"You're thinking that's gone the way of her locket."
"We'll contact Deena on the way, and see."
***
Eve stood in the studio, hands on hips, as she studied the complicated twists and marriages of metals that formed the sculptures.
"Okay, I miscalculated this. Taking these apart's going to require specific tools. We've got them around here, but using them's another matter."
"I actually know how to use some of them."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Eve circled the tallest of the works. "Thing is, if we cut or melt or just fucking blast, we'd damage or eradicate the device. If there is indeed a device. And we need EDD or one of those handy scanners to verify that."
"The sweepers went over them."
"I'm betting it wouldn't register on a standard sweep. Even on a deeper one. A spook sweep, now that might be different. This guy sold these pieces of crap all over the world. Corporations, private residences, even government facilities."
"And if they're bugged, it's a pretty slick way of getting intel."
"Mmm." Eve kept circling, studying. "I can't see them wasting his talent. This makes sense to me. It's logical. I bet they'd have loved to have had one of these inside one of Roarke's companies. Trouble was, he didn't like the work, and even with Reva's influence he didn't pony up. Didn't matter so much, since they bugged her."
"It's going to sound paranoid, but do you think somebody's watching us now?"
"Maybe." In case, Eve offered a wide grin. Screw security and lockdowns and silent runnings. She hoped they were watching. It was time to go hand to hand.
"If they are, they'd better come out and play real soon. Unless they're sniveling cowards on top of murdering bastards and perverted peepers. I'm having these dissected. We're shutting down this floor until I do. So they'd better take a good look while they still have the chance."
She called for the elevator, stepped in. "Peabody, I don't like Carter Bissel in the wind. I want him found."
"I'll give the locals a goose."
"Do that. In person."
"Huh?"
"Go down, talk to the local PSD, interview the partner, and everyone who knew him. Get us a line on the brother. There's a reason Felicity went to see him. I want the reason."
"To Jamaica?" Peabody's voice rose three registers. "I'm going to Jamaica?"
"One of us has to stay here, work this from here. You can get this done in forty-eight, max. I don't want you skipping naked through the surf."
"Can I skip through the surf with appropriate swim wear for maybe one hour?"
It took considerable effort for Eve to keep her lips from twitching. "I don't want to hear about it. Especially since I'm sending McNab with you."
"Oh my God. I'm having the best dream."
Okay, maybe she couldn't quite stop it from twitching. "You can leave as soon as Feeney clears him. This isn't an island holiday."
"Absolutely not. But I could probably have one drink out of a coconut shell-in the line, Lieutenant, since I'll be interviewing the owner of a tiki bar."
"They'll watch you." Peabody's grin faded as Eve spoke. "Whoever's responsible for this will know when you get on the transport, when you get off. They'll know your hotel, what you have for dinner, what you have in that coconut shell. Believe that, and stay ready."
"You're sending McNab with me so he can watch my back."
"So you can watch each other's backs. I don't anticipate anyone will move on you, but I didn't anticipate anyone would move on Chloe McCoy either."
"No one could have, Dallas."
"You can always anticipate," Eve stated as she stepped off into the lobby, and turned to seal off the elevator. "If I had, she wouldn't be dead."
***
She sent Peabody off to pack and went solo to the morgue. Morris was just suiting up in his protective gear when she walked in.
He had a nice golden tan, and a trio of colorful balls dangling from a temple braid. It reminded her that he'd just returned from vacation.
"Good to see you back in the trenches," she said.
"My return would hardly be complete without a visit from my favorite murder cop. You've sent me three bodies in as many days. That's a haul, even for you."
"Let's talk about the new one."
"Haven't gotten to her yet. Even I have human limitations. You've sent her in priority one. Since it's you, I assume this poor young thing actually is priority one. Suspicious death." He looked down at Chloe. "Then, I'm always suspicious of death. Called in as a probable ST?"
"Yeah, but I'm not buying."
"No sign of force." He fixed on his goggles, bent low. Eve waited until he'd run his eyes and his gauge over the body, studied readouts and images on his screen. "No punctures, no insults. The note written in her hand?"
"It was, to the best of my knowledge."
"And she was alone, in her apartment. In her bed?"
"On the bed. The security discs show no one other than residents entering the building. There's no security floor to floor."
"Well, I'll open her up and we'll see what we see. Do you want to tell me what you're looking for?"
"I want to know what she took, or was given. The amount, the potency, the time. And I want to know fast."
"That I can do."
"How about the tox on the other two bodies-Bissel and Kade?"
"A moment." He walked over to his data center, called up the files. "Just in. It appears they'd both indulged in several ounces of champagne-French, excellent vintage. Last meal, three hours prior to death... very classy. Caviar, smoked salmon, brie, strawberries. No illegals or other chemical enhancements in the female. Small traces of Exotica in the male."
"They have sex?"
"They certainly did. At least they should have died in a jovial and satisfied frame of mind."
"Verified the murder weapon?"
"Yes. Kitchen knife, jagged-edge style. The one recovered from the scene matches the wounds inflicted."
"Zapped, stabbed."
"In that order," he agreed. "No defensive wounds. Some skin under the female's nails, that matches the other vic. Conclusion: a bit of passionate scratching, very minor, during the throes. They'd had sex, and from the positioning of the stunner marks, were likely having an encore when they were disabled. Someone was very annoyed with them."
