Immortal in Death

CHAPTER EIGHT

She did not wake up cheerful. She did wake alone, which was probably a wise move on Roarke's part, but she didn't surface with a smile. There were no aftereffects from the tranq, which made him a very lucky man. She woke alert, refreshed, and pissed.

The electronic memo beeping its red light on the nightstand didn't improve the mood. Nor did Roarke's smooth voice when she engaged it.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Hope you slept well. If you're up before eight, you'll find me in the breakfast nook. I didn't want to disturb you by ordering up. You looked so peaceful."

"Not for long," she said between gritted teeth. She managed to shower, dress, and strap on her weapon in ten minutes flat.

The breakfast nook, as he charmingly called it, was a huge, sunny atrium off the kitchen. Not only was Roarke there, but so was Mavis. Both of them beamed blindingly as Eve strode in.

"We're going to get a couple things straight here, Roarke."

"Your color's back." Pleased with himself, he rose and nipped a kiss onto the tip of her nose. "That gray cast to your skin didn't suit you." Then he grunted as her fist jammed into his stomach. He cleared his throat manfully. "Your energy level's obviously up, too. Want coffee?"

"I want you to know that if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll…" She trailed off, narrowed her eyes at Mavis. "What are you grinning at?"

"It's fun to watch. You two are so tipped over each other."

"So tipped he's going to end up on his back checking out the ceiling if he doesn't watch out." But she continued to study Mavis, baffled. "You look… fine," she decided.

"I am. I had a good cry, a big bag of Swiss chocolates, and then I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I've got the number-one cop in the city working on my side, the best team of lawyers a billionaire can buy, and a guy who loves me. See, I figured out that when this is all over, and it's going to work out, I'll be able to look back on it as kind of an adventure. And with all the media attention, my career's going to soar."

Reaching up, she took Eve's hand and tugged her down on the padded bench. "I'm not scared anymore."

Not willing to take the words to heart, Eve looked hard and long into Mavis's eyes. "You're really not. You're really okay. I can see it."

"I'm fine now. I thought about it, and thought about it. When it all shakes down, it's pretty simple. I didn't kill her. You'll find out who did, and when you do, it'll all be over. Until then, I get to live in this incredible house, eat incredible food." She forked up a last bite of a paper-thin crepe. "And have my name and face splashed all over the media."

"That's one way of looking at it." Uneasy, Eve rose to program coffee for herself. "Mavis, I don't want you to worry or be upset, but this isn't going to be a glide through the park."

"I'm not stupid, Dallas."

"I didn't mean – "

"You're thinking I'm not aware of the worst that could happen. I am, but I just don't believe the worst is going to happen. From now on, I'm thinking positive, and I'm giving you that favor you asked me to give you yesterday."

"Okay. We've got a lot of work to do. I want you to concentrate, try to remember details. Any detail, no matter how small or insignificant – What's this?" she demanded as Roarke set a bowl in front of her.

"Your breakfast."

"It's oatmeal."

"Exactly."

She frowned at it. "Why can't I have one of those crepes?"

"You can, after you eat your oatmeal."

Eyes hot, she shoveled in a mouthful. "We're really going to talk."

"You guys are great together. I'm really glad I've had this chance to see it up close and personal. Not that I didn't think it was great all along, but mostly I was just jazzed that Dallas had landed a rich one." Mavis beamed at Roarke.

"That's what friends are for."

"Yeah, but it's so mag the way you keep her in line. Nobody ever could before."

"Shut up, Mavis. You think, and think hard, but you don't tell me anything until you've cleared it with your lawyers."

"They already advised me of that. I figure it's going to work just like it does when I'm trying to remember a name or where I put something. You stop thinking about it, start doing other stuff, then zip, it pops into your head. So, I'm doing other stuff, and the big one is the wedding. Leonardo said you need to do your first fitting very soon."

"Leonardo?" Eve all but lunged out of the chair. "You've been talking to Leonardo?"

