Witness in Death

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

She slept for ten hours, pretty much where she had fallen after giving Roarke the briefest of updates. She woke, recharged, clearheaded, and alone.

Since he wasn't around to nag her, she had an ice cream bar for breakfast, washed it down with coffee while she watched the morning news reports on-screen. She caught a replay of her one-on-one with Nadine and, satisfied with it, considered herself set for the day.

She dressed, dragging on dung brown trousers and a white shirt that had narrow brown stripes. She had no idea how long the shirt had been there, but since Roarke had started filling her closet, she'd stopped paying attention.

He bought her a ridiculous amount of clothes, but it saved her from the torture of shopping.

Since it was there, and the weather promised to remain cool, she buttoned on a waist-length vest that appeared to go with the rest of the deal.

She strapped on her weapon, then she set off to find Roarke.

He was already in his office, the morning stock reports on one screen, off-planet trading on another, and what seemed to be a serious math problem on the third.

"How can you deal with numbers first thing in the morning?"

"I live for numbers." He tapped his keyboard, and the math problem shifted into tidy columns he had no doubt added up to the smallest decimal point. "And as it happens, I've been up for some time. You look rested," he said after a moment's study of her face. "And very well-tailored as well. You're a resilient creature, Eve."

"I slept like a slug." She came around the counter, leaned down, and kissed him. "You've been putting in some long days yourself." She patted his shoulder in a way that made his antenna quiver. "Maybe we need a little vacation."

He sent the figures on-screen to his broker for immediate application, then swiveled around in his chair. "What do you want?"

"Just some quiet time somewhere. You and me. We could take a long weekend."

"I repeat." He picked up his coffee, sipped. "What do you want?"

Irritation gleamed in her eyes. "Didn't I just say? Don't pull that crap on me again. You had to grovel the last time."

"I won't this time around. Do I look stupid?" he said in a conversational tone. "I'm not above a bribe, Lieutenant, but I like to know the deal. Why am I being softened up?"

"I couldn't soften you up with a vat of skin regenerator. Anyway, it's not a bribe. I'm a damn city official."

"And they are, as we know, complete strangers to bribes."

"Watch it, ace. Who says I can't want a break? If I want a favor, it doesn't have to connect."

"I see. Well then, here's what I'll bring to the table. I'll give you your favor, whatever it may be, in exchange for a week of your time anywhere I want to go."

"A week's out. I've got court dates, paperwork. Three days."

Negotiations, he thought, were his favorite hobby. "Five days now, five days next month."

"That's ten days, not a week. Even I can do the math on that. Three days now, two days next month."

"Four now, three next month."

"All right, all right." Her head was starting to spin. "I'll work it out."

"Then we have a deal." He offered his hand, clasped hers.

"So, are we going to the beach?"

"We can do that. The Olympus Resort has a stunning man-made beach."

"Olympus." She blanched. "Off planet? I'm not going off planet. That's got to be a deal breaker."

"Deal's done. Buck up. Now, what's the favor?"

She sulked. It was a rare attitude for her, but she was damn good at it. "It's not even a big favor."

"You should've thought of that before you tried to scam me. You might have, if you'd had a decent breakfast instead of ice cream."

"How did you – " She broke off, and the single word was a vicious hiss. "Summerset."

"Now, when a woman asks her husband for a favor, it's a lovely touch if she sits on his lap." He patted his knee.

"You won't have much of a lap if I break both your legs." Seriously annoyed, she sat on the counter. "Look, it's police business, and you always want to stick your nose in anyway. I'm giving you a chance."

"Now, there you are." Enjoying himself, he lifted a hand, palm up. "If you'd presented it that way initially, put me in the position of being given a favor rather than giving one, you wouldn't have made what you consider a poor deal. And you wouldn't be cross."

"I'm not cross. You know I hate when you say I'm cross. And before I forget, what's the deal with this Authorization One shit?"

"Did you buy something?" He handed her the rest of his coffee. "I must make a celebrational note on my calendar. Eve Dallas went shopping. Strike up the band."

She scowled off into space. "I was in a pretty good mood before I came in here."

"See, you're cross. As to Authorization One, what sense does it make for you to pay for products manufactured by one of my companies?"

