Immortal in Death

CHAPTER SIX

"So, how do you want to play it?" Feeney pursed his lips, studied the tiny camera in the corner of the elevator on the way up. "The standard good cop/bad cop?"

"Funny how it always works."

"Civilians are easy marks."

"Let's start with the sorry to bother you, appreciate your cooperation sort of thing. If we get a sense he's playing games, we can shift gears."

"If we do, I want to be the bad cop."

"You're a lousy bad cop, Feeney. Face it."

He gave her a mournful look. "I outrank you, Dallas."

"I'm primary, and I'm better at bad cop. Live with it."

"I always have to be the good cop," he muttered as they stepped into a well-lighted hallway with more marble, more gilt.

Justin Young opened the opposing door with perfect timing. And, Eve thought, he'd dressed for the part of the well-to-do yet cooperative witness in casual, expensive, buff linen slacks and a drapey silk shirt of the same tone. On his feet were trendy sandals with thick soles and intricate beading over the instep.

"Lieutenant Dallas, Captain Feeney." His beautifully sculpted face was in serious lines, the killer black eyes sober and a dramatic contrast to a wavy mane of hair the same color as the gilt in the hallway. He offered a hand adorned with a wide ring studded with onyx. "Please come in."

"Thank you for agreeing to see us so quickly, Mr. Young." Perhaps her eye had become jaded, but Eve's initial scan of the room left her thinking. Overdone, overwrought, and overexpensive.

"It's such a tragedy, such a horror." He gestured them in toward a huge L-shaped sofa jammed with pillows in wild colors and slick fabrics. Across the room, a meditation screen was programmed to a tropical beach at sunset. "It's almost impossible to believe she could be dead, much less that she died in such a sudden and violent way."

"We're sorry to intrude," Feeney began, prepping for his good cop role while he struggled not to gape at all the tassels and stained glass. "This must be a difficult time for you."

"It is. Pandora and I were friends. Can I offer you something?" He sat, elegant and slim, in a wing chair that could have swallowed a small child.

"No, thank you." Eve tried to wiggle her way back among the mountain of cushions.

"I will, if you don't mind. I've been living on little more than nerves since I heard the news." Leaning forward, he pressed a small button on the table between them. "Coffee, please. One." Settling back, he smiled a little. "You'll want to know where I was when she died. I've done a number of police vehicles in my career. Played the cop, the suspect, even the victim in my early days. With my image, I've always been innocent."

He flicked a glance up as a domestic droid, dressed, Eve noted with horrified amusement, in the classic French maid's uniform, carried in a glass tray topped with a single cup and saucer. Justin took the cup from it, used both hands to bring it to his lips.

"The media hasn't stated exactly when Pandora was killed, but I believe I can give you my movements for the entire evening. I was with her, at a small party at her home until about midnight. Jerry and I – Jerry Fitzgerald – left together, and went to have a drink at a nearby private club. Ennui. It's very in right now, and it pays for both of us to be seen. I imagine it was one or so when we left. We considered doing a bit of club hopping, but I confess, we'd both had enough to drink, and enough socializing. We came here, stayed here together until about ten the next morning. Jerry had an assignment. It wasn't until she'd left and I was having my first cup of coffee that I turned on the news and heard about Pandora."

"That certainly covers the evening," Eve said. He'd recited it all, she thought, as though it was a well-staged play. "We'll need to speak to Ms. Fitzgerald to verify."

"Certainly. Would you like to do so now? She's in the relaxation room. Pandora's death has left her a bit rattled."

"Let's let her relax a bit longer," Eve suggested. "You said you and Pandora were friends. Were you lovers?"

"Now and again, nothing serious. It was more that we ran in the same circles. And to be brutally honest at such a time, Pandora preferred men who were easily dominated, intimidated." He flashed a smile as if to show he was neither. "She preferred affairs with those who were striving rather than those who had attained success. She rarely enjoyed sharing the spotlight."

Feeney picked up the rhythm. "Who was she involved with, romantically, at the time of her death?"

"There were a few, I believe. Someone I think she'd met on Starlight Station – an entrepreneur, she called him, but with a sarcastic tone. This up-and-coming designer Jerry tells me is brilliant. Michelangelo, Puccini, Leonardo. Something of the kind. Paul Redford, the video producer who joined us that night."