"The lawyers cleared it. They think it's a good thing for us to resume our relationship. It adds a sympathy and romance factor in the public awareness." Mavis leaned an elbow on the table and began to toy with the trio of earrings she'd hung in her left lobe. "You know, they only ditched the truth detection test and hypnosis because they can't be sure what I'll remember. They mostly believe me, but they can't take chances. But they said seeing Leonardo is cool. So we need to set up that fitting."

"I don't have time to think about fittings. Christ, Jesus, Mavis, you think I'm going to fuss with designs and flowers now? I'm not getting married until this is cleared up. Roarke understands that."

Roarke took out a cigarette, studied it. "No, he doesn't."

"Now, listen – "

"No, you listen." Mavis stood up, her bright blue hair glinting in the sunlight. "I'm not letting this mess screw up something this important to me. Pandora did her best to fuck with my life and Leonardo's. And she did worse by dying. She is not going to fuck with this. These plans are not on hold, Dallas, and you just better make time in your schedule for the fitting."

She couldn't argue, not with the sheen of tears in Mavis's eyes. "Okay, fine. Great. I'll deal with the stupid dress."

"It's not a stupid dress. It's going to be a sensational dress."

"That's what I meant."

"Better." She sniffed, sat. "When can I tell him we'll get together for it?"

"Ah… listen. It's better for your case, and your fancy lawyers would back me up, if you and I aren't seen running around together. Primary investigator and defendant. It doesn't look good."

"You mean I can't – " Mavis shut her mouth, regrouped. "All right then, we won't go running around together. Leonardo can work here. Roarke won't mind, will you?"

"On the contrary." He took a satisfied drag on his cigarette. "I think it's a perfect solution."

"One big happy family," Eve mumbled. "The primary, the defendant, and the tenant of the murder scene, who also happens to be the victim's former lover and the defendant's current. Are you all insane?"

"Who's to know? Roarke has excellent security. And if there's even the smallest chance that things could go wrong, I want to spend whatever time I can with Leonardo." Mavis set her mouth in a stubborn pout. "So that's what I'm going to do."

"I'll have Summerset arrange for a work space."

"Thanks. We appreciate it."

"While you people orchestrate your mad tea party, I've got a murder to solve."

Roarke winked at Mavis and called after Eve as she stormed away, "What about your crepe?"

"Stuff it."

"She's crazy about you," Mavis commented.

"It's almost embarrassing, the way she fawns. Want another crepe?"

Mavis patted her stomach. "Why the hell not?"

A downed circuit at Ninth and Fifty-sixth played hell with street traffic. Both pedestrians and drivers ignored the noise pollution laws and honked, shouted, and buzzed out their frustrations. Eve would have rolled up her windows to cut the din, but her temperature controls were on the fritz again.

To add to the fun, Mother Nature had decided to body slam New York with a humature of a hundred and ten. To pass the time, Eve watched the heat waves dance up from the concrete. At this rate, more than a few computer chips were going to fry by noon.

She considered taking to the air, though her control panel seemed to have developed a mind of its own. But several other harried drivers had already done so. The traffic overhead was in a nasty snarl. A couple of one-man traffic copters were trying to deal with it and instead added to the mess with the bee swarm buzz of their blades and the irritating drone of voices.

She caught herself snarling at the I LOVE NEW YORK hologram sticker on the bumper jammed in front of hers.

The sanest idea, she decided, was to get some work done in her car.

"Peabody," she ordered the 'link, and after a few frustrating hisses of static, it engaged.

"Peabody. Homicide."

"Dallas here. I'm going to pick you up in front of the Cop Shop, west side. ETA, fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir."

"Bring all files pertinent to the Johannsen case and the Pandora case, and be…" She trailed off and squinted at the screen. "Why is it so quiet in there, Peabody? Aren't you in the bull pen?"

"Only a couple of us made it in this morning. There's a bad traffic snag on Ninth."

