Promises in Death (9 page)

She plugged it into her machine, ordered it to display.

The text was bold font, all caps.

 

“Let’s log them in,” Eve said coolly. “And have a little chat with the messenger. Baxter, you and Trueheart take the mail drop.”

“I’ll grab the boy and go.”

“Peabody, with me.”

AS EVE DROVE HOME, SHE WONDERED IF COLtraine’s killer understood the full import of having the weapons and the badge back in official hands. Despite the insult of the message, and its implicit threat, their return meant a great deal.

A cop’s weapon wouldn’t be used to do harm.

An in-your-face gesture, sure, Eve reflected, and with a smirk.
I took it, I used it, here you go.

The messenger wasn’t connected. The kid had just been doing his job. She’d leaned on him pretty hard, Eve admitted, pushed, prodded, maybe scared a few weeks off his life. But now she was sure he wasn’t in on it.

The mail drop led nowhere. Bogus name and address on the receipt, prepaid, comp-generated form the killer could have picked up at any of hundreds of locations at any time, or, in fact, downloaded on his own unit or at any cyber-café.

All she had there was the location of the drop, and the time the package was retrieved and logged in.

Same-day drop, expedited delivery ordered and paid for.

He’d been prepared, she thought now. Prepared to move on it as soon as the media ran with the story and reported the murder—and the name of the primary investigating officer. Fill in her name, dump the package, go.

That told her it had always been part of the plan. Not just the in-your-face shipment to Cop Central, but the use of Coltraine’s weapon against her. The entire setup was all planned in steps and stages.

And that was something to chew on.

She thought of Morris, what he was doing, how he was coping, when she turned through the gates toward home. The spring she’d nearly forgotten about during the long day, exploded here. White and pink blossoms shimmered on the trees, glowing like chains of pastel jewels against the twilight.

Cheerful heads of daffodils danced with the more elegant cups of tulips in cheerfully elaborate sweeps. It seemed to her as if some happy artist had dabbed and stroked and twirled all his joy across this one secluded slice of the city, spilling it out here so the grand house could rise through it.

The towers and turrets speared up into the deepening sky, the terraces and strong lines jutted out. The lights in the many windows welcomed her, and sent the rich stone to a sparkle as evening shifted toward night.

She left her humble vehicle at the foot of grandeur, walked between the pansies Roarke had planted for her—that blooming welcome home—and into the house.

Summerset wasn’t lurking in the foyer like a black cloud over a sunny spring day. It threw her off-stride for an instant not to immediately confront Roarke’s majordomo and her personal nemesis. But she heard the voices from the main parlor and realized he was probably serving somebody something.

And instantly thought:
Crap. Who’s here?

She considered skulking up the stairs, closing herself in her office. But security would have already registered her coming through the gates. Stuck, she crossed the foyer to the parlor.

She saw Roarke first—it occurred to her she almost always did. He sat in one of the rich-toned, high-backed chairs looking relaxed, amused. At home.

Despite, she realized with a jolt, the baby in his lap.

Several things tumbled into her brain at once. Her friend Mavis’s happy giggle, Leonardo’s contented smile as he lifted his wife’s hand to kiss her fingers. Summerset’s skinny, black-clad presence, and the big grin—scary, she thought—on his bony face as the fat cat squatted at his feet.

And the baby, Bella Eve, all pink and white and gold.

Lastly, the memory struck that they’d made plans to have Mavis and her family over for dinner.

Crap again.

“Hey.” She stepped in. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Dallas!” A bundle of color and cheer with her artfully tangled pink-tipped blond curls, Mavis bounced up.

She tended to bounce, Eve thought, as Mavis hurried over in towering, triangular-shaped heels covered with rainbow zigzags. The bounce sent the green-and-pink diamond pattern of her microskirt fluttering. She wrapped Eve in a hug, then just beamed pleasure out of eyes currently the same sharp green as her skirt.

Thank God Mavis hadn’t gone for the pink there, too.

“You missed the
best
time. We ate like oinkers, and Belle showed everybody how she can roll over, and shake her rattle.”

