Holiday in Death

  Mira smiled a little. "How much of this had you already concluded?"

  "Doesn't matter. You're confirming my take on him."

  "All right then. The garland is trimming. Props again, show, irony. They're gifts from himself to himself. The Christmas theme may have some personal meaning to him, or it may simply be the symbolism."

  "What about the destruction of Marianna Hawley's tree and ornaments?" When Mira only cocked a brow, Eve shrugged. "Breaking the symbol of the holiday in the tree, the eradication of purity in the angel ornaments."

  "It would suit him."

  "The pins and tattoos."

  "He's a romantic."

  "A romantic?"

  "Yes, he's very much the romantic. He brands them as his love, he leaves them a token, and he takes the time and the trouble to make them beautiful before he leaves them. Anything less than that would make them an unworthy gift."

  "Did he know them?"

  "Yes, I would say he did. Whether they knew him is another matter. But he knew them, he'd observed them. He'd chosen them and for the length of time he had them, they were his true love. He doesn't mutilate," she added, leaning forward. "He decorates, enhances. Artistically, perhaps even lovingly. But when he is finished, he is done. He sprays the body with disinfectant, erasing himself. He washes, scrubs, erasing them from him. And when he leaves, he is jubilant. He's won. And it's time to prepare for the next."

  "Hawley and Greenbalm were nothing alike physically, nor in their lifestyles, their habits, or their work."

  "But they had one thing in common," Mira put in. "They were both, at one time, lonely enough, needy enough, interested enough, to pay for help in finding a companion."

  "Their true love." Eve set her untouched tea aside. "Thanks."

  "I hope you're well." Aware that Eve was braced to rise and leave, Mira stalled. "Fully recovered from your injuries."

  "I'm fine."

  No, Mira thought, not quite fine. "You only took what, two or three weeks off to recover from serious injuries."

  "I'm better off working."

  "Yes, I know you think so." Mira smiled again. "Are you ready for the holidays?"

  Eve didn't squirm in her chair, but she wanted to. "I've picked up a couple of presents."

  "It must be difficult finding something for Roarke."

  "You're telling me."

  "I'm sure you'll find something perfect. No one knows him better than you."

  "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't." And because it was in the back of her mind, she spoke without thinking. "He's getting into all this Christmas stuff. Parties and trees. I just figured we'd hand each other something and be done with it."

  "Neither of you have the memories of childhood everyone's entitled to -- of anticipation and wonder, of Christmas mornings with pretty boxes stacked under the tree. I'd say Roarke intends to start making those memories, for the two of you. Knowing him," she added with a laugh, "they won't be ordinary."

  "I think he's ordered a small forest of trees."

  "Give yourself a chance at that anticipation and wonder, as a gift for both of you."

  "With Roarke you don't have a choice." She did stand now. "I appreciate the time, Dr. Mira."

  "One last thing, Eve." Mira got to her feet as well. "He's not dangerous at this point to anyone other than the person he's focused on. He won't kill indiscriminately or without purpose and planning. But I can't say when that might change, or what might trigger a shift in pattern."

  "I've got some thoughts on that. I'll be in touch."

  * * *

  Peabody and McNab were bickering when she walked into her home office. They sat side by side at her workstation snarling at each other like a couple of bulldogs over the same bone. Ordinarily it might have amused Eve, but at the moment it was only one more irritation. "Break it up," she snapped and had both of them shooting to attention with grim, resentful faces. "Report."

  When they both began to talk at once, she seethed for approximately five seconds then bared her teeth. That shut both of them up. "Peabody?"

  Risking one smug sidelong glance at her nemesis, Peabody began. "We have three matches with the cosmetics. Two from Hawley's list and one from Greenbalm's. One from each bought the works, from skin care to lash dye. The second from Hawley's purchased eye and brow pencils and two lip dyes. We got a hit on what was used on Greenbalm's mouth. That's Cupid's Coral. All three purchased that shade."

  "Problem." McNab lifted a finger like an instructor halting an over-zealous student. "Both Cupid Coral lip dye and Musk Brown lash enhancer are routinely given as samples. In fact," he gestured to the counter where the samples Eve had been given were lined up, "you have both here."