Eve scanned the sea of traffic. "Is that a fact?"

"It pays to listen to the traffic network in the morning," she added. "I took an alternate route."

"Shut up, Peabody," Eve muttered and broke transmission. She spent the next couple of minutes retrieving messages from her desk 'link, then set up a morning appointment at Paul Redford's office in midtown for an interview. She called the lab to harass them for the toxicology report on Pandora, got the runaround, and left them with a creative threat.

She was debating whether to call Feeney and nag him when she saw a narrow break in the wall of cars. She jogged forward, cut left, squeezed through, ignoring the rude blast of horns and spearing middle fingers. Praying her vehicle would cooperate, she punched vertical. Rather than spring up, she wavered, but she did rise the minimum ten feet.

She swerved right, nipped by a jammed people glide where she caught the blur of miserable, sweaty faces, and rattled over to Seventh while her control panel warned of overload. After five blocks, the car was wheezing, but she'd cleared the worst of the jam. She set down with a teeth-rattling thud and swung toward the west entrance of Cop Central.

The dependable Peabody was waiting. How the woman managed to look cool and unperturbed in her sweltering blues, Eve didn't want to know.

"Your vehicle sounds a little rough, Lieutenant," Peabody commented when she climbed in.

"Really? I didn't notice."

"You sound a little rough yourself. Sir." When Eve merely bared her teeth and started to cut across town to Fifth, Peabody dug into her kit, took out a small porta-fan, and clipped it to the dash. The blast of cool air nearly made Eve whimper.

"Thanks."

"The temperature control on this model isn't dependable." Peabody's face remained smooth and bland. "But you probably haven't noticed."

"You've got a clever mouth, Peabody. I like that about you. Give me a rundown on Johannsen."

"The lab's still having trouble with all the elements in the powder we found. They're stalling. If they've completely analyzed the formula, they're not saying. The buzz I get from a contact I have is, Illegals is demanding priority, so there's some politicking going on. Second search found no trace of chemicals, illegal or otherwise, in the victim's body."

"So he wasn't using," Eve mused. "Boomer tended to sample, but he had himself a big, fat bag of shit and didn't take a taste. What does that tell you, Peabody?"

"From the state of his flop and the statement of the lobby droid, we know he had the time and opportunity to use it. He had a history of chronic if mild abuse. Therefore, my deduction would be he knew or suspected something about the substance that put him off."

"That would be my guess. What do you get from Casto?"

"He claims to be in the dark on this one. He's been cooperative, if not overly forthcoming, with information and theories."

Something in the tone had Eve glancing over. "He coming on to you, Peabody?"

Peabody kept her eyes straight forward, narrowed slightly under the bowl-cut fringe of bangs. "He hasn't exhibited any inappropriate behavior."

"Cut the drill, pal, that's not what I asked."

Color snuck up under the collar of the standard-issue blues into her cheeks. "He's indicated a certain personal interest."

"Jesus, you sound like a cop. Is this certain personal interest reciprocated?"

"It might be considered, if I didn't suspect the subject had a much more personal interest in my immediate superior." Peabody slid her gaze to Eve's. "He's got a thing for you."

"Well, he'll have to keep his thing to himself." But she couldn't make herself completely displeased to hear it. "My certain personal interests lie elsewhere. He's a powerful looking sonofabitch, isn't he?"

"My tongue gets all swelled up in my mouth when he looks at me."

"Hmm." Eve ran her own around her teeth experimentally. "So go for it."

"I'm not prepared to become involved in a romantic relationship at this point."

"Hell, who said anything about relationship? Screw each other blind a couple times."

"I prefer affection and companionship in sexual encounters," Peabody said stiffly. "Sir."

"Yeah. It does make a difference." Eve sighed. It was almost a painful effort to keep her mind from leapfrogging back to Mavis, but she tried to focus. "I was just ragging on you, Peabody. I know what it's like when you're standing there, trying to do your job, and some guy hits you between the eyes. I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable working with him, but I need you."

