Memory in Death (14 page)

"Yeah, I hate those."

"Everyone does. You got to cut them apart, and who's got a knife or scissors handy when you want to wear your new socks?" Harvo snapped the gum in her mouth and circled a finger in the air. The nail was painted Christmas red with little green trees. "Freaking nobody. So you—" She fisted her hands together, twisted. "And half the time you snag the socks, or end up with a little bit of plastic inside that stabs you in the foot."

"Pisser."

"Yeah."

"How about the tag?"

"It's your lucky day—the sweepers were thorough and brought in the contents of the trash can. Came from the bathroom. I took it since I was doing the fibers anyway."

She scooted, showed Eve the tag.

"It was balled up, like you do, and a piece of it torn. Fibers stuck to the gummy side. Anyways, got it straightened out, put together, and you can see our handy bar code, and the type."

She tapped the protective shield over the evidence.

"Women's athletic socks, size seven to nine. Which is another pisser on my personal bitch list. See I wear a seven myself, and when I buy socks like this, I always got too much length in the foot. Why can't they just make them fit? We have the technology, we have the skill. We have the feet."

"That's a puzzler," Eve agreed. "Prints?"

"Vic's, tag and sock. Got another on the tag. Ran it." She bumped back to the screen. "Hitch, Jayne. Employed by Blossom Boutique on Seventh, sales clerk. I don't know, call me crazy, but I bet Jayne sold the vic a pair of socks recently."

"Nice job, Harvo."

"Yeah, I awe myself regular."

*  *  *

It was a simple matter to track down Jayne. She was behind the counter at the boutique ringing up sales with the focused determination of a soldier on the front lines.

The shop was jammed with customers, drawn, Eve imagined, by the big orange sale signs on every rack, table, and wall. The noise level, punched upward by incessent holiday music, was awesome.

You could shop online, Eve thought, if you were desperate to shop. Why people insisted on pushing into retail outlets with other people who probably wanted the same merchandise, where the lines roped around in endlessly confusing misery and torture, and where the sales clerks were bitter as raw spinach, was beyond her.

When she said the same to Peabody, her partner's answer was a chipper "Because it's fun!"

To various consumers' annoyance and objections, Eve cut the line and muscled her way up front.

"Hey! I'm next."

Eve turned to the woman all but buried under piles of clothing, and held up her badge. "This means I go first. Need to talk to you, Jayne."

"What? Why? I'm busy."

"Gee, me, too. Got a back room?"

"Man. Sol? Cover register two. Back here." She thumped her way on two-inch-thick airsoles down a short corridor. "What? Listen, we were having a damn party. Parties get loud. It's Christmas, for God's sake. My across-the-hall neighbor is a primo bitch."

"Next time ask her to the party," Peabody suggested. "Hard to complain if you're part of the noise."

"I'd rather eat worm shit."

The back room was loaded with stock, boxes, bags. Jayne sat down on a stack of underwear. "Anyway, I'm off my feet for a minute. It's lunacy out there. Christmas makes people insane. And that bit about goodwill toward men? It sure as hell doesn't apply to retail."

"You sold a pair of socks to a woman sometime between Thursday and Saturday," Eve began.

Jayne ground her fist into the small of her back. "Honey, I sold a hundred pairs of socks between Thursday and Saturday."

"Lieutenant," Eve said and tapped her badge. "White athletics, size seven to nine."

Jayne dug in her pocket. She seemed to have a dozen of them between her black shirt and black pants. She pulled out a piece of hard candy, unwrapped it. Her fingernails, Eve noted, were as long as ice picks and painted like candy canes.

Yeah, Christmas made people insane.

"Oh, white athletic socks," Jayne said sourly. "That's a real tip-off."

"Take a look at a picture, see if you remember."

"I can barely remember my own face after a day like this one." The candy made rattling noises against Jayne's teeth as she played with it. But she rolled tired eyes and took the photo.

