Creation in Death (12 page)

He served Trina a glass of wine, and Mavis something rose-colored and frothy with a plate of thin cookies and fancy chocolates.

“I come around here too often, I’ll be back to belly weight.” Mavis picked up a chocolate. “Nursing makes me nearly as hungry as pregnancy did.”

“No breast milk at the table,” Eve warned her. “So to speak.”

“I sort of carry it everywhere.” But Mavis grinned. “You can talk about the case. You’re going to think about it anyway. We heard about it on screen. I remember when this guy was around before. I was on the grift then. All the girls on the street were scared all the time.”

“You were too young for him then.”

“Maybe, but it was scary. Trina and I both went way far from brunette last night during our hair party. Just, you know, in case.”

Eve eyed Mavis’s silver and blue streaks, then Trina’s flame red tower of curls. “Yeah, you’re not his type.”

“Glad to hear. How’s it going, anyway? Everything’s dire on screen.”

“We’ve got some buttons to push.”

“I was doing hair at Channel Seventy-five yesterday.” Trina studied the cookies narrowly, picked one. “On-air reporter was trying to make my celeb, you know? Spouting and such. He gave her some gory on the case to impress her, and said the police were stymied.”

“Reporters are mostly assholes.”

“Lot of them say the same about cops.” Trina smiled. “I think it’s pretty much fifty-fifty. Anyway, it was the buzz in the salon yesterday, and we had the chairs full of women ditching their brunette.”

Eve forked up some chicken. “You’re still working the salon route?” she considered. “I thought you were on Nadine’s show, and working private.”

“You get private through the salon if you know how to play it. Plus, Roarke set me up pretty.”

“To what?”

“Trina manages the salon section of Bliss, the downtown spa,” Roarke explained. “An excellent choice on my part.”

“You got that.” Trina toasted him. “Business is up seven percent since I took over.”

“Your operators take private?” Eve asked her.

“It’s against policy.” Trina wiggled her dramatic eyebrows at Roarke as she sipped her wine. “Private means they don’t come in, the salon and spa don’t get the business. And they don’t drop impulse dough. But let’s get real. A customer asks—they’re called consultants, by the way—to do a house gig, they’re not going to say no unless they don’t want the job.”

“I’m looking for a man about seventy, short, pudgy.”

“We get that type, sure. Policy is to tactfully steer the pudge part into our spa or the body sculpting section. Barring, we talk up the fitness centers, and—”

“I’m talking specifically,” Eve interrupted. “A man of that basic type coming in, feeling out one of the consultants for a private. Within the last, let’s say, two months.”

“Lotta room, Dallas,” Trina said. “We get a lot of traffic, and being manager, most of the consultants aren’t going to mention a private to me, unless it’s sanctioned.”

“Sanctioned how?”

“Like we send teams or a solo in for special occasions, and the salon takes the big cut.”

“Long shot,” Eve muttered.

“But come to think of it, I had somebody like that. I guess.”

Eve set down her fork. “You guess or you had one?”

“Look, like I said, we get a lot of traffic. People tap me for private most every day. What’s the big…Oh, hey, hey!” Her wine sloshed toward the rim as she hastily set the glass down. “Is this the guy? Is this the fucking guy? Holy shit storm.”

“Just tell me what you remember.”

“Okay, Jesus, let me clear the decks.” Trina closed her eyes, sucked air through her nose several times. “This guy…walk-in. Manicure, I’m thinking. Don’t remember who had him. I’m thinking it was a Saturday afternoon, and we’re busting on Saturday afternoons. He waited a long time for the nail job, wandered over into the retail section. I think. I was busy. I just remember catching sight of him a few times. Then I took my break, went into the bar for a smoothie. Maybe a fizzy. No, it was a smoothie.”

“Trina, I don’t care what you had to drink.”

“I’m getting the picture.” Her eyes flashed open. “You want the picture, I need to get it first. So it was a smoothie. A banana-almond smoothie. We make killers. And he comes up, real polite. ‘Excuse me, Miss,’ like that. He noticed I was in charge, and since he’d had to wait awhile he’d noticed, too, how skilled I was.”

She smiled to herself. “So I didn’t tell him to flip, that I was on a break. He wanted to know how to arrange an at-home appointment. Not for him, though, not for him, wait a minute.”

Frowning, she picked up her wine, sipped again while Eve struggled not to just leap up and pound the rest of the details out of her.