"It's not a problem." Loosening up, Peabody smiled. "And it's not exactly a sacrifice to look at him." She glanced up as Eve swung toward the underground parking beneath a spearing white tower on Fifth. "Isn't this one of Roarke's buildings?"

"Most of them are." The electronic attendant scanned her vehicle and passed it through. "This is his main office. It's also the New York base of Redford Productions. I've got an interview with him re the Pandora homicide." Eve slipped into the VIP spot Roarke had arranged for her, shut down her car. "You're not officially attached to this case, but you're officially attached to me. Feeney's up to his ass in data, and I want another set of eyes and ears. Objections?"

"None come to mind, Lieutenant."

"Dallas," Eve reminded her as they stepped from the car. The safety barrier blinked on, surrounding the car to protect it from dings, scratches, and theft. As if, Eve thought sourly, it didn't already have so many dings and scratches a thief would insult himself by looking twice. She strode up to the private executive elevator, entered her code, and tried not to be embarrassed. "Saves time," she muttered.

Peabody's eyes widened as they stepped onto thick carpeting. The car was large enough for a party of six, and boasted a lush arrangement of fragrant hibiscus. "I'm all for saving time."

"Thirty-fifth floor," Eve requested. "Redford Productions, executive offices."

"Floor three-five," the computer acknowledged. "East quadrant, executive level."

"Pandora had a small party on the night she died," Eve began. "Redford might be the last person to have seen her alive. Jerry Fitzgerald and Justin Young also attended, but left early after Mavis Freestone and Pandora fought. They alibi each other for the rest of the night. Redford remained with Pandora for a time. If Fitzgerald and Young are telling the truth, they're in the clear. I know Mavis is telling the truth." She waited a beat, but Peabody made no comment. "So we see what we can shake out of the producer."

The elevator smoothly shifted to horizontal, gliding east. The doors opened and noise poured in.

Obviously Redford's employees liked music with their daily grind. It rocked out of recessed speakers, filled the air with energy. Two men and a woman worked at a wide circular console, chatting cheerfully into 'links, beaming at computer screens.

There appeared to be a small party in progress in the waiting area to the right. Several people milled around drinking from small cups or nibbling on tiny pastries. The sound of tinkling laughter and cocktail hour conversation underscored the lively music.

"It's like a scene from one of his movies," Peabody said.

"Hooray for Hollywood." Eve approached the console and took out her badge. She chose the least obsessively pert of the three receptionists. "Lieutenant Dallas. I have an appointment with Mr. Redford."

"Yes, Lieutenant." The man – or he might have been a god with his perfectly chiseled golden looks – smiled brilliantly. "I'll tell him you're here. Please help yourself to some refreshments."

"Want to chow down, Peabody?"

"Those pastries look pretty good. We could cop some on the way out."

"Our minds are in tune."

"Mr. Redford would love to see you now, Lieutenant." The modern-day Apollo lifted a section of the console, slipped through. "Just let me take you to him."

He led them through smoked glass doors where the noise switched to clashing voices. On either side of the corridor, doors were open, and men and women sat at desks, paced, or reclined on sofas, wheeling and dealing.

"How many times have I heard that plot line, JT? It's so first millennium."

"We need a fresh face. Garboesque with Little Bo Peep innocence."

"People don't want depth, honeypot. Give 'em a choice between the ocean and a puddle, they're going to splash in the puddle. We're all children."

They approached a pair of double doors in sparkling silver. The guide opened them both with a dramatic sweep. "Your guests, Mr. Redford."

"Thank you, Caesar."

"Caesar," Eve muttered. "I was so close."

"Lieutenant Dallas." Paul Redford rose from behind a U-shaped workstation in the same glittery silver as his doors. The floor he crossed was smooth as glass and decorated with swirls of color. Behind him was the expected spectacular view of the city. His hand clasped Eve's with easy, practiced warmth. "Thank you so much for agreeing to come here. I'm juggling meetings all day and it's so much more convenient for me than coming to you."