  "We can't track every stupid sample," Peabody said with a dangerous edge to her voice. "We have three names, and a place to start."

  "The Fog Over London eye smudger used on Hawley is one of the pricier products and it isn't given out as a sample. You only get it as a separate or when you buy the whole shot in the deluxe package. We follow the smudger, we'll be closer to the mark."

  "And maybe the son of a bitch lifted the smudger when he was buying the rest of the stuff." Peabody turned on McNab. "You want to track every shoplifter in the city now?"

  "It's the only product we can't trace so far. So it's the one we have to find."

  They were nose to nose when Eve stepped forward and gave them both a shove. "The next one who speaks, I'm taking down. You're both right. We interview the matches, and we look for the eye gunk. Peabody, get the names, go down to my vehicle, and wait for me."

  Peabody didn't have to speak, not when a ramrod-stiff spine and hot eyes could say volumes. The minute she stalked out, McNab shoved his hands in his pockets. But when he opened his mouth, he caught the warning glint Eve shot him, and closed it again.

  "You run Personally Yours again, client and personnel, find who on there bought that smudger, and see how many more of the products used on the victims you can match." She lifted her eyebrows. "Say yes, sir, Lieutenant Dallas."

  He heaved a sigh. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Dallas."

  "Good. While you're at it, McNab, see if you can wiggle into Piper and Rudy's credit account. Let's find out what brand of enhancements they use." She waited, brows still high. One thing McNab wasn't was slow.

  "Yes, sir, Lieutenant Dallas."

  "And stop pouting," she ordered as she strode out.

  "Females," McNab muttered under his breath, then caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He spotted Roarke standing in the open doorway between the offices, grinning at him.

  "Marvelous creatures, aren't they?" Roarke stepped in.

  "Not from where I'm standing."

  "Ah, but you'll be a hero, won't you, if you can match your product with the right name." He strolled over, scanned the lists and documents that they both knew were official business, and none of his. "I find I have an hour or two free. Want some help?"

  "Well, I..." McNab glanced toward the door.

  "Don't worry about the lieutenant." Roarke pleased himself and sat at the computer. "I can handle her."

  * * *

  Donnie Ray Michael wore a ratty brown bathrobe and a silver nose ring with an emerald cabochon. His eyes were a bleary hazel, his hair the color of butter, and his breath ferocious.

  He studied Eve's badge, expelling air in a yawn that nearly knocked her flat, then scratched his armpit.

  "What?"

  "Donnie Ray? Got a minute?"

  "Yeah, I got plenty of minutes, but what?"

  "I'll tell you after we come in, and you gargle with a gallon or two of mouthwash."

  "Oh." He went slightly pink and stepped back. "I was asleep. Wasn't expecting visitors. Or cops." But he waved them inside, then disappeared down a short hallway.

  The place was as tidy as your average pigsty, with clothes, empty and half-empty take-out containers, overflowing ashtrays, and a litter of computer discs strewn over the floor. In the corner beside a threadbare so
fa was a music stand and a brightly polished saxophone.

  Eve caught a drift in the air of very old onions and the shadow of an illegal usually consumed by smoking. "If we decide a search is in order," Eve told Peabody, "we've got probable cause."

  "What, suspicion of toxic waste?"

  "There's that." Eve toed what might have been underwear aside. "He's been pumping Zoner, probably as a bedtime soother. You can just smell it."

  Peabody sniffed. "I just smell sweat and onions."

  "It's there."

  Donnie Ray walked back in, his eyes slightly clearer, his face red and damp from a quick splash. "Sorry about the mess. Droid's year off. What's this about?"

  "Do you know Marianna Hawley?"

  "Marianna?" His brow wrinkled in thought. "I dunno. Should I?"

  "You matched with her through Personally Yours."

  "Oh, the dating gig." He kicked clothes out of the way then dropped into a chair. "Yeah, I gave that a shot a few months back. I was in a drought." He smiled a little, then shrugged. "Marianna. Was she a big redhead -- no, that was Tanya. We hit it off pretty well, but she moved to Albuquerque for Christ's sake. I mean what rocks there?"