"Jeez, what are the odds? Yeah, I remember her. Talk about primo bitch. Listen," she said and sucked air through her nose. "She comes in, grabs a pair of socks. One lousy pair, complains we don't have enough help after she gets to me, and demands the sale price. Now, it's clear the socks are on sale in lots of three. Says so right on the display. One pair's nine-ninety-nine. Buy three for twenty-five-fifty. But she's squawking that she wants the socks for eight-fifty. She's done the math, and that's what she'll pay. She's got a line clear to Sixth behind her, and she's busting on me for, like, chump change."

She crunched down hard on the candy. "I'm not authorized to cut a price, and she won't budge. People are going to riot any minute, so I've got to call over the manager. Manager caves because it's just not worth the aggravation."

"When did she come in?"

"Man, it blurs together." Jayne rubbed the back of her neck. "I've been on since Wednesday. Straight seven days from hell. I get two off starting tomorrow and I'm going to sit on my ass for most of it. It was after lunch, I remember, because I thought how this asshole woman was going to make me lurch my gyro. Gyro!"

She snapped her fingers, shot her index up, leading with the festive ice pick. "Friday. Me and Fawn grabbed gyros on Friday. She had the weekend off, and I remember crabbing about it to her."

"Was she alone?"

"Who'd hang with that type? If anybody was with her, they stayed back. She strutted out by herself. I watched her go." She smiled a little. "Shot her the bird behind her back. Couple of the customers applauded."

"Have you got security discs?"

"Sure. What's this about? Somebody kick her ass? I'd've held their coat."

"Yeah, somebody did. I'd like to view the discs for Friday afternoon. We'll need to make copies."

"Wow. Okay. Gee. I'm not in trouble with this, am I?"

"No. But we'll need the discs."

Jayne shoved herself to her feet. "I gotta get the manager."

*  *  *

Back at her office, Eve reviewed the disc again. She drank coffee and watched Trudy walk in through the street doors. Sixteen-twenty-eight on the time stamp. Time enough to stew about the result of her visit to Roarke, Eve decided. Time enough to discuss it with a partner, or just walk around until a plan formed.

Pissed, Eve noted, when she paused, magnified Trudy's face. She could almost hear the teeth grinding together. Seething anger, not cold deliberation. Not right now, anyway. Impulse, maybe. I'll show them.

Had to look for the socks, elbow people out of her way, skirt around tables. But she found what she wanted... and at a bargain price.

Eve watched Trudy's teeth bare in a snarl when she yanked the socks from the display. But she frowned at the price, at the sale display, before marching over to stand in line.

Tapping her foot, glaring at the customers in line ahead of her.

Impatient. And alone.

She continued to watch, through the altercation with the clerk, Trudy looking down her nose, fisting her hands on her hips. Digging in. Turning briefly to snap something at the woman behind her in line.

Making a scene over pocket change.

Buying her own murder weapon on the cheap.

She didn't wait for a bag, didn't wait for a receipt. Just stuffed the socks in her purse and stalked out.

Eve sat back, perused the ceiling. Had to get the credits. Nobody carries enough to fill a sock around with them. And the way she'd slung the purse around didn't indicate it was weighed down.

"Computer, find and list all banks from Sixth Avenue to Tenth, between... Thirty-eighth and Forty-eighth.

Working...

Pushing up, she checked the time. Banks were closed for the day. But Trudy would have had just enough time to get to one, get herself a sackful of credits.

Check that out tomorrow. "Print out data," Eve ordered when the computer began to recite a list of banks. "Copy to file, copy to my home computer."

Acknowledged. Working...

She could see it. She'd have to find the bank, verify, but she could see it. Closest one to the boutique, that's the one it would be. Stride in, still steaming. Used cash if she was thinking, Eve decided. No point in having a transaction like that popping on a credit or debit report, so you use cash. And you dispose of the bank bag before you go back to the hotel.

Alone, she thought again.

Comes to the station alone, then to Roarke's office. No sign anyone's waiting for her in the lobby.