"It's not a problem. My aide, Officer Peabody."

The smile, as smooth and practiced as the handshake, encompassed them both. "Please sit down. What can I offer you?"

"Just information." Eve glanced at the seating arrangement, blinked. They were all animals: chairs, stools, sofas, all fashioned to resemble tigers, hounds, or giraffes.

"My first wife was a decorator," he explained. "After the divorce, I decided to keep them. They're the best memory of that time in my life." He chose a basset hound for himself propped his feet up on a cushion shaped like a curled cat. "You want to talk about Pandora."

"Yes." If they'd been lovers, as reported, Eve decided he'd gotten over his grief quickly. A police interview apparently didn't affect him, either. He was composed, the genial host in a five-thousand-dollar linen suit and melted-butter Italian loafers.

He was, Eve mused, undoubtedly as screen friendly as any of the actors he worked with. A strong, bony face the color of fresh honey was accented with a well-trimmed, glossy moustache. His dark hair was slicked back and twisted into a complicated queue that dangled to his shoulder blades.

He looked, Eve decided, like what he was: a successful producer who enjoyed his power and wealth.

"I'd like to record this, Mr. Redford."

"I'd prefer that, Lieutenant." He leaned back into the embrace of the sad-eyed hound and folded his hands on his stomach. "I heard you've made an arrest in this matter."

"We have. But the investigation is ongoing. You were acquainted with the deceased, known as Pandora."

"Well acquainted. I was considering a project with her, certainly had socialized with her on a number of occasions over the years, and when it was convenient, had sex with her."

"Were you and the victim lovers at the time of her death?"

"We were never lovers, Lieutenant. We had sex. We did not make love. In fact, I doubt there was a man alive who ever made love to her, or attempted to. If he did, he was a fool. I'm not a fool."

"You didn't like her."

"Like her?" Redford laughed. "God, no. She was the singularly most dislikable human being I've ever known. But she did have talent. Not as much as she believed, and none at all in certain areas, and yet…"

He lifted his elegant hands; rings sparkled: dark stones in heavy gold. "Beauty is easy, Lieutenant. Some are born with it, others buy it. An attractive physical shell is moronically simple to come by today. It's still desired. Pleasing looks never fade from fashion, but in order to make a living from those looks, a person has to have talent."

"And Pandora's was?"

"An aura, a power, an elemental, even animalistic ability to exude sex. Sex has always, will always sell."

Eve inclined her head. "Only now we license it."

Amused, Redford flashed her a smile. "The government needs its revenue. But I wasn't referring to the selling of sex, but of using it to sell. And we do: everything from soft drinks to kitchen appliances. And fashion," he added. "Always fashion."

"And that was Pandora's particular specialty."

"You could drape her in kitchen curtains, point her toward a runway, and reasonably intelligent people would open their credit accounts wide to have that look. She was a saleswoman. There was nothing she couldn't peddle. She wanted to act, which was unfortunate. She could never be anyone but herself, but Pandora."

"But you were working on a project with her."

"I was considering one where she would essentially play herself. Nothing more, nothing less. It may have worked. And the merchandizing from it… well, that's where the profits would have poured in. It was still in the planning stages."

"You were at her home the night she died."

"Yes, she wanted company. And, I suspect, wanted to rub Jerry's nose in the idea of starring in one of my films."

"And how did Ms. Fitzgerald take it?"

"She was surprised, irritated, I imagine. I was irritated myself as we were far from ready to go public. We might have had an interesting scene over it, but we were interrupted. The young woman, the fascinating young woman who arrived on the doorstep. The one you've arrested," he said with a gleam in his eye. "The media claim you're very close friends."

"Why don't you just tell me what happened when Ms. Freestone arrived?"