He took a sip of his coffee, then blinked. "Leonardo. Yes, it was Leonardo. There was some sort of tiff there. A woman came by the house while we were there. They fought over him. An old-fashioned catfight. It would have been amusing if it hadn't been so embarrassing for everyone involved."

He spread his elegant fingers, looked mildly amused despite his statement. Well done, Eve thought. Well rehearsed, good timing, lines professionally punched.

"It took Paul and I both to separate them."

"The woman came to Pandora's home and attacked her, physically?" Eve asked in carefully neutral tones.

"Oh no, not at all. The poor thing was devastated, pleading. Pandora called her a few vile names and hit her." Justin demonstrated by making a fist, jerking it. "Really socked her. The woman was small, but she was game. Scrambled right up and plowed in. After that it was wrestling and hair pulling, scratching. The woman was bleeding some when she left. Pandora had lethal nails."

"Pandora scratched the woman's face?"

"No. Though I'm sure she was going to have quite a bruise. It was her neck as I recall. Four long, nasty scratches on the side of the neck where Pandora raked her. The woman, I'm afraid I don't know her name. Pandora just called her bitch, and varieties of the same. She was trying not to cry when she left, and told Pandora, quite dramatically, that Pandora would be sorry for what she'd done. Then I'm afraid she ruined her exit by sniffling and claiming that love conquers all."

It sounded just like Mavis, Eve thought. "And after she left, how did Pandora behave?"

"She was furious, overexcitable. That's why Jerry and I left early."

"And Paul Redford?"

"He stayed; I can't say how long." With a sigh that signaled regret, Justin set his coffee aside. "It's unfair to say anything negative about Pandora when she can't defend herself, but she was hard, very often abrasive. Cross her, and you paid."

"And did you ever cross her, Mr. Young?"

"I was careful not to." He smiled charmingly. "I enjoy my career and my looks, Lieutenant. Pandora was no threat to the first, but I'd seen and heard of her doing some damage to faces when annoyed. Believe me, she didn't wear her manicure like knives just for fashion."

"She had enemies."

"Plenty of them, most of whom were terrified of her. I can't imagine who might have finally snapped and struck back at her. And from the news reports I've heard, I can't believe even Pandora deserved to die so brutally."

"We appreciate your candor, Mr. Young. If it's convenient, we'd like to speak with Ms. Fitzgerald now. Alone."

He lifted a slim, elegant brow. "Yes, of course. No coordinating stories."

Eve only smiled. "You've had plenty of time to do that already. But we'd like to speak to her alone."

She had the pleasure of seeing his smooth facade shaken a bit by her statement. Still, he rose and walked toward a connecting corridor.

"What do you think?" Feeney muttered.

"I think it was a hell of a performance."

"We're on wavelength there. Still, if he and Fitzgerald were ripping up the sheets all night, it keeps him in the clear."

"They alibi each other, it keeps them both in the clear. We'll get the security discs from building management, check what time they came in. See if they went out again."

"I never trust those, not since the DeBlass case."

"If they diddled with the discs, you'll see it." She glanced up at the sound of Feeney sucking in his breath. His hangdog face had gone terrier bright. His eyes were glazed. After a glimpse at Jerry Fitzgerald's entrance, Eve wondered why Feeney's tongue wasn't hanging out.

She was built, all right, Eve mused. Her lush breasts were barely covered with ivory silk that dipped nipple low, clung, then halted briefly a few millimeters below crotch level. One long, shapely leg was decorated beside the knee with a red rose in full bloom.

Jerry Fitzgerald was definitely blooming.

Then there was the face, soft and slumberous as though she'd just climbed out of sex. Ebony hair was razor straight and curved to perfection, framing a round, feminine chin. Her mouth was full and wet and red, her eyes dazzling blue and edged with spiky, gold-tipped lashes.

As she glided to a chair like some sort of pagan sex goddess, Eve patted Feeney's leg in support – and restraint.

"Ms. Fitzgerald," Eve began.

"Yes," she said in a voice like sacrificial smoke. Those killer eyes barely flickered on Eve before they latched like limpets on Feeney's homely and dazed face. "Captain, it's just so awful. I've tried the isolation tank, the mood elevator, even programmed the hologram for meadow walks, as that always relaxes me. But nothing I do gets all of this out of my mind."

She fluttered, lifted both hands to her unbelievable face. "I must look like a hag."