“His wife? Yeah, yeah, yeah, at-home for his wife. She wasn’t well, and how he thought it would make her feel better to have her hair done, maybe a facial, a mani, pedi, like that. A package treatment.”

“Trina—”

“Wait a damn minute. Let me get a fix on it. I’m telling him how we arrange this, the fees, and so on, and he’s wondering if I’d consider doing this on my day off. So I wouldn’t have to rush back to work, but could give his wife as much time as she wanted. Whenever it suited me. He even showed me a picture of the wife. He’d be happy to pay whatever I think appropriate.”

“Did he give you an address?”

“You keep interrupting.” Obviously annoyed, Trina opened her eyes again. “No. I said how I’d need to check my book. So I did, taking my time, thinking it over. Even the older guys can be stringing you, you know? I was booked up for a while. I think I gave him a couple possible dates. A couple of weeks down the road. He said he’d check the dates out with his wife’s nurse, see which she thought would work best. He asked if I had a card, so he could contact me. I gave him one. And that was it.”

“He didn’t get back to you?”

“Nope. I thought maybe I saw him about a week later. Somewhere. Where was it? Oh, yeah, in this bar where I was having drinks with this guy I was thinking of doing. But I figured, nah. Not the kind of joint you see a suit with a sick wife.”

“He give you a name?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember. If I can pin down the mani he got, we’d have it on the books. First name anyhow. Is this the guy?”

Don’t rush it, Eve thought. Dot the
i
’s. “What color was your hair?”

“You gotta be kidding. It was, like, a month ago. Yeah, a month, like the first Saturday in February, because I remember thinking if we did business like that through the month, I was going to ask for a raise. We did, I did. And hey, thanks again,” she said to Roarke.

“Caramel Mocha,” Mavis murmured. “With Starfish highlights.”

“Yeah?” Trina turned to her. “You sure?”

“You did me Starfish with Candyland tips.” Mavis’s hand trembled a little as she reached for her glass. “I’ve got a memory for this stuff. Oh, wow. Oh, wow. I think I feel a little sick.”

“You? I’m the one he was planning to torture and kill. I think I feel…” Trina pressed a hand to her belly, then squinted out of slitted eyes. “Pissed. That’s what I feel. That son of a bitch. Sick wife? Pay me whatever. He was going to
kill
me.” She picked up her wine, guzzled it. “Why didn’t he?”

“You changed it.” Mavis took slow, deep breaths. “You didn’t stick with that shade even a week. You went straight to Wild Raven with Snow Cap streaks.”

“Just back up,” Eve demanded. “This mocha bit? Does that translate to brunette?”

“On a basic level,” Trina confirmed. “Of course, the way I work it’s way beyond anything basic.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think. But he was wearing a hair enhancer.”

“Meaning wig?”

“A good one, too, but you’re talking to the expert. Hey, hey, that’s why I didn’t think it was him in the bar. He wasn’t. I mean he was, the hair enhancer wasn’t. At least not the same one. I didn’t get a close or long enough look to tell if it was hair or enhancer.”

“I want you to describe him. I want you to give me every detail you can remember about him. Appearance, voice, body type, gestures, any distinguishing marks. Everything. Tomorrow morning, you’ll work with a police artist.”

“Really? No shit? I’m like an eyewitness. Frosty.”

“Let’s take this up to my office. Think. Get him in your head.”

She pulled out her ’link. “Peabody. I need you to contact Yancy. I want him ready to work with a witness tomorrow. Seven sharp.”

“Is that
morning
?” Trina demanded.

“Stow it.” Eve simply shot out a finger. “Got that, Peabody?”

“Got it. Is that…Is that Trina?”

“Yeah. She’s our wit. Small freaking world. I want Yancy, Peabody. I’m taking down her description now, and I’ll relay it to the team. Tell McNab I want him and the e-geeks ready to run with the description, then with the image as soon as Yancy’s got one.”

She was walking as she talked, moving briskly out of the dining room, through the corridor, the foyer, up the stairs. As orders and instructions rolled out of her, Trina glanced over at Roarke.

“She’s a little scary when she’s on the scent.”

“She can be a lot scarier. You go up. I’ll be along.” He turned back, brushed a hand over Mavis’s shoulder. “Why don’t you and Bella and Trina plan to stay here tonight?”

“Really? It’s okay?”

