Reunion in Death (9 page)

"Have a seat, Loopy."

"Do I know you? I don't know you."

"Have a seat anyway."

She started toward the table, her movements a mechanical jerk. Wherever she was getting her fix, Eve thought, she hadn't had one recently.

"You jonesing, Loopy? How long since you scored?"

Loopy licked her white lips. "I get my daily synthetic. Part of detox. It's the law."

"Yeah, right." Eve leaned in. "Did Julianna give you coin, so you could score the real funk inside?"

"Julianna's my friend. Do you know Julianna?"

"Yeah, we go way back."

"She went back in the world."

"That's right. She staying in touch?"

"When you see her, you tell her they must be stealing her letters, 'cause I didn't get any and she promised. We're allowed to get letters."

"Where are the letters coming from?"

"She's going to write and tell me where she is, and when I go back in the world, I'll go there, too." Her muscles jerked as she talked, as if they weren't connected to flesh and bone. But she smiled serenely.

"Tell me where she went and I'll find her for you. I'll let her know about the letters."

"She'd maybe go here, she'd maybe go there. It's a big secret."

"You ever been to New York before?"

The wasted eyes widened. "She told you?"

"Like I said, we go back. But New York's a big place. It'll be hard to find her if I don't have an address."

"She has a house, all her own. Somewhere. And she's maybe gonna do some traveling. She's going to come visit me when she comes back to Chicago."

"When's she coming back?"

"Sometime. We going shopping. New York, Chicago, New L.A." She sang the cities, like a child singing a nursery tune. "Dallas and Denver. Ride 'em cowboy."

"Did she talk about the people she was going to see? Old friends, new ones? Did she say the names, Loopy?"

"Should old acquaintance be forgot. We had a party for New Year's. There was cake. Do you know the bone man?"

"I might."

"She read me all kinds of stuff about the bone man. He lives in a big palace in the city. He has green thumbs and flowers grow out of them. She's going to visit him."

Pettibone, Eve thought. First hit. "Who else is she going to visit?"

"Oh, the sheep man and the cowboy and the Dallas dude. She has people to see, places to go."

"When she read you about the bone man, where were you?"

"It's a secret," she whispered.

"You can tell me. Julianna would want you to so I can find her and tell her about the letters."

"And the funk," Loopy said in a whisper. "She's gonna get me the funk."

"I'll tell her, but you have to tell me first."

"Okay. She had the little computer in her cage. The one that fits in your hand. She could do her work on it. She always had lots of work to do."

"I bet she did."

"Did she send you to see me? Did she send you with funk? She always got me the funk, but I'm almost out."

"I'll see what I can do for you."

Eve looked at her-the spastic muscle jerks, the ghostly skin. Rehabilitation, she thought. Mother of God.

...

By the time she met up with Feeney again, Eve was steaming. Every interview had added to the picture of Julianna Dunne, multiple murderer, waltzing her way through the system, stacking up privileges and favors, and conning, bribing, sweet-talking guards, staff, and other prisoners into doing whatever she needed or wanted to be done.

"Like they were goddamn servants," Eve exploded. "And this was her goddamn castle. She couldn't leave it, but she made certain what she wanted got in to her. A fucking PPC, Feeney. Christ knows what she sent or received on it."

"Had the office drone who worked over her buffaloed," he added. "I can guarantee she did plenty of authorized transmissions from the units in that complex. Free fricking rein."

"We get an impound warrant, can you track?"

"I already put in for one. Might be spitting in the wind, but we'll go through every one of them, see if she left a mark. Talked to her shrink-'scuze me-her emotional well-being counselor." His lips pursed on the term as if he were sucking a lemon ball. "Got an earful of early childhood trauma, acting out-nice pretty term for murder-flash points, ebbing, contrition, and Christ knows. All adds up to the head broad being convinced Dunne was successfully rehabilitated and ready to take her place as a productive member of society."

"Odds are we'll get the same song from her PO. We'll swing by and see him, check in with the locals, and get the hell out of Chicago." She blew out a breath. "Is something wrong with me, Feeney, that I look at this place and see a huge pile of bullshit being dumped on the taxpayers?"