"You look beautiful," Feeney babbled. "Stunning. You look – "

"Get a grip," Eve muttered and jabbed him with an elbow. "We appreciate how upset you are, Ms. Fitzgerald. Pandora was a friend of yours."

Jerry opened her mouth, closed it, smiled slyly. "I could tell you she was, but you'd find out quickly enough we weren't friendly. We tolerated each other as we were in the same business, but frankly, we couldn't stand one another."

"She invited you into her home."

"That's because she wanted Justin to be there, and we're very close right now. And Pandora and I did socialize, we even did a few projects together."

She rose, either to show off the body or because she preferred to serve herself. From a cabinet in the corner she took out a decanter in the shape of a swan and poured its sapphire blue contents into a glass.

"Let me say first that I am sincerely upset about the way she died. It's terrifying to think that anyone could hate so much. I am in the same profession, and as much in the public eye. A kind of image, as Pandora was. If it happened to her…" She broke off, drank deeply. "It could happen to me. One of the reasons I'm staying here with Justin until it's all resolved."

"Take me through your movements on the night she was killed."

Jerry's eyes widened. "Am I a suspect? That's almost flattering." She came back to the chair, drink in hand. After she sat, she folded up her exquisite legs in a way that made Feeney vibrate beside Eve. "I never had the guts to do more than give her a few verbal shots. Half the time she didn't even know I was zinging her. Pandora wasn't exactly a mental giant and never understood subtlety. All right then."

She sat back, closed her eyes, and told basically the same story as Justin had, though she had, apparently, tuned in more closely on the altercation between Pandora and Mavis.

"I have to admit, I was cheering her on. The little one, not Pandora. She had a style to her," Jerry mused. "Odd, memorable – somewhere between a waif and an Amazon. She was trying to hold her own, but Pandora would have mopped the floor with her if Justin and Paul hadn't stopped it. Pandora was really strong. She was always in the health club working on muscle tone. I once saw her literally throw a fashion consultant across the room because the poor sap had mislabeled her accessories before a showing. Anyway…"

She waved that off, opened a drawer on the brass table beside her, and located an enameled box. She took out a glossy red cigarette, lighted it, blew out perfumed smoke. "Anyway, the woman started off trying to reason with Pandora, make some sort of a deal with her over Leonardo. He's a designer. My take was Leonardo and the waif were an item and Pandora wasn't ready to cut him loose. He's got a show coming up."

She smiled that cat's smile again. "With Pandora gone, I'll have to throw him my support."

"You weren't involved in the show before?"

"Pandora was headlining. I said Pandora and I had done a few projects together. A couple of videos. Her problem was, she had looks, even presence, but when she had to read someone else's lines or try for charming on screen, she was an oak. Wooden. Just awful. But I'm good." She paused to let more smoke stream through her lips. "Really good, and I'm concentrating on my acting work. But… stepping in on this show, with this designer, will be a nice boost for me media-wise. That sounds callous. Sorry." She shrugged. "It's life."

"Her death comes at an opportune moment for you."

"When I see an opportunity, I take it. I don't kill for it." She moved her shoulders again. "That was more Pandora's style."

Now she leaned forward, and her bodice gaped carelessly. "Look, let's not play games. I'm clear. I was with Justin all night, didn't see her after about midnight. I can be honest, tell you I couldn't stand her, that she was certainly a professional rival, and that I knew that she'd have liked to lure Justin away from me just for spite. And maybe she could have done it. I don't kill over men, either." She warmed Feeney with a glance. "There are so many charming ones out there. And the simple fact is, you couldn't fit all the people who detested her into this apartment. I'm just one of the crowd."

"What was her mood on the night she died?"

"Razzed and jazzed." In a quick change of mood, Jerry threw back her head and laughed lustily. "I don't know what she'd been knocking back, but it sure as hell put a glint in her eye. She was on fast forward."

"Ms. Fitzgerald," Feeney began in slow, apologetic tones, "you believed Pandora had ingested an illegal?"

She hesitated a moment, then moved her alabaster shoulders. "Nothing legal makes you feel that good, honey. Or that mean. And she was feeling good and mean. Whatever it was, she was chasing it with champagne by the bucketload."

"Were you and the other guests offered illegal substances while you were there?" Eve asked.