“Absolutely. I’ll have Summerset take care of whatever you think you’ll need.”

“Thanks. Boy. Thanks. I know it’s silly. Nobody’s going to bother us, but…”

“We’ll all feel better, under the circumstances, if you’re tucked in here. Why don’t you get in touch with Leonardo, let him know?”

“Okay. Good. Thanks. Roarke?”

“Hmmm?”

“If Trina hadn’t changed her hair…”

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head now. “We’re all very glad mocha didn’t suit her.”

EVE WENT STRAIGHT TO HER DESK, POINTED TO
a chair. “Sit. Let’s get this down. Start with height, weight, build.”

“I thought you had that already.” Trina glanced around. She’d been in Eve’s office before, but not in eyewitness capacity. “How come you don’t fix this place up, like the rest of the house?”

“It’s not the rest of the house. Trina, concentrate.”

“I just wondered why you’d want to work in the low rent section of the Taj Mahal or whatever.”

“I’m a sentimental fool. Height.”

“Okay, ummm. On the short side. Under five-eight. More than five-four. See, I was sitting at the counter at the bar, and he stood, and…” She pursed her lips, used the flat of her hand to measure the air. “Yeah. Like five-six or-seven? That’s best guess.”

“Weight.”

“I don’t know. When I do bodywork, people are naked. I don’t gauge when they’ve got clothes on. I’m going to say he was, like, solid, but not the R-and-P type.”

“R-and-P?”

“Roly and poly. He was…” She curved her hands over her stomach, rolled them up her chest. “Carrying it in the front, like some guys do. Not a waddler, but not Mr. Health and Fitness Club either. Poochy, like your uncle Carmine.”

“If I had one. Okay. How about coloring?”

“He had this pewter brushback, thick on top and short on the sides. But that was the enhancer.”

“Dark gray, short and thick.”

“Dark gray’s dull, you ask me. Pewter’s got a soft gleam. But anyway, yeah. It was white when I saw him at the bar the other time. If it was him, which I pretty much think it was. Fluffy and white. Nice. Don’t know why he’d go for pewter when he has the Snow Cap going.”

“White hair. You’re saying that wasn’t a wig.”

“It was a glimpse—a quick ‘Oh, hey, I know that guy.’ But yeah, at a glimpse it looked like his own topper. Not a hundred percent on that one.”

“Eyes?”

“Jeez. Look, Dallas, I don’t know for sure. I’m thinking light. On the light side, but I’m not sure if we’re talking blue or green or gray, hazel. But I’m almost sure they weren’t dark. You know, the hair enhancer looked off to me from the get, because it
was
dark, and the rest of him wasn’t. He had really good skin.”

“How so?”

“Pale, soft-looking. Some lines, sure, but not dug in. He takes care of his skin. No jowly stuff going on either, so he’s maybe had a little work. He had a nice smooth texture to his skin.”

“Pale,” Eve mumbled. Pale hair, pale eyes, pale skin. A pale man. Maybe the Romanian psychic hadn’t been completely full of shit.

“Yeah, yeah. He colored his eyebrows to match the enhancer. It was off, just a little. Mostly you wouldn’t notice, but it’s my business to notice. White in the bar when I was figuring to give this guy I was drinking with the ride of his life.”

“You said he was a suit. Was that literal or just because he looked like a suit?”

“Both. He was wearing one—I think gray, like the hair and eyebrows. Probably. And he looked like the kind of guy who had a closetful of suits. Three-piece,” she added. “Yeah, yeah, vest, pants, jacket. Little pocket accent and tie. Spiffed, you know? Same in the bar. Dark suit. Nice contrast with the white hair.”

She paused, then rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s just really hitting me. I’d’ve taken the gig. If he’d tagged me back, I’d’ve taken it. Personal day, a nice chunk of change. No harm.”

Her breath trembled out as the color slid out of her cheeks. “He seemed so nice and…I want to say ‘safe.’ Some sweet older guy who wanted to do something special for his sick wife. I’d’ve charged him through the nose, but I’d have taken the job.”

“You didn’t take it,” Eve reminded her. “And he made a mistake trying for you. You pay attention, you notice details and you remember. Listen to me.”

She leaned forward because she could see it was, indeed, just hitting Trina. Not only had she lost color, she was beginning to shake a little. “Look at me and listen to what I’m telling you. He took someone today. Another one today. She’s got some time before he starts on her. He takes time. Are you hearing me?”

