Memory in Death (12 page)

"Okay, you went downstairs."

"I went down, and I said good morning to the desk clerk. I know he's a droid, but still. And I went outside. It looked like a nice day, cool though. So I started buttoning up my coat as I walked. Then... he was just there. He had his arm around me so fast, and I could feel the point of the knife. He said if I screamed he'd ram it right into me. Just to walk, keep walking, look down, down at my feet and keep walking. I was so scared. Can I have some water?"

"I'll get it." Peabody moved into the kitchenette.

"He walked really fast, and I was afraid I'd trip. Then he'd kill me right there." Her eyes went glassy again.

"Focus. Concentrate," Eve snapped. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." Zana shivered, hugged herself. "I said, 'You can have my purse.' But he didn't say anything.

I was afraid to look up. I thought maybe I should run, but he was strong, and I was too afraid. Then he pushed open this door. It was a bar, I think. It was dark and there was nobody there, but it smelled like a bar, you know. Thank you."

She took the water in both hands, and still it slopped over the rim as she brought it to her lips. "I can't stop shaking. I thought he was going to rape me and kill me, and I couldn't do anything. But he told me to sit down, so I did, and keep my hands on the table, so I did. He said he wanted the money, and I told him to take my purse. Just take it. He said he wanted the full two million, or he'd do to me what he did to Trudy. But he'd cut me up so nobody'd even recognize me when he was finished."

Tears streamed down her face, sparkled on her lashes. "I said, 'You killed Mama Tru, you killed her?' He said he'd do worse to me, and to Bobby, if we didn't get him the money. Two million dollars. We don't have two million dollars, Bobby. I told him, my God, where are we going to get that kind of money? He said, 'Ask the cop.' And he gave me what he said was a numbered account. He made me say it back, over and over, and said if I screwed it up, if I forgot the number, he'd come find me, and he'd carve it into my ass. That's what he said. 505748711094463. 505748711094463. 505—"

"Okay, we got it. Keep going."

"He said for me to just sit there. 'You sit there, little bitch,' that's what he said." She swiped at her wet cheeks. " 'You sit there for fifteen minutes. You come out before then, I'll kill you.' And he left me there. I just sat there in the dark. Afraid to get up, afraid he'd come back. I just sat until the time was up. I didn't know where I was when I came out. I was all turned around. It was so noisy. I started to run, but my legs wouldn't run, and I couldn't find my way back. Then the detective came, and she helped me.

"I left my purse. I must've left my purse. Or maybe he took it. I didn't get the coffee."

She dissolved into tears again. Eve gave her a full minute of them, then pushed. "What did he look like, Zana?"

"I don't know. Not really. I hardly got a look. He was wearing a hat, like a ski hat, and sunshades. He was tall. I think. He had on black jeans and black boots. I kept looking down, like he said, and I saw his boots. They had laces, and they were scuffed at the toes. I kept looking at his boots. He had big feet."

"How big?"

"Bigger than Bobby's. A little bit bigger, I think."

"What color was his skin?"

"I hardly saw. White, I think. He wore black gloves. But I think he was white. I only got a glimpse, and when he took me inside, it was dark. He stayed behind me the whole time, and it was dark."

"Facial hair, any scars, marks, tattoos?"

"I didn't see any."

"His voice? Any accent?"

"He talked down in his throat, low down. I don't know." She looked piteously at Bobby. "I was so scared."

Eve pressed a little more, but the details were getting hazier.

"I'm going to have you escorted to your new location, and I'm going to put a uniformed guard on you.

If you remember anything else, however slight, I want you to contact me."

"I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. Why would he kill Mama Tru? Why would he think we could give him so much money? "

Eve looked over at Bobby. Then she signalled for Peabody to arrange for the escort. "Bobby will tell you what we know."

10

TO EXPEDITE THE TRANSFER, EVE PERSONALLY escorted Bobby and Zana to their new location. She assigned two uniforms to canvass for the location Zana said she'd been taken, fanning out in a four-block radius from the original hotel. Rather than search the vacated room herself, she left it to Peabody and the sweepers before heading to the morgue.