Makes a call maybe, uses her 'link once she's outside the building. No way to check that when the 'link's gone. Smart to take the 'link from the murder scene.

She paced, ordered more coffee.

Scared when she leaves Roarke. Contacts her pal, her cohort. Cries the blues. Could've cooked up the next part together.

She turned to her murder board, studied the photos of Trudy's face.

"What does it take to do that to yourself?" Eve muttered. "Plenty of motivation. Plenty of anger. But how the hell did you expect to prove you got tuned up by me or Roarke, or somebody we sicced on you?"

Back to stupid, she thought with a shake of her head. That was leading with anger, that was impulse and fury. Smarter to have gotten one or both of us out of the house on some pretext, somewhere we wouldn't be easily alibied. Stupid to assume we wouldn't have one. Sloppy.

A memory nudged at her, nearly faded once more. Eve closed her eyes, pressed and focused.

Dark. Can't sleep. Too hungry. But the door of her room was locked from the outside. Trudy didn't like her to wander around the house— sneaking around, getting into trouble.

She was being punished anyway.

She'd talked to the boy across the street, a couple of his friends. Older boys. Taken a ride on one of their boards. Trudy didn't like the boy across the street, or his friends.

Hoodlums. Delinquents. Vandals. And worse. And you, nothing but a slut. Nine years old and already putting out. That's nothing new for you, is it? Get upstairs, and you can forget about supper. I don't feed trash in my house.

Shouldn't have talked to the boy. But he'd said he'd show her how to use the board, and she'd never ridden one before. They could do tricks on theirs—loops and wheelies and spins. She liked to watch them. The boy had seen her watching, and grinned at her. Motioned her over.

Shouldn't have gone—hell to pay. But he'd held that colorful board out, said she could take a breeze. He'd show her how.

And when she'd shot off on it, he'd whistled through his teeth. His friends had laughed. He'd said she had balls.

It was—she thought it was—the happiest, most liberating moment of her life at that time. She could remember, even now, the odd way the smile had fit on her face. The way her cheeks had stretched out, and the laugh that had rumbled up in her throat and hurt her chest a little. But a good hurt, like nothing she'd ever experienced.

He'd said she could go again, that she was a natural.

But Trudy had come out, came streaming out with that look on her face. That hell-to-pay look. She had yelled, screamed at Eve to get off that damn thing.

Didn't I tell you to stay in the yard. Didn't I say? Who gets the blame if you breaks your fool neck?

You ever think of that?

She hadn't. Had only thought of the thrill of riding the board for the first time.

Trudy had screamed at the boys, too, told them she'd call the police. She knew what they were up to. Perverts, hoodlums. But they'd just laughed and made rude noises. The one whose board she'd ridden had called Trudy an old bitch, right to her face.

Eve had thought it was the bravest thing she'd ever seen.

He'd given Eve a quick grin, a quick wink, and told her she could have another ride whenever she shook the old bitch loose.

But she'd never ridden it again. She'd stayed away from him, and his friends.

And she'd paid for the momentary thrill with an empty gut.

Later, with stomach growling, she had stood at the window of her room. And she'd seen Trudy go out of the front door below. Had watched her take rocks and smash the windshield of her car, then the side windows. Had watched her spray paint on the hood—and made out the gleam of the letters in the dark.

OLD BITCH

Trudy had then marched across the street, had wiped the can on a rag, and then tossed it into the bushes in front of the boy's house.

She'd been smiling, a bared-teeth snarl of a smile as she'd walked back toward the house.

12

EVE HAD ONE MORE CHORE BEFORE SHE WENT off duty, and took it solo.

The hotel Roarke had provided for Bobby and Zana was a step up from the previous location. No big surprise there. Still, it was moderate, short on frills. Just the sort of place tourists or business-people on a budget might choose.

Security was subtle, but it was there.

She was stopped on her way across the tidy lobby before she could access the elevators.

"Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?"