"Must be the same thing that's wrong with me."

"But people can change, they can turn themselves around. Or be turned around. Prisons aren't just warehouses. Shouldn't be."

"They shouldn't be frigging resort hotels either. Let's get the hell out of here. Place gives me the creeps."

...

Parole Officer Otto Shultz was overweight, bucktoothed, and solved his male pattern baldness with a combover that started with a part at the tip of his left ear.

Eve imagined his civil servant salary was far from stellar, but wondered why he didn't earmark a portion of it for basic body maintenance.

He wasn't happy to see them, claimed to be very busy, murderously overworked, and tried to brush them off with promises of copies of all reports and evaluations on Julianna Dunne.

Eve would've been fine with that, if it hadn't been for the nerves she could all but smell pumping out of his pores.

"You helped pass her back out of the system, and the first thing she does is kill. I guess that's got you somewhat jittery, Otto."

"Look." He pulled out a handkerchief, mopped his pudgy face. "I followed the book. She passed all evals, followed the rules. I'm a PO, not a fortune-teller."

"I always figured most PO's have a really good bullshit barometer. How about you, Feeney?"

"Working with cons every day, hearing all the stories, the excuses, the crapola." Lips pursed, he nodded. "Yep, I gotta figure a PO with any experience is going smell out the bs."

"She aced all the tests," Otto began.

"Wouldn't be the first to know how to maneuver the techs and questions and machines. Where'd she bang you, Otto?" Eve asked pleasantly. "Here in the office, or did she get you to take her home with you?"

"You can't sit there and accuse me of having a sexual relationship with a client."

"Client, Christ. These politically correct terms are starting to piss me off. I'm not accusing you, Otto." Eve leaned forward. "I know you fucked her. I don't really give a damn, and I'm not interested in reporting that fact to your superiors. She's a piece of work and you'd have been child's play for her. You can be grateful she just wanted you to help push her through, and didn't want you dead."

"She passed the tests," he said and his voice shook. "She didn't make waves. Her slate was clean. I believed her. I'm not the only one who believed her, so don't dump this on me. We've got scum oozing through here every day, and the law says if they don't blow their parole obligations, we funnel them back into society. Julianna wasn't scum. She was... different."

"Yeah." Disgusted, Eve got to her feet. "She's different."

...

The first breath of fresh air of the day came in a crowded, dingy diner that smelled of badly fried food. The place was jammed with cops, and across the little table, Lieutenant Frank Boyle and Captain Robert Spindler chowed down on turkey sandwiches the size of Hawaii.

"Julianna." Spindler dabbed a condiment masquerading as mayo off his bottom lip. "Face of an angel, soul of a shark. Coldest, meanest bitch I ever met."

"You're forgetting my first wife," Boyle reminded him. "Hard to believe we're back here, the four of us, damn near ten years later." Boyle had a cheerful Irish face, until you looked in his eyes. They were hard and flat, and just a little scary.

Eve could see the signs of too much drinking, too much brooding in the red puffiness in his jowls, the souring droop of his mouth.

"We put out feelers," Spindler continued. "Fed the media, bumped up her old contacts. We've got nothing new on her." He'd kept his looks, militarily clean-cut, trim, authoritative. "We've got nothing on her, nothing to indicate she's blown our way. I went to her parole hearing," he continued. "Made a personal pitch that she be denied. Brought case files, documentation. Got nowhere. She sat there, like a perfect lady, eyes downcast, hands folded, the faintest glimmer of tears. If I didn't know her like I know her, I might've bought the act myself."

"You know anything about a funky junkie inside? Lois Loop?"

"Doesn't ring," Spindler said.

"She was Julianna's gofer, sounding board, slave. Whatever. She was starting to jones when I interviewed her. I got some info, but she may have more. Maybe you can work her again. She told me Julianna was going to New York to see the bone man. Pettibone. And there was a sheep man. Can you think of anyone who fits her standard target who has sheep in his name?"