At her request, Morris had Trudy waiting.

Nothing, Eve thought as she looked down at the body. There was still nothing inside her. No pity, no anger.

"What can you tell me?" Eve asked.

"Facial and bodily injuries sustained twenty-four to thirty-six hours before the head wounds. We'll get to them shortly." Morris handed her a pair of microgoggles, gestured. "Have a look here."

She stepped to the slab with him, bent to study the fatal injuries.

"Some ridges. And these circular or half-circular patterns."

"Good eye. Now let me bump it up for you." He brought the section of the skull onto his screen, magnified.

Eve shoved the goggles to the top of her head. "You said you found fibers in the head wound."

"Waiting for the labs on that."

"These patterns. Could be credits. Cloth sap filled with credits. Old-fashioned and dependable. You've got ridges, possibly from the edges, then those more circular shapes. Yeah, could be credits. Lots of them from the weight it would take to crush the skull."

She put the goggles back on, re-examined the wounds. "Three blows maybe. The first at the base—they'd be standing, vie with her back to the killer. Goes down, second blow comes from above—you've got more punch there, more velocity. And the third..."

She stepped back, shoving the goggles back up. "One," she said, miming a two-handed swing from her right and down. "Two." Overhead, this time and down. "And three." Swinging, still two-handed, from the left.

She nodded. "Fits the spatter pattern. If the sap was cloth—a bag, a sock, a small pouch—you could get those imprints. No defensive wounds, so she didn't put up a fight. Taken by surprise. From behind, so she's not afraid. If the killer had another weapon—a knife, a stunner to force her to turn around—why not use it? And it'd be a quiet murder. First blow takes the vie down, she wouldn't have time to scream."

"Simple, and straightforward." Morris set his own goggles down. "Let's go back, review our previous program."

With his sealed fingers, he tapped some icons on his diagnostic comp. He wore his long, dark hair in a braid today, and the braid curled up in a loop at the nape of his neck. His suit was a deep, conservative navy, until you added the pencil-thin stripes of showy red.

"Here's our facial wound. Let's enhance it a bit."

"Similar ridged pattern. Same weapon."

"And the same on the abdomen, torso, thighs, left hip. But something interests me here. Look closely at the facial wound again."

"I'd say the attacker was close in." She paused, puzzled. "From the bruising, the angle, it looks like an uppercut." She turned to Morris, swung up toward his face, and had him blink and jerk his head back a fraction as her fist stopped a hairsbreadth from his skin.

"Let's use the program, shall we?"

She couldn't quite stop the grin. "I wouldn't have tapped you."

"Regardless." He moved back to the screen, cautiously keeping it between them. He pulled up his program, showing two figures. "Now, you see the angles and movements of the attacker, programmed to recreate the injuries we see. The facial injury indicates a left-handed blow, uppercut, as you said. It's awkward."

Eve frowned as she watched the screen. "Nobody hits like that. If it's a leftie coming at her that way, he'd've swung out, caught her here." She flicked fingers on her own cheekbone. "If he swung up, he should've caught her lower. Maybe right-handed, and he... no."

She turned from the screen and back to the body. "With a fist, maybe, maybe you get bruising like that. But with a sap, you've got to swing it, even close in, you've got to lead with it."

Her brows drew together, and her eyes narrowed. Then she lifted them to Morris. "Well, for Christ's sake. She did it to herself?"

"I ran that, and got a probability in the mid-nineties. Have a look." He brought up the next program.

"One figure, a two-handed swing, right taking the weight, cross-body to the face."

"Sick bitch," Eve said under her breath.

"And a motivated one. The angles of the other injuries—save the head—could all be self-inflicted. Probability hits 99.8, when we factor in the facial injuries as self."

She had to wipe away previous theories, get her head around the self-inflicted. "No defensive wounds, no sign she struggled or was restrained."

While her mind whirled, Eve put the goggles on yet again, moved back to examine every inch of the body. "The bruising on the knees, the elbows?"

"Consistent with a fall, timing coordinates with the head wounds."