"You'd think." She glanced back at Chloe, lying white and naked and cold on the slab. "Some people would think she got off easy."
"But we know better. I'll take care of her."
"You can reach me at home as soon as you have the results. Morris, repasscode the files on all three of these, will you? And don't let anyone else work on them."
His eyes gleamed with interest behind his goggles. "More and more interesting."
"Yeah. In fact, I'll come back and pick up the data when you're done. Don't send it."
"Now I'm fascinated. Why don't I bring it to you? That way you can offer me some of Roarke's wonderful wine while you explain."
"Works for me."
***
He'd bought time and space. That was the important thing. Nothing was going exactly as he'd planned, but he could think on his feet. He could, would, keep his head and think on his feet.
He'd thought on his feet with Chloe McCoy, hadn't he? He'd tied that right up.
The police weren't buying it, weren't buying any of it. And that made no sense. No damn sense.
He couldn't have handed them a sweeter package if he'd tied a damn ribbon around it.
Sweat wormed down his back as he prowled the well-appointed rooms that were, for now, his prison and his sanctuary. They couldn't tie him to the murders, and that was what counted. That was priority one.
The rest, he'd fix. He just needed more time.
So it was all right, for now it was all right. He was safe. And he'd figure a way out.
He had some money-not enough, not enough even now and a far cry from what he'd been promised-but it gave him some breathing room.
And no matter how maddening it was, parts of it were very exciting. He was the star of his own vid, and he was writing it as he went along. He wasn't the patsy people had taken him for, oh no, he wasn't.
He toked a little Zeus, a small reward, and felt like the king of the world.
He'd do what he had to do, and he'd be smart about it. Careful and smart.
Nobody knew where he was, or that he was.
He was going to keep it that way.
11
Roarke and Feeney stood contemplating a mixed-metal figure in the garden of the house in Queens.
"What do you think it is?" Feeney asked at length.
"I think it's female. It may be partially reptilian. It may be partially arachnid. It seems to have been built out of copper and brass and steel. Bits of iron and perhaps tin."
"Why?"
"Well, that's a question, isn't it? I imagine it's symbolic of how woman can be as sly as a snake, as cruel as a spider or some such bullshit. I believe it's unflattering to the female sex, and know it's ugly."
"I got that part, the ugly part." Feeney scratched his chin, then took out his bag of candied almonds. After dipping a hand in, he held it out for Roarke.
So they munched nuts and studied the sculpture.
"And people pay large bucks for this shit?" Feeney asked.
"They do. Indeed they do."
"I don't get that. Of course I don't know nothing about art."
"Hmm." Roarke circled the piece. "Sometimes it speaks to them on an emotional level, or an intellectual one. Whatever. That's when the piece has found the appropriate home. Other times, more often than not, the money's spent simply because the buyer feels it should speak to him, and is too idiotic or proud or afraid to admit the thing he's just paid for speaks to no one because it's, essentially, an insulting piece of crap."
Feeney pursed his lips, nodded. "I like pictures, the kind that look like what they're supposed to be. A building, a tree, a bowl of fucking fruit. Looks to me like my grandson could've put this together."
"Strangely enough, I believe it takes considerable skill and talent and vision, however odd, to create something like this."
"You say so." Feeney shrugged, but was far from convinced.
"Canny way to conceal observation devices, if that's what it's about."
"Dallas thinks so."
"And she generally knows what she's about." Roarke opened the remote scanner he and Feeney had configured. "You want to run this, or shall I?"
"Your tool." Feeney cleared his throat. "Yeah, she knows what she's about, like you said. A little nervy right now."
"Is she?"
"Hit the jammer on that thing for a minute."
Roarke lifted a brow, but complied. "Are we about to have a private conversation?"
"Yeah." And Feeney didn't relish it. "I said Dallas was a little nervy right now. About what you might do."
Roarke continued to set the gauges on the scanner. "About what?"
"About the file on her father, about what the HSO pus buckets let happen to her back in Dallas."
Roarke looked over now and saw Feeney's face was tight. Rage, he thought, and embarrassment. "She spoke to you?"
"She circled around it some. She doesn't know how much I know about it. Doesn't want to. It's not something I want to talk to her about either, if it comes to that. Since she feels the same, I didn't have to say that you'd told me."
"The two of you amaze me," Roarke replied. "You're aware of what happened to her, and with her instincts she'd know you are. But the two of you can't say the words to each other. You can't say them, though you're her father, more than that son of Satan ever was."
Feeney hunched his shoulders and stared at the mixed media ugliness of a squat toadlike creature several feet away. "Maybe that's why, and it's not the point. If she's worried enough about you going after some asshole spook, then she's plenty worried. You're not fixing anything if you twist her up."
Roarke set the scanner to analyze the dimensions, weight, and chemical contents of the sculpture. "I don't hear you saying I'm wrong to go after him. That he, or his superiors, don't deserve to pay for standing back while a child was raped, beaten, and brutalized."
"No, I'm not going to say it." Feeney folded his mouth firm, then met Roarke's eyes. "First, it'd be a fucking lie, the sort that'd burn my tongue clean off because there's part of me that'd like to give you a hand with it."