Both Boyle and Spindler shook their heads. "But we'll run it through," Spindler promised. "See what pops."

"Also a cowboy and the Dallas dude."

"Sounds like she's thinking of heading down to Texas and paying a call on her stepfather." Boyle took another enormous bite of his sandwich. "Unless you're the Dallas, and she's looking at your dude."

Eve ignored the clutching in her stomach. "Yeah, that's occurred. We'll notify Dallas PSD. I can take care of my own dude. New L.A. and Denver were other cities this Loopy remembered. I'm betting if her mind was clearer, she'd remember more."

"I'll take a pass at her." Boyle glanced at Spindler. "If that suits you... Captain."

"Likes to remind me I got the bars. Not much more we can do for you. Frankly, I'd like to see you take her down in New York. I'd miss the party, but fuck if I want her dropped back in Dockport."

...

She was back in New York by five, and opted to head home instead of swinging into Central. She'd work there and reassure herself of Roarke's safety.

He didn't fit target profile, she reminded herself. He was too young, had no ex-wife. But he also had a wife who'd played a large part in bringing Julianna down.

She was nearly home when she made an impulsive detour and headed to Dr. Mira's.

She parked in a loading zone a half block down, flipped on her on duty light, then jogged to the dignified old brownstone. There were soft pink and white flowers in pale blue pots cheering up the entrance. A woman one door up led out an enormous dog with long golden hair decorated with red bows. It sent Eve a friendly woof, then pranced away with its owner as if they were off to a parade.

On the other side, a trio of boys burst outside, whooping like maniacs. Each carried a fluorescent airboard and zipped away down the sidewalk like rockets off a launch pad.

A man in a business suit with a palm-link stuck to his ear had to dodge clear, but rather than shouting or shaking a fist after them, he only chuckled, kept talking as he turned toward the door of another townhouse.

One more side of New York, Eve thought. The friendly, upper class neighborhood. In all probability people actually knew each other's name on this block. Got together now and then for cocktails, herded kids or grandchildren down to the park in groups, and stopped to chat on doorsteps.

It was exactly the sort of milieu that suited Dr. Charlotte Mira.

Eve turned to the door, rang the bell. Then immediately changed her mind. She had no business busting in on Mira's home time. She'd actually stepped back, thinking retreat, when the door opened.

She recognized Mira's husband though they'd rarely had personal contact. He was tall and gangly, a kind of comfortable scarecrow in a baggy cardigan and wrinkled slacks. His hair was pewter, a wild, interesting mop tangled around a long face that was somehow both scholarly and innocent.

He carried a pipe, and his sweater was misbuttoned.

He smiled, his eyes, the color of winter grass, puzzled. "Hello. How are you?"

"Ah. Fine. I'm sorry, Mr. Mira, I shouldn't be disturbing you at home. I was just-"

"You're Eve." His face cleared, warmed. "It takes me a minute. Recognized your voice. Come in, come in."

"Actually, I should-"

But he reached out, gripped her hand, and pulled her in the door. "Didn't realize you were coming by. Can't keep track. Charlie!" He shouted toward the steps. "Your Eve's here."

The protest died in Eve's throat at the idea of the elegant Mira being called Charlie.

"Come sit down. I think I was fixing drinks. Mind wanders. Drives Charlie crazy. Ha-ha."

"I'm interrupting. I'll just see Dr. Mira tomorrow."

"Yes, there's the wine. I was sure I brought it in. I'm sorry, help me out. Are we having dinner?"

He was still holding her hand, and she could find no polite way to tug free. And he was smiling at her with such amiable confusion and humor, she fell just a little bit in love.

"No, you weren't expecting me at all."

"Then what a nice surprise."

CHAPTER 8

Before she could respond, Mira rushed in and Eve experienced yet another shock at seeing the consistently elegant Mira in an oversized white T-shirt and black skin-pants. Her feet were bare, the nails painted a pretty candy pink.

"Dennis? Who did you say... Why, Eve."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I was on my way home, and I... I apologize for disturbing you at home. I'll just, ah, contact your office in the morning."