“Yeah.” Trina moistened her lips. “Yeah.”

“He made a mistake with you,” Eve repeated. “And what you’re telling me, what you’re going to do tomorrow with the police artist is going to help us get to him. You’re going to help us save her life, Trina. Maybe more than hers. You get that?”

Trina nodded. “Can I get some water, maybe? I just went so dry.”

“Sure. Hold on a minute.”

As Eve went into the kitchen, Roarke stepped into the room. “You’re doing fine,” he said to Trina.

“Got the shakes,” Trina admitted. “Whacked, really. Here I am in the Fortress of Roarke in the Chamber of Dallas. Can’t get any safer than that. And I’ve got the shakes. Mavis?”

“She’s contacting Leonardo. You’ll all stay here tonight, if that suits you.”

“Right down to the ground. Classy place like Bliss. You just don’t expect crazy killers to come in for a manicure. You know?”

“This one likes to work with tidy nails,” Eve commented as she came back with a chilled bottle of water. “I’m going to need that appointment book,” she said to Roarke.

“I’ll see to it. And,” he told Trina, “I’ll make sure you’re covered for tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” She gulped down water. “Okay.”

Eve waited while Trina drank. “Tell me about his voice.”

“Um…Soft, I guess. Quiet. Um…Refined? I think that’s the word. Like somebody educated, and who had the money behind him for a really good one. Kind of culture but not poofy. It was another thing that made him seem nice and safe, now that I think about it.”

“Any accent?”

“Not really. I mean, educated, yeah. Not like an accent though.”

“Distinguishing marks, tats, scars.”

“Nope.” Her voice was steadying, her color coming back. “Not showing.”

“Okay.” It was enough, Eve thought. If she pushed too hard now, it could diminish what Yancy could draw out of Trina the next day. “Anything else you remember, you let me know. I’m going to need the names of everyone who was working the day he came in, who was working the counter where you talked to him, who might have tried to sell him anything in the retail section. I can get most of that from Roarke. I want you to try to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, so do I. I think I’ll go down and stick with Mavis and Belle for a little while, till I smooth it out a little more.”

“Summerset will show you where you’ll stay tonight. If you need anything,” Roarke added, “just ask.”

“Will do. This is so…complete.” Trina shook her head as she rose. “I’m just going to…” She started out, stopped. “He smelled good.”

“How?”

“Good product—and not smothered in it. Some people don’t know how to be subtle with a product. It was like…” She squeezed her eyes shut again. “Just a hint of rosemary, undertones of vanilla. Nice.” She shrugged, then continued out of the room.

“Major break.”

“For you.” Roarke walked over to sit on the corner of her desk. “And, I’d say, for Trina.”

“Yeah, being a hair-color slut paid off big-time for her. I need to get this description out. I want to run it through IRCCA. I don’t think we’ll hit there. I don’t think he’s been in the system, but it’s worth the shot. You need to work it with the results from the unregistered. See if you’ve got a competitor who fits the bill.”

“All right.”

“Skipped over Trina, went for York instead.”

“Christ. Don’t tell her that.”

Eve arrowed a glare at him. “Give me some credit.”

“Sorry. Of course. I’ll take another look at the real estate, focusing below Fiftieth. Check in when I’m done.”

“Good enough. Odds are shifting. Tide’s turning.”

“I believe you.” He reached out, rubbed a thumb along the shadows under her eye. “Try not to drink too much coffee.”

S
he decided that trying didn’t mean she had to succeed. Besides, how much coffee was, in actuality, too much? She sent out the description, then keyed it into IRCCA.

She’d get countless hits with a description that general, and have to take a great deal of time to cull through them. But she couldn’t leave out the step.

She began to run various probabilities. The suspect lived, worked, had ties to downtown Manhattan. The suspect frequented shops, restaurants, businesses in that sector in order to scout out targets. The suspect used various enhancements to alter his appearance during his meets with potential victims.

She ran a search of public and private parking lots and garages downtown, then began to contact owners, managers, attendants on duty.

She fought her way through a search of buildings—still standing or subsequently razed, that had housed bodies or had been used as clinics during the Urbans.

When it came through she read Newkirk’s report on the first canvass of Greenfeld’s apartment building.

Zip.

Still, she had to give Newkirk a nod for being thorough. She had names, addresses, and a detailed rundown of every conversation.