“Wow,” was all Eve could think of.

Leonardo started over. He was big where Mavis was tiny, copper-skinned where his wife was rosy pale. And together, Eve had to admit, they looked pretty damn perfect.

He leaned down, kissed Eve’s cheek. The sausage twists of hair in the style he was currently sporting brushed her skin like silk. “We missed you.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Not a thing.” Mavis gave Eve’s arm a squeeze. “We know how complete the job is. Come see the baby!”

Mavis dragged her across the room. It wasn’t that she was reluctant to see Belle, Eve told herself. Exactly. It was just that the baby looked so perfect—like a doll. And dolls were just freaky.

She looked at Roarke first, saw his amusement had increased. “Welcome home, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah.” She might have kissed him—more as apology than greeting—but that meant leaning over the perfect pink-and-gold doll with its big, bright staring eyes.

“You haven’t greeted all our guests.” Smoothly, so smoothly she didn’t see it coming, he rose and plunked the baby into her arms.

Eve managed to choke back a curse so the sound she made was more of a raw-throated squeak. She held Belle at arm’s length, much as she might a potentially incendiary device. “Ah, hi. Nice dress.”

The fact that it was pink and full and fluffy had hidden the tiny reality under it. How could anything that small be human? And what went on inside its brain when it stared that way? Stared until a thin line of sweat crept down your back?

Not sure what to do next, Eve started to turn—very slowly—to pass the baby to Mavis, Leonardo. Even Summerset. Possibly the cat. When Belle blinked those big baby-doll eyes, and shot out a huge, gummy grin.

She kicked her legs, waved her pink rattle, and made some sort of gooing, cooing sound.

Slightly less scary that way, especially with the drool sliding down her chin. And damned if she wasn’t ridiculously cute. Eve bent her elbows a fraction, gave the baby a small, experimental bounce. And something white bubbled out of her grinning mouth.

“What is that? What did I do? Did I push something?”

“It’s just a little milk puke.” Laughing, Mavis dabbed Belle’s mouth with a tiny pink cloth. “She ate like an oinker, too.”

“Okay. Well. Here you go.” She held the baby out to Mavis.

As Mavis took Belle, Leonardo whipped out a larger pink cloth—like a magician—and draped it over Mavis’s shoulder.

“Lieutenant.”

Summerset’s voice had Eve’s shoulders tightening. Here it comes, she thought. He’d ooze his disapproval all over her—like milk puke—because she’d forgotten they were having company and missed dinner.

She braced for it, ran several snarling responses through her brain, and turned. He simply handed her a glass of wine. “I’ll bring your meal in here.”

Her eyes stayed narrowed as she watched him leave the room. “That’s it? That’s all? Is he sick or something?”

“He knows why you’re late,” Roarke said. “That you’re investigating the murder of a fellow officer. Give him some credit.”

She frowned into her wine, drank some. “Do I have to?”

Since it was obvious she couldn’t head straight up to work, she sat on the arm of Roarke’s chair. “Anyway, I left you a message about being late. I remembered to do that. I get credit, too.”

“So noted.” Roarke rubbed a hand on her thigh. “Progress?”

“Not much. It’s hard enough when it’s another cop. But having to tell Morris, seeing his face . . .”

“Morris?”

“They had a thing, Morris and Coltraine—the vic. A serious thing.”

“Oh. No.” Mavis clutched Belle tighter. “This was Ammy? The woman he’s been seeing? We never turned the screen on today, never heard. Roarke just told us you’d caught a case, a cop killer. We didn’t know it was . . . Oh, Leonardo.”

He put his arm around her, drew both his girls closer. “This is . . . horrible. We ran into them at a club one night, sat down with them. You could see how much they . . . It was there between them,” Leonardo said with sorrow in his gilted eyes. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. Is there anything we can do for him?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“We only met her that one time.” A tear slid down Mavis’s cheek before she pressed it to the top of Belle’s head. “She seemed so up, and they were so into each other. Total vibe, total sparkage. Remember, honey-pot, how I said after they were just gone squared over each other.”

“I remember.”