The woman who tapped her shoulder had a pleasant face, an easy smile. And the faint bulge of a stunner under the armpit of her smart jacket.

"Police." Eve held up her right hand, reached for her badge with her left. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. My people are in five-twelve. I'm going up to check on them and the uniform on duty."

"Lieutenant. Orders are to scan ID. So..."

"Good." They were her own orders, after all. "Go ahead."

The woman took out a hand scanner—jazzier than any police issue—verified. She tapped a button, brought Eve's ID photo onto the scanner's screen. Satisfied, she handed Eve her badge.

"Go ahead up, Lieutenant. Do you want me to call the uniform on duty and tell him you're on your way?"

"No. I like surprising them."

Fortunately for the uniform, he was at the door. They knew each other by sight, so rather than ask for ID, he simply sucked in his stomach, straightened his shoulders. "Lieutenant."

"Bennington. Status?"

"Quiet. All the rooms this level are occupied except five-oh-five and five-fifteen. Few people in and out—shopping bags and briefcases. Not a peep out of five-twelve since I came on shift."

"Take ten."

"Thanks, Lieutenant. I'm relieved in thirty, so I can stand until."

"Good enough." She knocked, waited while someone inside checked the security peep. Zana opened the door.

"Hi. I wasn't sure you'd be by today. Bobby's in the bedroom talking to D.K. Do you want me to get him?"

"No need." Eve stepped inside the little parlor, Roarke had provided what she supposed was termed an 'executive suite,' with a jut of kitchenette off a cozy sitting area. The bedroom was separated by a pair of pocket doors, currently shut.

"How you doing?" Eve asked.

"Better, thanks. Better." Her cheeks pinked a little. She fluffed nervously at the long waves of her sunny hair. "It occurred to me that you've mostly seen me hysterical. I'm not usually. Really."

"You had reason." Eve scanned. Privacy screens engaged. Good. Entertainment screen on some sort of girlie talk show. No wonder Bobby had the doors shut.

"Can I get you something? The kitchen's got a good supply." She smiled wanly. "No need to run out for bagels. I can get you coffee or—"

"No, that's okay."

"It's a nicer room than the other. Terrible way to get it."

"No point in being uncomfortable and uneasy."

"No. No, I guess not." She turned her wedding ring around and around on her finger. Another nervous habit, Eve thought. There was a ring with a little pink stone on her right hand, and the same pink stone, as studs, in her ears.

They matched her lip dye, Eve noted. How—and why—did women think of that kind of detail?

"I'm so glad you got my purse back. It had all my stuff, pictures and ID and this new lip dye I just bought, and... God." She rubbed her hands over her face. "Want to sit down?"

"For a minute. You've known Bobby and D.K. awhile."

"Since I started working for them. Bobby, he's just the sweetest thing." She sat, brushed at the thighs of her pants. "I fell right off. He's a little shy, you know, with women. D.K. was always teasing him."

"Bobby mentioned that D.K. and Trudy didn't get along."

"Oh, well." Zana's color resurfaced, just a little. "Mostly D.K. just kept his distance. Kind of a personality clash, I guess. Trudy, she'd just say what she was thinking, right out. And sometimes, well, people got a little offended."

"You didn't?"

"She's—she was—the mother of the man I love. And she raised him single-handed." Her eyes went starry. "Raised such a good man. I didn't mind her giving me advice. I've never been married before, after all, or kept a home. Anyway, Bobby knew just how to handle her."

"Did he?"

"He'd just tell me to nod and go along, then do what I wanted." Zana laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand as if to smother the sound. "That's what he did, mostly, and there was hardly ever a cross word between them."

"But there were some."

"Little spats now and then, like families have. Eve—is it all right if I call you Eve?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Do you think we can go home soon?" Her lips trembled before she pressed them together. "I was so excited about coming here, seeing New York, it was all I could think about. Now I just want to go home."

"At this point of the investigation, it's more convenient if you and Bobby are here."