"Next time I'm going to a competitor. If I can find one." She huffed out a breath, brought herself back on track. "I'm going to close the case today. I've worked it how to smoke out the killer, get a confession. It's roundabout," she murmured. "I have reasons not to take the straight line. I had to do a tap dance for Whitney to clear it. If it doesn't work…" She trailed off.

"What do you need?"

"To start, I need your theater. And I need you to help me script and produce a little performance."

An hour later. Eve was on her way to Central, and Roarke was making the first phone call.

In her office, Eve loaded the disc recording of the play in her computer. With her mind elsewhere, she barely noted how smoothly the disc was accepted, how clear the audio and video. When she ordered it to fast-forward to the final scene, it did so without a single bump.

There they were, she thought. Draco as Vole blithely confessing to a murder he could no longer be charged with. His face handsome, smug, as he drew Carly's hand, Diana's hand, through his arm.

And she stood by him, pretty and charming, with a loving smile.

Kenneth Stiles, the cantankerous and sly Sir Wilfred, stunned fury on his face, as the realization struck that he'd been used, exploited, manipulated. Eliza's fussy Miss Plimsoll standing beside him, outraged, her hands gripping the back of Kenneth's chair, and white to the knuckles.

Areena, the beautiful and multi-faceted Christine, who had sacrificed everything, risked prison, to save the one she loved.

Michael Proctor, merely a shadow, watching from the wings, wondering when he would step into the spotlight and into the role of murderer.

And hovering over all was the ghost of Anja Carvell.

Eve didn't flinch as she watched murder done, as the knife that should have been harmless plunged deep into the heart.

There, she thought and froze the screen. There it is.

Ten thousand witnesses would have missed it.

Hadn't she?

The performance of a lifetime, she realized. In death.

"End program," she ordered. "Eject disc."

She bagged it, gathered others. She engaged her office link for interdepartmental transmission. " Peabody, alert Feeney and McNab. We're moving out."

With a final check of her weapon, she prepared to begin a performance of her own.

Eve's driving, Mira observed from the backseat, was a mirror reflection of her personality. Competent, direct, focused. And fierce. As the car whipped through traffic, bulling into gaps, challenging other charging bumpers, Mira quietly checked the tension on her safety harness.

"You're taking a risk."

Eve gave a quick glance in the rearview, met Mira's eyes. "A calculated one."

"I believe…" Mira trailed off, found herself falling back into childhood prayers as Eve shot into sharp vertical, swung hard to the right, and skimmed crossways over jammed traffic.

"I believe," she continued when she had her breath back, "you've assessed the situation correctly. Still, there's a wide margin for error, which you could eradicate by adhering to strict procedure."

"If I'm wrong, it's on me. Either way, the person who killed Draco and Quim will be in custody by the end of day."

The car dove into an underground parking tunnel, barely slacking speed. It winged like an arrow from a bow toward a reserved slot. Mira's mouth came open, she made some small sound, as they roared toward the security barricade. Eve flipped down her visor to display her ID pass.

Mira would have sworn the barricade emitted a terrified squeal as it leaped clear. They nipped under it, tucked into the narrow slot.

"Well," Mira managed. "Well. That was exciting."

"Huh?"

"It occurs to me, Eve, I've never done a ride-along with you. I begin to see why."

Peabody snorted, shoved open her door. "Take my word, Dr. Mira, that was a leisurely drive around the park."

"Something wrong with my driving?"

"Not that a case of Zoner wouldn't cure," Peabody said under her breath.

"In any case." Mira stepped out of the car, drew Eve's attention away from her aide. "I'm pleased you asked me to be here. Not only because I might be useful, but it gives me an opportunity to observe how you work in the field."

"You're going to have to stay out of the thick." Eve left her car in the secured slot Roarke had arranged, started out to the street and the theater.

"Yes, but I'll be monitoring."

"We've got a little while before the show starts." At the stage door, Eve punched in the code she'd been given. "You'll likely get bored."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that."

They walked out on the stage, where preparations were already under way.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Heads up, She-Body!"

Twenty feet overhead, McNab swung by in a safety harness. He gave a kick of his shiny green boots and sailed in a very graceful arc.

"Stop that horsing around." Feeney squinted up, wincing when his detective pretended to swim through the air.

"What's he doing up there?" Eve demanded. "Besides making an ass of himself."