It was rare, Mira thought, to see Eve flustered. "We're not the least disturbed. Are we having wine, Dennis?"

"Are we?" He looked baffled again, then stared down at the bottle in his hand. "Oh. Yes, we are. I'll get another glass."

"No, please. Don't bother. I shouldn't be here. I should go."

"Don't be silly." Mira smiled at her. "Sit down. If you're on duty, we can offer you something soft rather than wine."

"No, I'm off, but-"

"Good." She crossed the room, pausing to rebutton her husband's cardigan with such simple intimacy that it made Eve feel more like an intruder than if they'd exchanged a wet, sloppy kiss. Mira chose another glass herself from a display cabinet, then simply laid a hand on Eve's shoulder to nudge her into a chair.

So Eve found herself sitting in Mira's pretty, colorful living room accepting a glass of wine.

"How was your vacation?" Mira began.

"Good. It was good."

"You look rested."

"Yeah, well, I played slug half the time."

"You needed it. Both you and Roarke. He's well, I trust."

"Yes." Eve shifted in her chair. "He's okay." And she meant to keep him that way.

Mira sipped wine, inclined her head toward her husband. "I often discuss aspects of cases with Dennis, but if you'd prefer we can talk upstairs in my office."

"No, I don't want to muck up your home time. I've got no right bringing a case into your living room. Anyway, you haven't had time to read through the data."

"But I have."

"What do you-" Eve cut herself off. "Then I'll call your office in the morning and make an appointment."

"Relax, Eve. We'll talk now. You wouldn't have come by this way if it wasn't important. And I'm pleased you felt comfortable enough, even momentarily, to do so. There was a time, not so long ago, you wouldn't have considered it."

"I've always respected your abilities, Dr. Mira."

"Respect and comfort are different matters. You're here about Julianna Dunne."

"Evil," Dennis Mira said to no one in particular, "comes in all forms, and often alluring ones." He turned suddenly clear, suddenly intense eyes on Eve. "Do you believe in evil?"

"Yes."

"Good. You can't stop it if you don't believe in it."

"Dennis is skilled at fining down a point to its most elemental level. It's helpful to me."

Mira sipped her wine again, then set it aside on a little round table before she continued. "Julianna Dunne was thoroughly tested, evaluated, examined before and during her trial. The opinion of the experts called in for these purposes was that the subject had suffered the trauma of sexual abuse by a family member, which had damaged her both mentally and emotionally. In this diminished capacity, she, as an adult, sought out other men who represented her abuser. She then punished this representative as she had been unable to punish the man who had harmed her."

She paused to tuck her pretty, shapely legs under her. "With the cold calculation of the murders and her profit from them, the defense was unable to negotiate a term in a mental health center, nor could they convince a jury that the subject was innocent, completely innocent, due to this diminished capacity. They were, however, able to keep their client out of a life sentence."

"I'd prefer your take on her to the initial profiler."

"Then here it is. In my opinion, given the data, the experts were incorrect in their evaluations and conclusions. Julianna Dunne wasn't operating under diminished capacity, not in any legal sense. She played the game perfectly," Mira continued. "Her answers were exactly right, as were her reactions, her gestures, her tone. And that was her mistake, one those who worked with her overlooked. That sort of perfection has to be calculated. She's a liar, but she's an excellent one."

"She was never raped as a teenager." Eve leaned forward, "She's not haunted, or hunted. There's no pain, no fear, no rage inside her."

Mira reached out, closed her hand over Eve's briefly. She knew they couldn't speak of Eve's childhood with Dennis in the room. "My opinion is, and I would have to test her personally to be certain, that the sexual relationship was consensual. To Julianna, sex is a weapon. Man is the enemy. It's unlikely she enjoys the sexual experience. It's a job, a means to an end. And the man's enjoyment of it, of her body, a matter of both pride and disgust."

"Why didn't she turn to women, sexually?"

"She has more respect for them, as a species. And again, sex isn't an interest. She doesn't look for pleasure there. Her pleasure comes from causing pain, humiliation, from conquering and gathering the spoils."