  "Marianna, Donnie Ray. Slim brunette. Green eyes."

  "Yeah, yeah, now I get her. Sweet. We didn't click, too much like, well, a sister. She came to the club where I was blowing and heard me, we had a couple of drinks. So?"

  "You ever watch the screen, read the paper?"

  "Not when I've got a steady gig. I'm booked with a group downtown at the Empire. Been doing the ten-to-four slot for the last three weeks."

  "Seven nights on?"

  "No, five. You blow seven nights, you lose the edge."

  "How about Tuesday night?"

  "I'm off Tuesday. Mondays and Tuesdays are clear." His eyes were focused now and just beginning to go wary. "What's the deal?"

  "Marianna Hawley was murdered Tuesday night. You got an alibi for Tuesday from nine to midnight?"

  "Oh, shit. Shit. Murdered. Jesus H." He sprang up, stumbling over debris as he paced. "Man, that bites. She was a sweetheart."

  "Did you want her to be your sweetheart? Your true love."

  He stopped pacing. Eve found it interesting that he didn't look frightened or angry. He looked sorry. "Look, I had a couple of drinks with her one night. A little talk, tried to convince her to take a harmless roll, but she wasn't into it. I liked her. You couldn't help but like her."

  He pushed his fingers against his eyes, then ran them back into his hair again. "That was, hell, six months ago, maybe more. I haven't seen her since. What happened to her?"

  "Tuesday night, Donnie Ray."

  "Tuesday?" He rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't know. Hell, who remembers? I probably did a few clubs, some hanging. Lemme think a minute."

  He closed his eyes, blew out a couple of breaths. "Tuesday I went down to Crazy Charlie's and heard this new band."

  "Did you go with anybody?"

  "A few of us started out together. I don't know who ended up at Crazy's. I was pretty wasted by then."

  "Tell me, Donnie Ray, what did you buy the full product line of Natural Perfection for? You don't look like the type to paint up."

  "What?" He looked baffled, then dropped into the chair again. "What the hell is Natural Perfection?"

  "You ought to know. You spent over two thousand on the line. Cosmetics, Donnie Ray. Enhancements."

  "Cosmetics." He shoved his hands through his hair until it stood up in buttery spikes. "Oh shit, yeah. The jazzy stuff. My mother's birthday. I bought her the works."

  "You spent two large on your mother's birthday?" With doubt obvious in her eyes. Eve glanced around the cramped, messy room.

  "My mother's the best. The old man ditched us when I was a kid. She worked like three dogs to keep a roof over my head, and to pay for music lessons." He nodded toward the sax. "I make good money blowing. Fucking good. Now I'm helping to pay for the roof over her head, in Connecticut. A decent house in a decent neighborhood. This ..." he gestured to encompass the room, "it don't matter a damn to me. I'm hardly here except to flake out."

  "How about I call your mother, right now, and ask her what her boy Donnie Ray gave her for her last birthday?"

  "Sure." Without hesitation he jerked a thumb toward the 'link on a table by the wall. "Her number's programmed. Just do me a favor, okay? Don't tell her you're a cop. She worries. Say you're doing a survey or something."

  "Peabody, ditch the uniform jacket and call Donnie Ray's mom." Eve moved out of transmission range and sat on the arm of a chair. "Rudy at Personally Yours do your profile?"

  "No, well, I talked to him first. I got the feeling everybody does. Like an audition. Then some joker did the consult. What do you like to do for entertainment, what do you dream about, what's your favorite color. You take a physical, too, to make sure you're clean."

  "They didn't turn up traces of Zoner."

  He had the grace to look abashed. "No. I was clean."

  "I bet your mother would want you to stay that way."

  "Ms. Michael received a complete line of Natural Perfection Cosmetics and Enhancers from her son on her birthday." Peabody shrugged back into her uniform jacket, then gave Donnie Ray a smile. "She was really happy with the gift."

  "She's pretty, isn't she?"

  "Yes, she is."

  "She's the best."

  "That's what she said about you," Peabody told him.