"She didn't invite me to share. But then, she knew I didn't use. My body's a temple." She smiled as Eve's glance focused on her glass. "Protein drink, Lieutenant. Pure protein. And this?" She waved her slim cigarette. "Veggie, with a lace of perfectly legal calmer, for my nerves. I've watched a lot of the mighty fall, taking a short, fast trip. I'm in for the long haul. I allow myself three herbal smokes a day, an occasional glass of wine. No chemical stimulants, no happy pills. On the other hand…" She set her drink aside. "Pandora was a champion user. She'd gulp down anything."

"Do you know the name of her supplier?"

"Never thought to ask her. Just wasn't interested. But at a guess, I'd say this was something new. I've never seen her so powered up, and though it pains me to say it, she looked better, younger. Skin tone and texture. She had, well, a glow on. If I didn't know better, I'd say she'd had a full treatment, but we both use Paradise. I know she wasn't in the salon that day, because I was. Anyway, I asked her, and she just smiled and said she'd found a new beauty secret, and she was going to make a pile on it."

"Interesting," Feeney commented when he plopped back down in Eve's car. "We talked to two of the three people who last socialized with the victim. Neither of them could stand her."

"They could have done it together," Eve mused. "Fitzgerald knew Leonardo, wanted to work with him. Simplest thing in the world to alibi each other."

Feeney tapped his pocket where he'd slipped the security discs from the building. "We'll run these, see what we find. Still seems to me we're missing motive. Whoever took her out didn't just want to kill her, they wanted to erase her. We've got a powerful kind of rage here. Didn't seem to me either one of those two would work up a sweat."

"Push the right buttons, everybody sweats. I want to swing by ZigZag, see if we can start pinning down Mavis's moves. And we need to contact the producer, set up an interview. Can you put one of your drones on the car companies, Feeney? I can't see our heroine taking the subway or a bus downtown to Leonardo's."

"Sure." He took out his communicator. "If she took a cab or a private transpo service, we should be able to nail it down in a couple hours."

"Good. And let's see if she made the trip alone, or if she had company."

ZigZag didn't do much hopping in the middle of the day. It lived for night. The sunlight crowd were mostly tourists or the harried urban professionals who didn't much care if the decor looked tawdry and the service was surly. The club was like a carnival that glittered at night, and showed its age and its flaws in the harsh light of day. Still, it maintained that underlying mystique that drew crowds of dreamers.

There was a steady drone of music, which would be cranked up to ear-splitting once the sun set. The open, two-level structure was dominated by five bars and twin revolving dance floors that would begin their circuit at nine P. M. Now they were still, stacked one over the other, the clear floors scarred from the beatings of nightly feet.

The lunch offerings ran to sandwiches and salads, all named after dead rockers. Today's special was peanut butter and banana on white, with a side of vidalia onions and jalapenos. The Elvis and Joplin combo.

Eve settled with Feeney at the first bar, ordered black coffee, and sized up the bartender. She was human rather than the usual droid. In fact, Eve hadn't noticed any droids employed in the club.

"You ever work the night shift?" Eve asked her.

"Nope. I'm a day worker." The bartender set Eve's coffee on the bar. She was the perky kind, one who looked more like the front woman for a health food chain than a drink swiller at a club.

"Who's on the ten to three who notices people, remembers them?"

"Nobody around here notices people, if they can help it."

Eve took out her badge, laid it on the bar. "Would this clear somebody's memory?"

"Couldn't say." Unconcerned, she shrugged. "Look, this is a clean joint. I've got a kid at home, which is why I work days and why I was fussy about where I took a job. I checked this place out through and through before I hooked up. Dennis, he runs a friendly club, which is why you've got servers with pulses instead of chips. It might get a little wild, but he keeps the lid on."

"Who is Dennis, and where do I find him?"

"His office is up the twisty stairs to your right, behind the first bar. He owns the place."

"Hey, Dallas. We could take a minute for some eats," Feeney complained as he walked behind her. "The Mick Jagger sounded worth a try."

"Get him to go."

The bar wasn't open on this level, but obviously Dennis had been alerted. A mirrored panel slid aside, and he stood there, a slight, aesthetic-faced man with a pointed red beard and a monk's circle of raven black hair.

"Officers, welcome to ZigZag." His voice was whisper quiet. "Is there a problem?"

"We'd like your help and cooperation, Mr…?"