"If I may." Dennis spread his hands, catching Eve's attention. He'd been so quiet and still, she'd all but forgotten him. "Men aren't opponents," he said. "They're victims. She needs victims in order to thrive."

"She sets out to attract them," Eve agreed. "The way you would some sort of prey. She becomes what attracts them, sliding into a personality like you might a new suit. An older man, one who has grown tired or dissatisfied or just bored with his wife, his family, his sex life is the perfect target. More easily attracted to beauty, more easily duped."

"A man of a certain age is bound to be flattered by the romantic attentions of a younger and beautiful woman. Each gender has its weak points."

"She practiced on her stepfather. She did the seducing there," Eve stated. "Sharpening her skills. He didn't testify at her trial. Prosecution couldn't take the chance of calling him, letting the jury see him. But the defense should have trotted him out. Look here, this man forced himself on this poor, innocent young girl. She was helpless, trapped. He was her father, she should have been safe with him. Instead he took her innocence, left her damaged. If anyone's responsible for the deaths, he is."

"She couldn't afford to let them call him in, under oath," Mira said. "And there she'd have dug in her heels. You'll want to talk to him yourself."

"He's in Texas. In Dallas."

"Yes, I know." Mira eyes spoke a million words. "I saw the data. Can you go?"

Not will you, Eve thought. Can you. "I don't know. I don't know," she repeated.

Mira reached out, touched her husband's hand. "Dennis" was all she said, and he unfolded the gangly length of him and got to his feet.

"If you ladies will excuse me, I've got something or other to do. You were right about her, Charlie." He leaned over to touch his lips to the top of Mira's head, then stroked a long, narrow hand over the sweep of her glossy brown hair. "But then, you always are. Nice seeing you, Eve. Don't be a stranger."

"You didn't have to send him away," Eve said when he wandered out of the room. "This isn't about me."

"Look at me. Look at me, Eve." Mira set down her glass, gripped one of Eve's hands in both of hers. "If you're not ready to go back to Dallas, send for him. Have him come here."

"I've got no cause and no authority to bring Jake Parker to New York."

"Then do the interview via 'link or holographies."

"You know it has to be done face-to-face if I'm going to push him to tell me what happened, how it happened, what she did, who she was. He's not going to want to go there. There's also a possibility from data I gathered today that he may be a target. I have to go, and I don't know if I can handle it."

"I'll go with you."

For a moment Eve could only stare, and as she stared her vision blurred. She had to stand up, turn away. "Jesus."

"I can help you, Eve. I want to. For a long time you wouldn't let me get close; you resented me. But that's changed."

"I didn't resent you. You scared the shit out of me. People who scare me piss me off."

"I'm glad I don't scare you anymore."

"Sometimes you do." She swiped the back of her hand under her nose, then turned back. "I'm not ready, or not willing to take all that was into what's now. It comes in pieces, and the pieces are getting bigger. 1 don't know what's going to happen to me when the picture's all there. But when I'm ready, I'll come to you. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Anyway." She had to take a couple of steadying breaths. "Like I said, this isn't about me. Feeney and I went to Dockport today."

She sat again, filled Mira in on the rest of the details.

"You think she may target Roarke. I wish I could tell you your instincts are wrong."

A fist jammed in Eve's throat, another clenched in her gut. "Why would she? He doesn't fit her target profile."

"Because he's yours. What Dennis said about men not being her opponents is accurate. But women are opponents, companions, tools, competitors. Her feelings toward them would have been enhanced and refined over her time in a women's correctional facility. Of the primary officers who brought about her arrest, you were the only female. The only one she asked to speak with personally. You bested her, and that impressed her. She wanted your respect and you refused to give it. It's logical that given the opportunity, she'd want a rematch, not just because you stopped her, but because you dismissed her. It answers why New York."

"And why she's still here. I know she's still here. She's cut out a step in her past procedure. She doesn't bother with the affair, the marriage. She won't try to seduce him. But if she is sighting Roarke, she'll be working out a way to get to him."