  "I got her diamond earrings for Christmas. Well, they're really just chips, but she'd get a large charge." He was eyeing Peabody with interest now, having seen her without the stiff jacket. "You ever get down to the Empire?"

  "Not yet."

  "You ought to drop in. We really blow."

  "Maybe I will." But she caught Eve's owlish look and cleared her throat. ' Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Michael."

  "Do your mother a favor," Eve said as they headed for the door. "Shovel out this garbage heap and lay off the Zoner."

  "Yeah, sure." And Donnie Ray gave Peabody a suggestive wink before he closed the door.

  "It's unseemly to flirt with suspects, Officer Peabody."

  "He's not really a suspect." Peabody glanced over her shoulder. "And he was really cute."

  "He's a suspect until we confirm his alibi. And he's a pig."

  "But a really cute pig. Sir."

  "We've got two more interviews to conduct, Peabody. Try to control your hormones."

  "I do, Dallas, I do." She sighed as she climbed back into the car. "But it's so nice when they control me."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Spending most of the day doing interviews without making a crack in a case didn't put Eve in the best of moods. Finding McNab packed and gone when she returned to her home office darkened her mood a bit more.

  She considered it fortunate for his future well-being that he'd left her a memo, and a nibble.

  "Lieutenant. Logged off at sixteen forty-five. List of names and products under case file, subhead E for Evidence Two-A. Couple of pops might interest you. I got hits on both Piper and Rudy on the smudger, another on Piper for the lip dye. By the way, the two of them are rolling in credits. Not that they'd give Roarke a run, but they aren't hurting. Interesting, too, all their assets are held jointly, down to the last penny. Report also in file."

  All their assets held jointly, Eve mused. Her impression had been that Rudy manned the business end of things. It had always been Rudy who'd made the decisions, gone to the console when she'd been there.

  It followed that he handled the money, too.

  He had the control, Eve decided. He had the power.

  And the opportunity, the access.

  "One other hit on smudger," McNab's voice continued. "Two on lip dye, with Charles Monroe popping on both. Missed him first pass because he put another name on the credit slip for the mailing list of new products and specials. Profile on Monroe included."

  Eve frowned as the memo ended. Her instincts might have been steerin
g her toward Rudy, but it looked as though she was going to pay Charles Monroe a visit.

  Glancing over, she saw the light over the door that adjoined Roarke's office was on. If he was busy, it was as good a time as any to check on a more personal matter.

  She moved quietly, using the stairs rather than the elevator, keeping an eye out for Summerset as she lengthened her strides toward the library.

  The walls of the two-level room were lined with books. It always baffled her that a man who could buy a small planet at the snap of a finger preferred the weight and bulk of a book rather than the convenience of reading on screen.

  One of his quirks, she supposed, though she could appreciate the rich smell of leather from the bindings, the glossy look of the spines as they marched along the dark mahogany shelves.

  There were two generous seating areas, more leather in the wood-trimmed deep burgundy sofas and chairs, jewels of colors on glass lamp shades, the sheen of brass, the shine of old wood in cabinets deeply carved by craftsmen from another century.

  Drapes were open to the night around a wide window seat dressed with thick pillows in tones that picked up the multi-hues of the lamps. Enormous and ancient rugs with intricate patterns over a red-wine background stretched over the wide and polished chestnut planks of the floor.

  She knew a full-range multitask computer system was hidden behind the antique cabinet. But everything in view in the room spoke of age and wealth and a taste for both.

  She didn't come here often, but she knew Roarke did. She might find him sitting in one of the leather chairs in the evening, his long legs stretched out, a brandy by his elbow and a book in his hands. Reading relaxed him, he'd told her. And she knew it was a skill he'd taught himself as a boy in the slums of Dublin when he'd found a tattered copy of Yeats in an alley.

  She crossed to the cabinet and opened the doors rich with inlays of lapis and malachite. "Engage," she ordered and cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. "Search library, all sections, for Yeats."

  Yeats, Elizabeth; Yeats, William Butler?

  Her brows came together, her hand scooped through her hair. "How the hell do I know? It's some Irish poet."