"Dennis, just Dennis. Too many names are unwieldy." He ushered them inside. The carnival atmosphere ended at the threshold. The office was spartan, streamlined, and quiet as a church. "My sanctuary," he said, well aware of the contrast. "One can't enjoy nor can one appreciate the pleasures of noise and crowds and tangling humanity unless one experiences its opposite. Please sit."

Eve took a chance on a stern-looking, straight-backed chair while Feeney eased himself into its mate. "We're trying to verify the movements of one of your customers last night."

"For?"

"Official reasons."

"I see." Dennis sat behind a slab of high-gloss plastic that served as his desk. "And the time?"

"After eleven, before one."

"Open screen." At his order, a section of the wall slid open to reveal a viewer. "Replay security scan five, begin eleven P. M."

The screen, and the room, erupted with sound and color and movement. For an instant it dazzled the eye, then Eve focused. It was an overview of the club in full swing. A rather lordly view, she mused, as if the watcher soared quietly over the heads of the celebrants.

It suited Dennis down to the ground.

He smiled, judging her reaction. "Delete audio." Abruptly, silence descended. Now the movement seemed unworldly. Dancers gyrated on the circling floors, lights flashed over their faces, catching expressions, intense, joyful, feral. A couple at a corner table snarled at each other, body action clearly demonstrating an argument in progress. At another, a mating ritual with soulful looks and intimate touches.

Then she spotted Mavis. Alone.

"Can you enhance?" Eve rose, jabbed a finger to the center left of the screen.

"Of course."

Frowning, Eve watched Mavis brought closer, clearer. It was, according to the time display, twenty-three forty-five. There was a bruise already darkening under Mavis's eye. And when she turned her head to brush off an advance, the signs of raw scratches on her neck. But not her face, Eve noted with a sinking heart. The bright blue drape she wore was torn a bit at the shoulder, but it was still attached.

She watched Mavis flick off a couple of other men, then a woman. She downed her drink, set the glass down beside a matching pair of empty ones on her table. She listed a bit as she rose, balanced herself, then with the exaggerated dignity of the greatly impaired, Mavis elbowed her way through the crowd.

The time was twenty-four eighteen.

"Is that what you were looking for?"

"More or less."

"Disengage video." Dennis smiled. "The woman in question comes in the club from time to time. She is usually more sociable, enjoys dancing. Occasionally she will sing. I find her a different sort of talent, and certainly a crowd pleaser. Do you need her name?"

"I know who she is."

"Well then." He rose. "I hope Miss Freestone isn't in any trouble. She looked unhappy."

"I can get a warrant for a copy of that disc, or you can give me one."

Dennis lifted a bright red eyebrow. "I'll be happy to give you one. Computer, copy disc and label. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, not at this time." Eve accepted the disc and slipped it into her bag. "Thanks for your cooperation."

"Cooperation is the glue of life," he said as the panel slid shut behind them.

"Weird-o," Feeney decided.

"An efficient one. You know, Mavis could have gotten into a tussle while she was club hopping. She could have gotten her face scratched, her clothes torn."

"Yeah." Determined to eat, Feeney stopped at an order table and requested a Jagger to go. "You ought to put something in your system, Dallas, besides worry and work."

"I'm fine. I'm not much on the club scene, but if she had it in the back of her mind to go see Leonardo, she'd have walked south and east from here. Let's check out what her most likely stop would have been."

"Fine. Just hold on." He made her wait until his takeout slid through the serving slot. He had the clear wrap off and the first bite in by the time they got to the car. "Damn good stuff. Always did like Jagger."

"Hell of a way to live forever." She started to request a map when her car 'link beeped, signaling incoming transmission. "Lab report," she murmured and focused on the screen. "Oh, goddamn it."

"Hell, Dallas, this is a mess." Appetite gone, Feeney stuffed the sandwich in his pocket. Both of them fell into silence.

The report was very clear. It was Mavis's skin, and only Mavis's, under the victim's nails. Mavis's prints, and only Mavis's, on the murder weapon. And it was her blood, and only hers, mixed with the victim's on scene.

The 'link beeped again, and this time a face appeared on screen. "Prosecuting Attorney Jonathan Heartly, Lieutenant Dallas."

" Acknowledged."

"We're issuing an arrest warrant for Freestone, Mavis, charge of murder, second degree. Please hold for transmission."

"Didn't waste any time," Feeney grumbled.