh, I hope she wasn't accosted in the parking area. We've had a number of incidents in the last few weeks. I don't know what's wrong with people. It's Christmas."

  "Um-hm. You sell Santa suits?"

  "Santa suits?" He blinked. "Yes, that would be in Seasonals and Novelties, sixth floor."

  "Thanks. Peabody, check it out," Eve ordered as she turned away. "Get names and locations for anyone buying or renting a suit in the last month. I'm going down to Jewelry, see if anyone can make the hairpin. Meet me there."

  "Yes, sir."

  Knowing her aide, Eve laid a warning hand on her arm. "In fifteen minutes. Any longer, and I bust you down to mall guard."

  Peabody moved her shoulders as Eve strode off. "She's so strict."

  * * *

  Having to elbow her way to a spot at the counter on the third floor didn't improve Eve's mood. Beneath the glass was an ocean of sparkling body accessories, from earrings to nipple rings. Gold, silver, colored stones, elaborate shapes, varying textures all vied for attention under the glass.

  Roarke was always buying her things to drape around her neck, pin to her ears. She didn't get it. Absently she fingered the diamond under her shirt. But he seemed to enjoy seeing her wear the things he chose for her.

  Because she was running out of patience, and being roundly ignored by the staff manning the counter, she simply leaned over and snagged a clerk by the collar.

  "Madam." Outraged, the clerk scorched her with a hot blue scowl.

  "Lieutenant," she corrected, pulling out her shield with her free hand. "Got a minute for me now?"

  "Of course." He eased back, straightened his needle-thin silver tie. "What can I do for you?" .

  "Do you sell anything like this?" She opened her bag and took out the sealed pin.

  "I don't believe that's one of ours." He stooped until his gaze was level with the pin. "Very nice work. Festive." He leaned back. "We won't be able to take this as a return unless you have a receipt. I don't recognize it as being of our stock."

  "I'm not looking to return it. Got any ideas where it might have come from?"

  "I'd suggest a specialty shop. The craftsmanship appears to be quite fine. There are six jewelers in the mall. Perhaps one of them will recognize it."

  "Great." She dropped it back in her bag and blew out a breath.

  "Is there something else I can do for you?"

  Eve shifted her feet and scanned the display under her nose. A set of three chained ropes with clashing colored stones the size of her thumb caught her eye. It was ridiculously flashy, edging toward tacky. And just screamed Mavis.

  "That," she said and pointed.

  "Ah, you'd like to see the Heathen Neck Ornament. Very unique, very -- "

  "I don't want to see it. I'll take it. Just wrap it up, and make it fast."

  "I see." Training kept him from goggling. "And how would you like to pay for that?"

  Peabody marched up just as Eve was accepting the festive red and silver bag. "You shopped," she said accusingly.

  "No, I bought. There's a difference. The pin didn't come from here. The guy seemed to know his stuff and was pretty definite. I don't want to waste any more time here."

  "Doesn't look like you wasted it," Peabody muttered.

  "We'll run the pin through the computer. I'll see if Feeney's got time to do a trace."

  "What did you buy?"

  "Just something for Mavis." She caught Peabody's pout as they walked through the doors. "Don't worry, Peabody, I'll get you something."

  "Really?" She brightened immediately. "I've already got your present. It's wrapped and everything."

  "Show-off."

  Cheered now, Peabody hopped into the car. "Want to guess what it is?"

  "No."

  "I'll give you a hint."

  "Pull yourself together. Start running the names you got on the Santa suits, see if you get a hit on anyone with a sheet."

  "Yes, sir. Where are we heading?"

  "Personally Yours." She sent Peabody a sidelong glance. "And you're not doing any shopping there either."

  "Spoilsport. Sir," Peabody added dutifully and began to run the names on her hand unit.

  * * *

  In the heart of midtown, towering over Fifth Avenue in polished black marble, was a palace of pleasure. The exterior was a sleek spear ringed on the upper floors with gilded balconies and silvered glides. Sheer glass tubes slid up and down at the four corners of the compass.

  Inside there were salons for body sculpting, mood enhancement, sexual orientation. Without leaving the premises a client could be buffed, polished, molded, remodeled, or sexually satisfied in the manner of their choice.

  Several gyms were outfitted with the newest equipment for those who preferred a little do-it-yourself. For those who chose a more passive road to fitness and beauty, licensed consultants were available to wield laser and toning tubes to rid a client of those pesky extra pounds and inches.

  One floor was dedicated to the holistic approach, which included everything from chakra balancing to coffee enemas. As she scanned those particular offerings, Eve wasn't certain whether to laugh or shudder.

  Mud baths, algae scrapes, injections of the placenta of sheep raised on Alfa Six, tranquility sessions, VR trips, vision adjustments, face-lifts, tucks, and morphs -- all could be done on the premises, with a number of package deals offered.

  Once your body and mind were perfected, you were invited to explore the possibility of finding the right mate for the new you with the trained staff of Personally Yours.

  The firm encompassed three floors of the building, with its staff uniformed in simple black suits with small red hearts embroidered on the breasts. With the path of beauty on the doorstep, attractive faces and bodies were every b
it as much a part of the dress code.

  The lobby area was done in Grecian temple, with small musical ponds glinting with the flash of goldfish, and white marble columns decked with trailing vines separating areas. The seating arrangements were low to the tiled floor, cushy and plentiful. A check-in desk was discreetly tucked between fanning palms.

  "I need information on one of your clients." Eve held up her badge and watched the receptionist's eyes flicker with nerves.

  "We're not allowed to give out client information." The woman bit her lip and brushed her fingers over the tiny heart that was tattooed under her eye like a pretty red tear. "All our services are strictly confidential. We guarantee to protect our clients' privacy."

  "One of your clients isn't worried about privacy anymore. This is police business. I can have a warrant transmitted in about five minutes, or you can give me what I need and avoid having the department go over every file."

  "If you'd just wait a moment." The receptionist indicated the closest seating area. "I'll get the manager for you."

  "Fine." Eve turned away as the receptionist slipped on a headset.

  "It smells great in here," Peabody commented. "The whole building smells great." She took in a deep sniff of air. "They must pump something through the air vents. Nice and soothing." She settled her rump on one of the golden cushions near a tinkling fountain. "I want to live here."

  "You're annoyingly chipper these days, Peabody."

  "The holidays do that to me. Wow, look at that." She swiveled her head, her eyes lighting appreciatively as a man with a stream of streaked blond hair swaggered in. "Now, why would a guy who looked like that need a dating service?"

  "Why does anybody? It's creepy."

  "I don't know, could save time, trouble, wear and tear." Peabody leaned forward to look around Eve and keep the man in view. "Maybe I should try it out. I could get lucky."

  "He's not your type."

  Peabody's face clouded exactly as it had when Eve had rejected the perfume. "How come -- I like looking at his type."