“It’s good it’s you.” Mavis firmed her chin, patted Belle’s back. “You’ll find the bastard who did it. Morris knows that. We’re going to leave so you can do the cop stuff. If there’s anything—you know, stuff I know how to do—you just tag me. I’m there.”

They began to transfer Belle into her carrier as Summerset walked in with a tray. “You’re leaving.”

“Bellissimo needs to go night-night.” Mavis rose on her rainbow tip-toes to kiss Summerset’s cheek. “We’ll be back—us girls—for the big bash. A bridal shower and all that girl stuff’s just what we all need. And you guys.” She elbowed her husband. “Zipping off to Vegas for the man party.”

“Vegas?” Eve blinked. “Huh?”

“My duties as best man,” Roarke told her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

When she was alone with Roarke, the wine, and an elegantly arranged plate of food, she frowned. “Why do you have to go all the way to Las Vegas—shit, you do mean Las Vegas, right? You’re not going off planet to Vegas II.”

“No, we’re going to the original.”

“But, what if I need help with all those women? I don’t even know what they’re planning because Peabody and Nadine are doing all that, so what if—”

“You could easily find out the plans instead of pretending it won’t actually happen. And you’ll be just fine. They’re your friends.” He tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

“I’m going to take it up, eat at my desk.”

“Fine. Then you can tell me what happened to Morris’s lady, and what I can do to help you find her killer. He’s my friend, too,” Roarke added.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She gave in for a moment, moved into him, dropped her forehead on his shoulder. “God. Oh, God, it was horrible. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It made me sick inside, just sick to knock on his door. To know I was about to break a friend in two. I have to find the answers for him. It’s more than the job.”

“It is, yes.” He held her close and tight, and as Mavis had with Belle, rested his cheek on her head. Battled back his own fears. “Whatever you need from me.”

She nodded, drew back. “Let’s take it upstairs. It always helps me see things clearer, or from other angles, when I run the case by you.”

They started up. “Tell me a little about her first. Did you know her well?”

“No. I ran into her a couple of times at the morgue. She transferred here a few months ago. From Atlanta. Mavis had it—the vibe thing. He was in love with her, Roarke, and with everything I’ve learned since this morning, she felt the same about him. I get that she was a good cop, detail-oriented. She didn’t live the job.” She glanced over at him. “I guess you get what I mean by that.”

He smiled a little. “I do.”

“Organized, feminine. She had eight years on the job. No big flash in her jacket, no big lows. Steady. People liked her, a lot. Her squad, her main weasel, hell, the woman who owns the Chinese place where she ordered her takeout. I can’t figure out what she did, who she twisted, to be targeted like this.”

“It was target specific?”

“Yeah.” In her office, she sat behind her desk, told him the details while she ate.

“The locks were checked for tampering?”

“Yeah, and they say no. Could’ve used a master, could be another tenant in the same building. Could have managed to dupe her key card, or someone else’s in the building. Or he could be as good as you, and didn’t leave a trace.”

“She was taken down with a stunner,” Roarke mused. “They’re not easy to come by, and very pricey. Could he have disarmed her first and used her own weapon both times?”

“It doesn’t play. No defensive wounds, and other than the kill burns, and the bumps on the back of her head, her shoulder blades, no offensive wounds. No cop turns over her weapon like that, not even to someone she knows.”

“You’d give yours to me,” he pointed out. “If I asked to see it for a moment, you’d give it to me.”

Eve considered that. “Okay, maybe she would, to someone she was really tight with. But it still doesn’t stream that way for me. She was heading out, sidearm and clutch piece. Taking the stairs, because she always did. That’s a setup. And it had to be done fast and smooth. No time to ask her nice if she’d let you hold her stunner.”

She pushed up, began to pace. After, Roarke noted, she’d eaten only half her meal. “We ran all the tenants. Got a few criminal pops, but nothing major. We’ll interview everyone again who came up with any sort of a sheet, but I have to ask myself why she’d be going out, armed, to meet one of her neighbors.”

“She might have been using the stairs simply to get to one of the other floors rather than the exit.”