"Melodrama, action, violence. Picture this," he said and moved his hands to form the age-old sign for a screen. "The young, brave beauty comes to plead her case. She's been weeping, her face is pale, her eyes desperate. She will step aside, give up the man both of them want, to protect him, to do what's best for his career.

"Close up on Pandora. Her face is filled with rage, disdain, a manic energy. Christ, the beauty. It's almost evil. She won't be satisfied with sacrifice. She wants her opponent to feel pain. Emotional pain first, by the cruel names she hurls, then physical pain by striking the first blow. Now you have the classic struggle. Two women locked in combat over a man. The younger woman has love on her side, but even that isn't a match for the strength of Pandora's vengeance. Or her sharpened nails. Fur, shall we say, flies, until the two male members of our fascinated audience step in. One of them is bitten for his pains."

Redford winced and rubbed his right shoulder. "Pandora sank her fangs into me as I was dragging her off. I have to say I was tempted to punch her myself. Your friend left. She tossed off some typical cliche about Pandora being sorry, but she looked more miserable than vindictive."

"And Pandora?"

"Energized." And so was he with the telling of the tale. "She'd been in a dangerous mood all evening, and it was only more treacherous after the bout. Jerry and Justin bowed out, with more dispatch than grace, and I stayed behind awhile to try to bring Pandora down."

"Did you succeed?"

"I didn't come close. She was wild then. She threatened all manner of absurdities. She was going to go after the little bitch and rip her face off. She was going to castrate Leonardo. By the time she was finished, he wouldn't be able to peddle buttons on the street corner. Not even beggars were going to wear his rags, and so on. After about twenty minutes, I gave it up. She was furious with me then for cutting the evening short, and shouted a lot of abuse after me. She didn't need me, she had bigger deals, better deals."

"You claim to have left her at about twelve thirty?"

"That would be close."

"And she was alone?"

"She only kept domestic droids. She didn't like people around unless she summoned them. There was no one else in the house, to my knowledge."

"Where did you go when you left?"

"I came here; tended to my shoulder. It was a nasty bite. I thought I'd do a little work, made some calls to the coast. Then I went to my club, used the after-hours entrance, and spent a couple of hours having a steam, a swim."

"What time did you get to your club?"

"I'd say it was around two. I know it was well past four when I got home."

"Did you see or speak to anyone during the hours of two and five A. M.?"

"No. One of the reasons I often use the club at those hours is for the privacy. I have my own facilities on the coast, but here, I have to make do with membership."

"The name of your club?"

"The Olympus, on Madison." He arched a brow. "I see my alibi isn't without its problems. I did, however, code in and out. It's required."

"I'm sure it is." And she would certainly see if he had. "Are you aware of anyone who would have wished Pandora harm?"

"Lieutenant, the list would be as long as life." He smiled again, perfect teeth, eyes that were both amused and predatory. "I don't happen to count myself among them, merely because she didn't matter that much to me."

"Did you share Pandora's latest drug of choice?"

He stiffened, hesitated, then relaxed again. "That was an excellent ploy. Non sequiturs often catch the unwary off guard. I'll state, for the record, that I never touch illegals of any kind." But his smile was wide and easy, and told her quite plainly, he lied. "I was aware that Pandora dabbled now and again. I considered it her own business. I'd have to agree that she'd found something new, something she seemed to be overdoing. In fact, I'd come into her bedroom earlier that last evening."

He paused a moment, as if thinking back, bringing a scene into focus. "She'd taken a pill of some kind out of a small, beautiful little wooden box. Chinese, I think. The box," he added with a quick smile. "She was surprised because I was early, and shoved the box into a drawer on her vanity and locked it. I asked what she was protecting, and she said…" He paused again, eyes narrowed. "What did she say? Her treasure, her fortune. No, no, something like: Her reward. Yes, I'm sure that's what she said. Then she popped the pill, chased it with champagne. Then we had sex. It seemed to me she was distracted at first, then suddenly she was wild, insatiable. I don't believe it had ever been quite that potent between us. We dressed and went down. Jerry and Justin were just arriving. I never asked her any more about it. It just didn't apply to me."