"Overhead cams. You gotta be young to enjoy that kind of duty. Most of the equipment was already in place. Roarke didn't miss a trick. But he wasn't setting up for a police op. We're adjusting. We'll be able to monitor the action from all angles."

"Is Roarke on-scene yet?"

"Yeah, he's in control, showing a couple of my techs more than they'd ever hoped to know. The man's a genius with electronics. What I couldn't do with him in EDD."

"Do me a favor and don't mention it. He's hard enough to deal with. Auto-locks set on all exits?"

"Yep. Once everybody's in, nobody gets out. We've got three uniforms, two techs, you, me, and Peabody. And flyboy up there. McNab, get the hell down from there now! You sure you don't want a bigger team?"

Eve did a slow turn, scanned the theater. "We won't need it."

"Feeney." Roarke stepped from the shadows onto the stage. "Your control appears to be set."

"I'll go look it over. McNab! Don't make me come up there. Christ, how many times did I say that to my kids?" With a shake of his head, he walked offstage.

"He's going to hurt himself." Torn between amusement and concern, Peabody nudged Eve's shoulder. "Tell him to come down, Dallas."

"Why me?"

"Because he fears you."

Because the idea of that was pleasing, Eve set her hands on her hips, scowled up, and shouted. "McNab, stop screwing around and get your ass down here."

"Yes, sir."

He came down in a whoosh, cheeks flushed with the thrill. "Man, you gotta try that. What a rush."

"I'm happy we could provide you with some entertainment, Detective. Why shouldn't we have a little fun and frivolity during the course of an elaborate and expensive police operation, particularly when we're employing multi-million dollar civilian equipment and facilities."

"Um," was the best he could do before he cleared his throat. The grin had already been wiped off his face. "The overhead cams are set and operational, Lieutenant. Sir."

"Then maybe you can make yourself useful elsewhere. If it's not too much trouble."

"No, sir. I'll just… go." Somewhere, he thought, and escaped.

"That ought to keep him straight for the next five minutes." She turned to Roarke.

"I don't fear you," he told her. "But I brought you a present." He handed her a mini-remote. "You can signal control," he explained. "For lights, sound, set change. You can direct from any location in the theater. The play's in your hands."

"Opening act's up to you."

"It's already in place." He checked his wrist unit. "You have just over an hour before curtain."

"I need to check all ops. Peabody, do a round. Confirm that all egresses leading below, back, or above stage are secure, then take and maintain your assigned position until further orders."

"Yes, sir."

"Roarke, would you show Dr. Mira her observation area?"

"Of course."

"Great." She flipped out her communicator. "Feeney, I want those – what are they – houselights on for a minute."

When they flashed on, illuminating the theater, she switched the communicator to blanket transmission. "This is Lieutenant Dallas. In thirty minutes, I want all operation personnel at their assigned stations. If I so much as smell a cop, he or she is on report. Civilian protection is first priority. I repeat, that is priority. Weapons are to remain harnessed, and on low stun. I will not have a repeat of Grand Central."

She pocketed the communicator. "Roarke, contact me when Dr. Mira is settled."

"Of course. Break a leg, Lieutenant."

"What? Oh. Right."

"She was born for this," Mira said as Eve strode off. "Not just for command, which fits her like skin, but for balancing the wrongs with the rights. Someone else, perhaps anyone else, would have finished this another way."

"She couldn't."

"No. It's already cost her. She'll need you when this is done."

"We're going away for a few days."

Mira angled her head. "How did you manage to persuade her?"

"The art of the deal." He offered his arm. "May I escort you to your seat, Doctor?"

"Lieutenant. McNab, Position Four. First subject approaching theater, stage door entrance."

"Copy." Eve turned from the backstage monitor to Roarke. "That's your cue. Try not to deviate from the outline, okay? I believe physical risk is minimal, but – "

"Trust me."

"I just want to go over – "

"Lieutenant, does it occur to you that I might know what I'm doing?"

"It occurs to me that you always know what you're doing."

"Well then, I repeat. Trust me." With that he left to take his mark.

On the monitor she watched him walk out on the bare stage, stand under the lights. She wondered if he'd ever considered acting. Of course he hadn't, she thought. Deals, shady and otherwise, had been his passion. But he had the face for it and the build, the presence, the grace.

And, she mused, he had an innate skill with a believable lie.