"Okay, okay. Somebody clocks you in the face like this, comes at you to beat on you some more, you run, or you fall, you put your hands up to try to ward them off. Should be bruising on her forearms at least.  But there isn't, because she's beating on herself. Nothing under her nails?"

"Now that you mention it..." Morris smiled. "A couple of fibers, under the index and ring fingers of her right hand, under the index of her left."

"They're going to be the same as what you found in the head wound." Eve closed her right fist. "Digs into the cloth, gets her courage up. Crazy bitch."

"Dallas, you said you knew her. Why would she do this?"

Eve tossed the goggles aside. She'd found her anger now, and it soaked into her bones. "So she could say someone else did. Me, maybe Roarke. Maybe go to the media with it," she said as she began to pace. "No, no, you're not going to get big fat piles of money that way. Attention, sure, and some dough, but not a bakery full. Blackmail. Figured she could go back on us. Pay up, or I go public, show people how you hurt me. But it turned back on her. Whoever she was working with decided they didn't need her anymore. Or she got greedy, tried to cut them out."

"Takes some brass ones to try to blackmail a cop like you, or a man like Roarke." He looked back at the body. "Takes some sick need to do this to yourself for money."

"Got paid back, didn't she?" Eve said quietly. "All the way back."

*  *  *

Peabody took a detour. Dallas would roast her if she got wind, but she didn't intend to be long. Besides, the sweepers hadn't found anything so far in the rooms vacated.

She wasn't even sure McNab would be in-house. He could be out in the field for all she knew. Since he hadn't bothered to leave her a message. Men were such pains in the ass, she wondered why she bothered to keep one. She'd been doing okay solo. It wasn't as if she'd gone out looking for somebody like Ian McNab. Who would?

Now she was cohabbing, with a lease in both their names. They'd bought a new bed together—a really uptown gel. And that made it theirs instead others, didn't it? Which she hadn't thought about until now. Which she wouldn't have to think about now, except he'd been such a complete dick.

And technically, he'd been the one to walk out, so he should be the one to make the first move. She hesitated, nearly jumped off the glide. But the box Dallas had given her was burning a hole in her pocket— and the idea that maybe she'd been partly to blame was burning one in her gut.

Probably just indigestion. She shouldn't have grabbed that soy dog on the corner.

She stalked into EDD, her chin jutted up. There he was, in his cube. How could you miss him when even in the rainbow hues of the division his green zip pants and yellow shirt vibrated.

She sniffed, then stomped over to jab him sharply on the shoulder twice. "I need to talk to you."

His eyes, cool and green, flicked to her face, away again. "Busy here."

The back of her neck sizzled at the dismissal. "Five minutes," she said between her teeth. "Private."

He shoved back from his station, swiveled around fast enough to make his long tail of blond hair swing. He gave a jerk of the shoulder to indicate she should follow him, then strode off on his shiny yellow airboots.

Color, from anger and from embarrassment, rode her cheeks as she wove through the clicks and clacks of EDD. The fact that no one paused long enough to hail her or send her a wave told her McNab hadn't kept their situation to himself.

Well, neither had she. So what?

He opened the door to a small break room where two detectives were arguing in the incomprehensible terms of e-geeks. McNab simply jerked a thumb toward the door. "Need five."

The detectives took their argument and a couple of cherry fizzies out the door. One paused long enough to glance back at Peabody with a look of sympathetic understanding.

Of course, Peabody thought, the look came from a female.

McNab got himself a lime fizzy, probably color-coordinating his outfit, Peabody thought nastily. She closed the door herself as he leaned back against the short counter.

"I've got something cooking, so make it fast," he told her.

"Oh, I'll make it fast. You're not the only one who's got something cooking. If you hadn't snuck out of the apartment this morning, we could've dealt with some of this before shift."

"I didn't sneak." He took a long drink, eyeing her over the neon tube. "Not my fault you sleep like a corpse. Plus, I didn't feel like slamming up against your attitude first thing in the morning."

"My attitude?" Her voice came out in a squeak that would have mortified her if she'd noticed it. "You're the one who said I was selfish. You're the one who said I didn't care."