"Impressions, Peabody?"

"He's slick."

"So's slime." Eve shoved her hands into her pockets as the elevator descended, toyed with loose credit tokens. "He despised her, but he slept with her, was willing to use her."

"I think he found her pathetic, potentially dangerous, but marketable."

"And, if that marketability had waned or the danger increased, could he have killed her?"

"In a heartbeat." Peabody stepped into the garage first. "Conscience isn't his priority. If this deal they had were tipping the wrong way, or if she had anything to pressure him with, he'd erase her. People that smug, that controlled, tend to have a lot of violence bubbling somewhere. And his alibi sucks."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" The possibilities made Eve grin. "We're going to check that out, right after we go by Pandora's and find her cache. Inform Dispatch," she ordered. "Make sure we're clear to pop locks."

"That wouldn't stop you," Peabody murmured, but engaged the 'link.

The box was gone. It was such a stunning letdown that Eve stood in Pandora's lavishly ornate bedroom staring down at the drawer for a full ten seconds before it fully registered it was empty.

"This is a vanity, right?"

"That's what they call it. Look at all the bottles and pots on it. Creams for this, creams for that. That's why it's called a vanity." She couldn't help herself. Peabody picked up ajar the size of the first joint of her thumb. "Ever Young cream. You know what this shit goes for, Dallas? Five hundred over the counter at Saks. Five hundred for a lousy half ounce. Talk about vanity."

She set it down again, ashamed she'd been tempted, even for an instant, to stick it in her pocket. "You add all this stuff up, she's got ten, maybe fifteen thousand worth of enhancements."

"Get a grip, Peabody."

"Yes, sir. Sorry."

"We're looking for a box. The sweepers have already done the standard here, taken in the discs from her 'links. We know she didn't get any calls that night, or make any. From here, anyway. She's pissed. She's revved. What does she do?"

Eve continued to open drawers, paw through them as she spoke. "She drinks more, maybe, rants around the house thinking of all the things she'd like to do to the people who've ticked her off. Bastards, bitches. Who the hell do they think they are? She can have anything and anyone she wants. Maybe she comes in here and pops another pill, just to keep the energy up."

Hopeful, though it was a plain, enameled box rather than an ornate wooden one, Eve flipped a lid. Inside was an assortment of rings. Gold, silver, gleaming porcelain, carved ivory.

"Funny place to keep jewelry," Peabody commented. "I mean she's got this big glass chest here for her costume, and the safe for the real stuff."

Eve glanced up, saw her aide was perfectly serious, and didn't quite muffle the laugh. "They're not exactly jewelry, Peabody. Cock rings. You know, you put them over it, then – "

"Sure." Peabody shrugged, tried not to stare. "I knew that. Just – a funny place to keep them."

"Yeah, sure is silly to keep sex toys in a box next to the bed. Anyway, where was I? She's using, chasing the pills with champagne. Somebody's going to pay for ruining her evening. That fucker Leonardo is going to crawl, he's going to beg. She'll make him pay for screwing some worthless slut behind her back, and for letting the little bitch come around to her house – her house, goddamn it – and fuck with her."

Eve closed a drawer, opened another. "Her security tags her as leaving the place just after two. The door's on automatic lock. She doesn't call a car. It's at least a sixty-block walk to Leonardo's, she's in ice-pick heels, but she doesn't take a cab. There's no record of any company picking her up or dropping her. She's registered for a palm 'link, but we haven't found it. If she had it with her and made a call, either she or someone else disposed of the unit."

"If she called her killer, he or she should have been smart enough to ditch it." Peabody began a search of the two-level closet and managed not to hyperventilate over the racks of clothes, many with price tags still attached. "She might have been wired on something, but no way would she walk downtown. Half the shoes in this closet aren't even scraped on the soles. She wasn't the walking kind."