And thinking he may have come by it naturally, she flipped through her files and came up with Gil Newkirk’s contact number.

He answered swiftly, on full alert, and with a blocked video that reminded her, abruptly, of the time.

“Officer Newkirk, Lieutenant Dallas. I apologize for disturbing you so late.”

“No problem, Lieutenant. One minute.”

She waited on blue-screen hold for thirty seconds less than that. Video popped on, and she saw a square-jawed, slightly grizzled version of the young cop she’d first met on scene. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m pursuing a new line, and should tell you beforehand that your son is a solid asset to the task force. You must be proud.”

“Every day,” he agreed. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“I wonder if you can stretch your memory back, over your canvasses during the investigation nine years ago. I’m interested in a specific individual.”

She related the description.

“Nine years ago.”

“I know it’s a stretch. He may be carrying some extra weight now, and we may be looking for darker hair. But I think the white may be consistent. He may have lived or worked or had a business in the area of one or more of the incidents.”

“Talked to a lot of people back then, Lieutenant. And I wasn’t pulled in until the second murder. But if you’ll give me some time, I can look through my notes.”

“Your notes are as concise and detailed as your son’s reports?”

Gil grinned. “Taught him, didn’t I?”

“Then I’d appreciate any time you can give me on this. I’ll be at Central by oh-seven-hundred. You can reach me there, or any of my ’links, anytime. I’ll give you my contact numbers.”

He nodded. “Go ahead.” When he had them down, he nodded again. “I’ve been going over some of my notes anyway. Captain Feeney and I have had some conversations about this.”

“Yeah, I know. Feel free to contact him in lieu of me on this. Sorry to wake you.”

“Been a cop thirty-three years. Used to it.”

Another long shot, Eve thought when she ended transmission. But they were starting to pay off.

When Roarke walked in she had to struggle to focus. Her eyes wanted to give up. “Anything?”

“Nothing on the competitor search, nothing that fits cleanly.”

“How about messily?”

“A handful of men who somewhat fit the description who are, in some way, involved in the upper echelons of competitors. No real hits. And a portion of those are out of the country, or off planet. When I take them through the other locations and times, none of them coordinates. I’ve gone down a few levels—supposing one of the lower-rung employees has a hard-on against me or my organization. I’m not finding anything there. And while I was running that, I realized that’s chasing the wild goose.”

“You gotta chase it to catch it.”

“Eve, it’s not my business. It’s not even me that’s the root. It’s you.”

She blinked twice. “I—”

“No, I can see it in your face.” Temper whipped out in the words. “You’re too damn tired to pull it off. This is no surprise to you. Goddamn it to bloody hell. You’ve had this in mind for some time now, and you’ve been fobbing me off with busywork.”

“Whoa. Wait.”

He simply strode over, lifted her right out of the chair. “You’ve no right. None. You knew or you believe that he’s using me because I’m connected to you. You, who connect to him, his first spree, the first investigation.”

“Ease off.”

“I damn well won’t.”

His wrath, hot or cold, was dangerous at the best of times. Add emotional turmoil and brittle fatigue and it was deadly.

“You’d be a target. The biggest jewel in his bloody crown. You’ve had that in your head, and never said, never gave me the courtesy of telling me.”

“Don’t. I’ve had about enough of people telling me I didn’t give them courtesy. This is a murder investigation and I left my etiquette disc at the office. Ease off!”

He just drew her up until she was on her toes. “If I hadn’t been so guilty and distracted, thinking it was something I did, or was, or had that was causing him to take my people, I’d have come to this myself long before. You let me think it.”

“I don’t know if it’s me or if it’s you, but I did know—and boy are you proving it out—that if I told you this possibility, you’d go off.”

“So you lied to me.”

Her fury bloomed, so ripe and real at the accusation she had to fight, viciously, to stop herself from punching him. “I did not lie to you.”

“By omission.” He dropped her back on her feet. “I thought we trusted each other more than this.”

“Fuck it. Just fuck it.” She sat down, pressed her hands to her head. “Maybe I’m screwing up, right, left, back, forth. Feeney, you. I
do
trust you, and if I haven’t shown you that by now with every goddamn thing I have, I don’t know how else to do it.”

“Mentioning this bloody business might’ve done the job.”

“I needed to think it through. It never really occurred to me until Mira brought it up. And that was just today. I haven’t had time to
think
, goddamn it. I haven’t even run the probability yet.”

“Run it now.”