She pushed out of the chair again, jammed her hands in her pockets and paced. "Damn it, you know what's going to happen now. I'm going to go home, tell Roarke, demand he increase security and add police protection. He'll balk, tell me he can protect himself. Blah, blah, blah. Then we'll have a fight." She sighed. "Well, we haven't had a fight in a while. I guess we're due."

"If you're afraid for him, let him see it."

"I know he can take care of himself. But it doesn't stop me from worrying about him."

"I imagine he has the same conflict about you, every time you walk out of the house with that weapon strapped to your side. Whether or not you fight about it, you'll find a way to work through it together. That's marriage."

"A lot of marriage is a pain in the ass."

"Oh, it certainly is."

"You fixed his buttons," Eve murmured.

"What?"

Surprised she'd spoken aloud, Eve stopped and very nearly flushed. "Nothing."

"Buttons? What-Oh! Dennis's sweater." Mira pressed a hand to her heart and laughed. "Yes, I suppose I did. He never pays attention to his clothes or to mine, for that matter. It still annoys me when I have a new outfit, look particularly good, and he doesn't see it."

"I like him."

"So do I."

"I'll let you two get back to... things. Tell him thanks for the wine. I appreciate you taking the time like this."

"You're always welcome here." She rose to walk Eve out.

"Dr. Mira?"

"Yes?"

"What did your husband mean, that you were right about me?"

"He could have meant any number of things, but under those circumstances, I believe he meant I was right when I described you as brilliant, complicated, and valiant. Now I've embarrassed you." Gently, Mira touched her lips to Eve's cheek. "Go home and fight with Roarke."

...

She didn't want to fight. She just wanted him to fall into line for a change. Since the chances of that were nil, she outlined a couple of approaches on the drive home.

But when she walked into the house, there was a party going on.

She heard music, laughter, voices, and immediately felt her temples throb at the prospect of having to deal with people. Even the sound of her well-loved friend Mavis's wild giggles didn't stop the headache from coming on.

She imagined herself sneaking upstairs like a thief and hiding in a dark room with a locked door.

Valiant, my ass, she thought.

She took one cautious step toward the stairs when Summerset slithered into the foyer and caught her.

"Lieutenant. You have guests."

"What, am I deaf?"

"Perhaps your hearing is defective as you were going in the opposite direction from the gathering in the parlor."

"Maybe I was just going upstairs to change or something." Because she knew it was weak, because he simply stood with that saber-thin sneer on his cadaverous face, she hunched her shoulders. "Oh, bite me," she muttered and headed into the parlor.

"There she is!" Mavis spun across the room, a little whirlwind with bunches of purple flowers arranged in strategic points over her body. Her hair was moonbeam silver tonight, with more flowers bursting out of it. She gave Eve an enthusiastic hug, then bounced on silver shoes with four-inch flower stalk heels.

"Leonardo and I were heading down to the Down and Dirty for some action, and swung by to see if you and Roarke were up for it. And look who we found." She spun around to grin at Phoebe and Sam. "I tagged Peabody, and she and McNab are going to meet us at the D and D. Roarke said maybe you wouldn't get home in time, but here you are."

"Here I am. I've got work, Mavis."

"Hey, take a couple hours to rock." She pulled Eve into the room. "Start with my zinger. Leonardo, baby doll, where'd I put my zinger?"

At six and a half feet, the golden skinned love of Mavis's life was nothing like a baby doll. He was bare-chested but for a red satin X across his pecs that seemed to be holding up the fluid, shimmering pants that flowed from his waist to the toes of his red, crisscrossing sandals. Ruby studs forming a chevron at the corner of his left eye winked as he grinned and passed Mavis her glass.

"Good to see you, Dallas." He bent down, gave her one of his shy, butterfly kisses. "I'll get you a fresh zinger if you want."

"I'll pass, but thanks." She shot Roarke a grateful look when he turned down the volume of the music. "Sorry I'm later than I planned," she told him. "I had a stop to make on the way home."