"She was wired, all right. Damned if she's taking some stinking cab. All she has to do is snap her fingers and she can have half a dozen eager slaves slathering to take her anywhere she wants to go. So she snaps them. Somebody picks her up. They go to Leonardo's. Why?"

Fascinated by the way Eve juggled Pandora's point of view with her own, Peabody stopped the search and watched Eve. "She insists. She demands. She threatens."

"Maybe it's Leonardo she calls. Or maybe it's somebody else. They get there, the security camera's smashed. Or she smashes it."

"Or the killer smashes it." Peabody pushed her way through a sea of ivory silk. "Because he's already planning to do her."

"Why take her to Leonardo's if he's already planning it?" Eve demanded. "Or if it was Leonardo, why dirty your own nest? I'm not sure murder was the priority, not yet. They get there, and if Leonardo's story holds, the place is empty. He's off drinking himself into a stupor and looking for Mavis, who is drinking herself into a stupor. Pandora wants Leonardo there, she wants to punish him. She starts to wreck the place, maybe she takes out some of her rage on her companion. They fight. It escalates. He grabs the cane, maybe to defend himself, maybe to attack. She's shocked, hurt, afraid. Nobody hurts her. What the hell is this? Then he can't stop, or doesn't want to stop. She's lying there, and there's blood everywhere."

Peabody said nothing. She'd seen the pictures of the scene. Could imagine it all happening just as Eve related.

"He's standing over her, breathing hard." Eyes half closed, Eve tried to bring the shadowy figure into focus. "Her blood's all over him. The smell of it's everywhere. But he doesn't panic, can't afford to panic, doesn't let himself panic. What ties her to him? The palm 'link. He takes that, pockets it. If he's smart, and he has to be smart now, he goes through her things, makes sure there's nothing that can lead to him. He wipes off the cane where he gripped it, anything else he thinks he might have touched."

In Eve's mind it played like an old video, cloudy and full of shadows. The figure – male, female – hurrying to cover tracks, moving around the body, stepping around the pools of blood. "Have to be quick. Someone might come back. But have to be thorough. Almost clean now. Then he hears someone coming in. Mavis. She calls out for Leonardo, rushes back, sees the body, kneels beside it. Now it's even more perfect. He knocks her out, then he curls her fingers around the cane, maybe he even gives Pandora a few extra whacks. He takes that dead hand and rakes its nails over Mavis's face, uses it to tear her clothes. He puts on something, one of Leonardo's robes, to conceal his own clothes."

She straightened from her search of a bottom drawer and found Peabody staring at her. "It's like you were there," Peabody murmured. "I want to be able to do that, to go in the way you do."

"Walk in to a few more murder scenes, and you will. The hard part's getting out again. Where the hell is the box?"

"She could have taken it with her."

"I don't buy that. Where's the key, Peabody? She locked this drawer. Where's the key?"

In silence, Peabody took out her field unit, requested the list of items found in the victim's purse or on her person. "There was no key taken into evidence."

"So he got the key, didn't he? And he came back here and took the box and anything else he needed. Let's check the security disc."

"Wouldn't the sweepers have done that?"

"Why? She wasn't killed here. All they were required to do was verify her time of departure." Eve walked over to the security monitor, ordered a replay for the date and time in question. She watched Pandora storm out of the house, stride quickly out of range. "Two oh eight. Okay, let's see what shakes. Time of death was about three. Computer, advance to oh three hundred, proceed at triple real time." She focused on the chronometer. "Freeze image. Sonofabitch. See that, Peabody."

"I see it, time skipped from four oh three to four thirty-five. Someone disengaged the camera. Had to do it by remote. Had to know what they were doing."

"Someone wanted to get in bad enough, get something out bad enough, to risk it. For a box of illegals." Her smile was grim. "I've got a feeling dead in the gut, Peabody. Let's go hassle the lab boys."