"That's what he said." She sighed. "And he doesn't want to go home for Christmas. Says he just doesn't want to be there for it. I guess I can understand. It's just..." Tears shimmered in her eyes, but didn't fall. "It's selfish."

"What is?"

"It's our first Christmas married. Now we'll spend it in a hotel room. It is selfish." She sniffed back the tears, shook her head. "I shouldn't even be thinking about it with his mama..."

"It's natural enough."

Zana cast her guilty look toward the pocket doors. "Don't tell him I said anything. Please. He's got enough on his mind."

She got to her feet when the doors opened. "Hi, honey. Look who's here."

"Eve. Thanks for coming. I was just talking to my partner." He worked up a smile for his wife. "We closed the deal."

She slapped her hands together, bounced on her toes. "The big house?"

"The big one. D.K. got the contract and deposit from the buyer this morning."

"Oh, honey! That's just wonderful. Congratulations." She hurried around the sofa to give him a fierce hug. "You both worked so hard for that."

"Big sale," Bobby told Eve. "Hell, a white elephant we took on. We'd just about given up, when we got a nibble last week. My partner tied it up in a bow this morning."

"Back in Texas."

"Yeah. Took them through it three times over the weekend. They just wouldn't commit. Wanted to go through it again this morning, so he walked them through it again, and they finally bit. It's a big commission for us."

And put the partner out of the running, Eve decided, unless he'd found a way to be two places at once. "Congratulations."

"Mama would've been on the moon."

"Honey." Zana took his arms. "Don't be sad. She wouldn't want you to be sad. She'd be so proud. In fact, we're going to celebrate. I mean it." She gave him a little shake. "I'm going to order a bottle of champagne, and you're going to take a little while to relax and be proud of yourself. Will you have some with us, Eve?"

"Thanks, but I've got to go."

"I thought maybe you had some news, about my mother."

"The investigation's moving forward. That's the best I can tell you now. I'll check in with you tomorrow. If anything breaks beforehand, I'll let you know."

"Okay. Thanks. I'm glad it's you, Eve. It's easier somehow because it's you."

*  *  *

She could go home, Eve thought, as she muscled her way into traffic. It was more than Bobby could do at this point. She could go home where things were normal, at least by her standards.

As traffic snarled, she studied one of the bright, animated billboards, touting cut rates for holiday trips to Aruba.

Everyone wanted to be somewhere else, she decided. People from Texas, and wherever, flocked to New York. New Yorkers crawled up the highway to the Hamptons, or got on a shuttle south for some island.

Where did people on the islands go? she wondered. Probably to some noisy, overcrowded city.

Why couldn't people just stay put?

Because they didn't, the streets and sidewalks were clogged, with the airways overhead little better. And still, there wasn't anywhere she'd rather be.

She drove through the gates, finally, toward the lights.

Every window was lit, candles or festooned trees glittering. It looked like a painting, she thought. Dark sky, rising moon, and the fanciful shapes and shadows of the house, with all those windows glowing.

She could go home.

So why was she depressed? It dragged at the base of her skull, at the pit of her belly as she parked the car, pushed herself out. She wanted to lie down, she realized, and not because she was tired. She just wanted to shut her head down for five damn minutes.

Summerset was there, a dour skeleton amid the festive colors of the grand foyer.

"Roarke is in his office, attending to some of your business."

In her current mood, the disapproval scraped over the weight in her belly. "Nobody held a stunner to his throat," she snapped. "Which is what I dream of doing to you, night after night."

She stomped upstairs without bothering to take off her coat.

She didn't go to the office, which was petty and wrong. She knew it. But instead she went straight to the bedroom and, still in her coat, dropped facedown on the bed.

Five minutes, she thought. She was entitled to five damn minutes of solitude and quiet. If only she could shut off her head.

Seconds later, she heard the rapid pad of little feet, then the vibration of the bed as Galahad made his leap. She turned her head, stared into his bicolored eyes.