Wasn't that acting?

"Michael." Roarke offered a hand as Proctor entered. "You're prompt."

"I didn't want to keep everyone waiting." With an easy laugh, Michael glanced around. "The trouble with being prompt is you always wait for everyone else. I was really glad to get your call. I wasn't sure the cops would ever let the theater open again, at least not in time for you to put Witness back into production."

"They appear to have everything they need from the scene."

"I want to thank you for giving me the chance to play Vole. I realize you could call in another name actor to fill the part."

"No qualms?" No, Roarke thought, he didn't see qualms. But ambition. "Considering what happened to Draco, I wondered if you might be somewhat anxious about stepping into the role."

"No, I'm fine with it. I don't mean fine," he corrected and had the grace to flush. "It's terrible what happened to Richard. Just terrible. But – "

"The show must go on," Roarke said smoothly, then glanced over. "Ah, Eliza, and Areena. Ladies, thank you for coming."

"Your call saved me from boredom and brooding." Eliza stepped up, brushed her cheek to Roarke's. "The boredom of being between acts. And brooding over Kenneth. I still can't believe what I'm hearing on the news."

"Don't," Areena said. "There's a mistake. There must be." She rubbed her chilly arms. "It's so odd to be here again. I haven't been back since… since opening night."

"Will you be all right with this?" Roarke took her hand, warmed it in his own.

"Yes. Yes, I must be, mustn't I? None of us have any choice but to go on."

"Why shouldn't we?" Carly made an entrance. A deliberate one. She'd applied dramatic makeup to go with an electric blue dress that scooped low at the breasts, stopped short at the thighs.

For power, she'd told herself. She was damn well going to be powerful.

"None of us gave a damn about the late, unlamented Richard Draco."

"Carly," Areena murmured it, a quiet censure.

"Oh, save the fragile sensibilities for the audience. He fucked us all over at one time or another. Some of us literally," she added with a tight, fierce smile. "We're not here to dedicate our next performance to his memory. We're here because we want to get back to work."

"He may have been a bastard, dear," Eliza said mildly, "but dead is dead. And now Kenneth's in the hospital, and under guard."

"Kenneth ought to be given a medal for ridding the world of Richard Draco."

"They haven't charged him yet." Areena twisted her fingers together. "Can't we just discuss the play and get away from the ugliness for a little while? Is this a full cast call, Roarke?" She brushed a hand over her hair, looked around. "I was sure the director would be here by now."

"Difficult to arrange a full cast call at the moment." Roarke let the implications of that hang. "The part of Sir Wilfred will need to be recast."

"Couldn't we rehearse with a stand-in?" Michael asked. "I've never run through an entire act with the first cast. It would be helpful for me to do that as soon as possible."

"There you go, Michael." Carly laughed. "No moss growing on you."

"You just said we were here to work," he shot back. "There's no reason to snipe at me."

"Maybe I'm feeling snipey. You're just sulking because I kicked you out of my apartment instead of crying on your shoulder."

"I would've helped," he said quietly. "I would have tried."

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone." Her eyes glinted with an inner fury that burned into her voice. "I slept with you. Big deal. Don't think you mean anything to me. No man is ever going to mean anything to me."

"Once more, sex rears its ugly head," Eliza muttered. "Must we forever have glands interfering with art?"

"Eliza." Areena stepped forward, laid a hand on Carly's arm. "Carly, please. We need to get along. We need to stick together." She tried a bolstering smile. "What must Roarke think of us, bickering this way?"

"I'd say you're all under considerable strain." He paused, skimming his eyes over the faces turned toward him. "And that if any or all of you feel unable to continue with the run of the play, I'd prefer to know sooner than later."

Carly threw back her head and laughed. "Oh please. Each and every one of us would claw through broken glass for a chance to perform in this one. The publicity will pack this house for weeks when we open again, and every one of us knows it. Nothing as irksome as murder will get in our way."

She tossed her hair back, stretching out her arms as she crossed the stage. "So bring on a stand-in for the inestimable Sir Wilfred, cast a goddamn droid in the role, it'll still be standing room only."

She whirled back, arms still lifted. "Go ahead, Roarke, throw open the doors. Let the play begin."

As cues went, Eve figured it was near to perfect. "It never stopped," she said, and moved from the wing's shadows to the lights.