"I know what I said. So if this is just a replay—"

Peabody planted her feet. For once she was happy to know she outweighed him. "You make a move to that door before I'm done, I'll flatten your bony ass."

Now temper flashed in his eyes. "Say what you've got to say, then. Odds are it'll be more than you've had to say to me for the past week."

"What're you talking about?"

"You've always got something to do." He slammed down his drink, and true to its name, lime-colored liquid fizzed over the lip. "Always got something going. Every time I try to talk to you, it's 'We'll get into it later.' You're going to dump a guy, you could have the decency to wait until after the holidays. Wouldn't fucking kill you."

"What? What? Dump you? Have you lost what little brainpower you had?"

"You've been avoiding me. Coming in late, heading out early, every damn day."

"I've been Christmas shopping, you moron." She threw her hands in the air as her voice pitched toward a shout. "I've been going to the gym. And I've been up at Mavis and Leonardo's because... I can't tell you why. And if I've been avoiding you, it's because all you want to talk about is going to Scotland."

"We've only got a couple of days left to—"

"I know, I know." She slapped her hands to her head and squeezed.

"I've got a line on some side work I can do, help pay for it. I just want to... You weren't going to dump me?"

"No, but I should. I should dump you right on your pointy head and save myself all this aggravation."

She dropped her hands, sighed. "Maybe I was avoiding you because I didn't want to talk about going to Scotland."

"You always said you wanted to go one day."

"I know what I said, but that's when I didn't think we'd ever go. Now you're pinning me to it, and I'm nervous. No, not nervous. Terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of meeting your family—all at once. Of being the one you bring home for Christmas, for God's sake."

"Jesus, Peabody, who the hell do you want me to bring home for Christmas?"

"Me, you idiot. But when you bring somebody home for Christmas, it's a big. It's a real big. They're all going to be looking at me and asking me questions, and I can't lose a stupid goddamn five pounds, because I'm nervous, so I eat. And I figured if we could just stay home I wouldn't have to worry about it until whenever."

He just stared at her in the baffled way men had stared at women across the ages. "You took me home for Thanksgiving."

"That's different. It is," she said before he could object. "You'd already met my parents, and we're Free-Agers. We feed anybody and everybody on Thanksgiving. I feel fat and clunky, and they're going to hate me."

"Dee." He only called her Dee when he was particularly tender, or especially exasperated. This, from his tone, seemed to be some of both. "It is a real big to take someone home for Christmas. You're the first I have."

"Oh, God. That just makes it worse. Or better. I don't know which." She swallowed, pressed a hand to her belly. "I think I feel sick."

"They're not going to hate you. They're going to love you because I do. I love you, She-Body." He gave her the smile, the one that made her think of little puppy dogs. "Please come home with me. I've been waiting a long time to show you off."

"Oh, wow. Oh, boy." Sentimental tears sprang to her eyes as she jumped him. His hands clamped on her ass.

"I've got to lock the door," he muttered as he bit cheerfully at her ear.

"Everybody'll know what we're doing."

"I love being the object of envy. Mmm, I missed you. Let me just—"

"Wait, wait!" She shoved back, dug into her pocket. "I forgot. God. It's our present from Dallas and Roarke."

"I'd rather have one from you right now."

"Look. You've got to look. They're giving us the trip," she said as she opened the box, showed him the cards inside. "Private shuttle, ground transpo. The works."

Since his hands dropped off her ass, she figured he was as stunned as she'd been. "Holy shit."

"All we have to do is pack," she said with a watery smile. "You don't have to take the side job, unless you want it. I'm sorry I was such a freak about this. I love you, too."

She threw her arms around him, locked lips. Then eased back with a wicked wiggle of eyebrows. "I'll lock the door."

*  *  *

Minutes after Eve stepped into her office to coordinate her next move, Peabody rushed in.

"I've got the initial sweeper's report on the room the Lombards vacated—nothing," Peabody said hurriedly. "Canvassing cops found the bar—one block east, two south of the hotel. Door was unlocked. Zana's purse was inside on the floor. I have a team heading there now."