He stared back. Then did a couple of lazy circles, curled up by her head, and stared some more. She found herself trying to out-stare him, to make him blink first.

When she lost, she thought he smirked.

"Pal, if you were a cop, you'd crack suspects like walnuts."

She shifted so she could scratch his ears. With the cat purring like a souped-up engine, she watched the lights glimmer on the bedroom tree.

It was a good deal she had here, she told herself. Big bed, pretty tree, nice cat. What was wrong with her?

She barely heard him come in, probably wouldn't have if she hadn't been listening for him.

When the mattress depressed, she turned her head again. This time she stared into eyes of wild and vivid blue.

Yeah, a pretty good deal.

"I was coming in," she murmured. "I just wanted a couple minutes."

"Headache?"

"No. I'm just... I don't know."

He stroked a hand over her hair. "Sad?"

"What have I got to be sad about? I've got this big-ass house. Did you see how it looks all lit up?"

"Yes." His hand moved down to the nape of her neck where some of the weight lay.

"I've got this fat cat hanging around. I think we should torment him on Christmas, make him wear some of those antler things. You know, like a reindeer."

"Undermine his dignity. Good idea."

"I've got you. The icing on my personal cake. I don't know what's wrong with me." She curled into him, burrowed into him. "I don't even care that she's dead, so what's wrong with me?"

"You're too hard on yourself, that's what's wrong with you."

She breathed him in, because it was a comfort. "I went to the morgue and looked at her. Just another body. I looked at what she did to herself, to try to screw with us. And it disgusted me. Didn't surprise me—not once I thought about it. I looked at what someone else did to her, and it was like: Well, what goes around. I'm not supposed to think that."

"What else did you do?"

"Today? Reported to Whitney. Got a little spanking there. Had lunch with Nadine to get her to spin the connection up front. Hit the lab. Followed the fabric trail to a retail outlet where Trudy bought the socks she used to make a sap. I got a list of banks between there and the hotel. Figure she had to get the credits. Check that tomorrow.

Went by the bar where Zana was taken, talked to the owner. Reviewed the discs. Um... updated reports. Checked in on Bobby and Zana. Good security at the hotel. You've got a solid frontman in your lobby."

"Good to know."

"Then I came home. Other stuff in there, but that's the gist."

"In other words, you did your job. Whether or not you care she's dead, you did the work that will lead you to her killer."

She rolled over, stared up at the ceiling. "I've got no juice."

"What did you have for lunch?"

She gave a half laugh. "Taking my mind off my pity party? This pasta thing with some sort of herb stuff. It was good. Whatever Nadine and Peabody chowed on, they made a lot of girl yummy noises. The place was swinging, so I guess you've got a hit. Big surprise."

"The service?"

"Spooky. The waiter sort of poofs at the table out of nowhere if you even think about wanting something. Nadine's getting her own show."

"I heard about that just today. Good for her."

"And she's got vid and book deals. You in on any of that?"

"As a matter of fact."

"She wants to interview me, which maybe. And wants to do some of the vid here at the house, which is definitely no."

"Definitely."

She turned her head again to look at his face. How could one man be so beautiful, day after day? "I figured we'd line up in the same column on that."

"This is home." His hand stroked over hers, then lay, quiet and warm, over it. "It's private."

"I'm always bringing work home. Doing work here."

"As am I."

"You don't fill it with cops on top of it."

"I don't. And certainly don't plan to in the future. If I had a problem with you doing so, I'd let you know."

"I had this memory flash today."

Ah, he thought, now we've got the root. "Tell me."

"I was thinking about the way she'd hurt herself, gone out, bought socks for God's sake, for the sole purpose of bashing herself in the face, bruising her body. Vicious, self-destructive behavior. And I remembered this time..."

She told him, just as the memory had come back to her. And more, as she remembered more. That it had been hot, and she could smell grass. Strange smell to her as she'd so rarely experienced it before.

One of the boys had had a disc player, and there was music jingling out.