Immortal in Death (30 page)

There was the wedding itself. Surely a man was entitled to be a bit distracted at such a time.

But he was, at least with himself, a brutally honest man. There was only one reason for the nerves. That was the image that continually leapt into his mind of Eve, battered and bloodied and broken.

And the terror that by touching her he might bring it all back, turn something beautiful into the beastly.

Beside him she stirred, then pushed herself up to look down at him. Her face was still flushed, her eyes dark. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you.”

He trailed a finger along her jaw. “About?”

“I’m not fragile. There’s no reason for you to treat me as if I’m wounded.”

His brows drew together, the annoyance self-directed. He hadn’t realized he was that transparent, even with her. And the sensation didn’t sit well. “I don’t know what you mean.” He started to get up, with the idea of pouring a drink he didn’t want, but she took a firm grip on his arm.

“Avoidance isn’t your usual style, Roarke.” It worried her. “If your feelings have changed because of what I did, what I remembered — “

“Don’t be insulting.” He snapped it out, and the temper kindling in his eyes was a great relief to her.

“What am I supposed to think? This is the first time you’ve touched me since that night. It was more like nursing than — “

“You have a problem with tenderness?”

He was clever, she thought. Calm or aroused, he knew how to turn things to his own favor. She kept her hand on his arm, her eyes level with his. “Do you think I can’t tell you’re holding back? I don’t want you to hold back. I’m fine.”

“I’m not.” He jerked his arm free. “I’m not. Some of us are a little more human, need a little more time. Leave it alone.”

His words were a sharp slap on a naked cheek. She nodded once, slid down into bed, and turned away from him. “All right. But what happened to me when I was a child wasn’t sex. It was an obscenity.” She closed her eyes tight and willed herself to sleep.

When her ‘link beeped, it was barely dawn. Eyes still closed, Eve reached out. “Block video. Dallas.”

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Dispatch. Probable homicide, male, rear of 19 One hundred eighth Street. Proceed immediately.”

Nerves churned in Eve’s stomach. She wasn’t on rotation, shouldn’t have been called. “Cause of death?”

“Apparent beating. Victim not yet identified due to facial injuries.”

“Acknowledged. Goddamn it.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and blinked when she saw Roarke was already up and getting dressed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to a murder scene.”

“You’re a civilian. You don’t have any business at a murder scene.”

He merely shot her a look as she tugged on jeans. “Your vehicle is in repair, Lieutenant.” He had some small satisfaction of hearing her mutter oaths as she remembered. “I’ll drive you. Drop you,” he qualified. “On my way to the office.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged on her weapon harness.

It was a miserable neighborhood. Several buildings were decorated with vicious graffiti, broken glass, and the tattered signs the city used to condemn them. Of course, people still lived in them, huddled in filthy rooms, avoiding the patrols, blissing out on whatever substance offered the most kick.

There were neighborhoods like it all over the world, Roarke thought as he stood in the thin sunlight behind the police barricade. He had grown up in one not so different, though it had been three thousand miles across the Atlantic.

He understood the life here, the despair, the deals, just as he understood the violence that had led to the result Eve was even now examining.

As he watched her, along with the derelicts, the sleepy street whores, the miserably curious, he realized he understood her as well.

Her movements were brisk, her face impassive. But there was pity in her eyes as they studied what had once been a man. She was, he thought, capable, strong, and resilient. Whatever wounds she had, she would live with. She didn’t need him to heal, but to accept.

“Not your usual milieu, Roarke.”

Roarke glanced down as Feeney stepped up beside him. “I’ve been to worse.”

“Haven’t we all.” Feeney sighed and took a wrapped Danish out of his pocket. “Breakfast?”

“I’ll pass. You go ahead.”

Feeney downed the pastry in three whopping bites. “Better go see what our girl’s up to.” He walked through the barricade, tapping his chest where his badge was fixed to settle the nervous uniforms guarding the scene.

“Lucky the media hasn’t come in yet,” he commented.

Eve flicked a glance up. “Not much interest in a murder in this neighborhood — at least not until the how leaks.” Her clear-coated hands were already smeared with blood as she knelt beside the body. “Got the pictures?” At the nod from the video tech, she slid her hands under the body. “Let’s turn him over, Feeney.”

He’d fallen, or had been left facedown, and had leaked a great deal of blood and brains from the fist-sized hole in the back of his head. The flip side wasn’t any prettier.

“No ID,” Eve reported. “Peabody’s inside the building doing door to door, see if we can come up with anyone who knows him or saw anything.”

Feeney shifted his gaze to the rear of the building. There were a couple of windows, filthy glass heavily grilled. He skimmed the concrete yard where they crouched. There was a recycler, broken, a grab bag of garbage, junk, rusted metal.

“Not much of a view,” he commented. “We tag him yet?”

“I took prints. One of the uniforms is running them now. Weapon’s already bagged. Iron pipe tossed under the recycler.” Eyes narrowed, she studied the body. “He didn’t leave a weapon with Boomer or Hetta Moppett. It’s obvious why he left one at Leonardo’s. Now he’s playing with us, Feeney, tossing it where a blind frog would hop to it. What do you make of this guy?” She snapped a finger under a wide, neon-pink suspender.

Feeney grunted. The corpse was decked out in full fashion. Pegged knee shorts in rainbow stripes, moon glow T-shirt, expensive beaded sandals.

“Had money to waste on bad clothes.” Feeney studied the building again. “If he lived here, he wasn’t putting it into real estate.”

“Dealer,” Eve decided. “Midlevel. You live here because your business is here.” She rose, smearing blood from her hands onto her jeans, as a uniform approached.

“Got a match, Lieutenant. Victim is ID’d as Lament Ro, aka Cockroach. He’s got a long sheet. Mostly under Illegals. Possession, manufacturing with intent, a couple of assaults.”

“Anybody use him? He weasel for anyone?”

“That data didn’t come up.”

She glanced at Feeney who acknowledged the silent request with a grunt. He’d dig and find out. “Okay, let’s bag him and ship him. I want a tox report. Let the sweepers in here.”

Her gaze skimmed the scene again and landed on Roarke. “I need a ride, Feeney.”

“Can do.”

“I’ll just be a minute.” She headed to the barricade. “I thought you were going to the office.”

“I am. Are you done here?”

“A few more things. I can catch a ride with Feeney.”

“You’re looking for the same murderer here.”

She started to tell him that was police business, then shrugged. The media would have its greedy hands on it within the hour. “Seeing as his face has been turned into jelly, it’s a pretty good bet. I’ve got to — “

She whirled around at the screams. Long, screeching wails that could have drilled holes in steel. She saw the woman, big, naked but for a pair of red panties, burst out of the building. She mowed over two uniforms who’d been sipping coffee, bowled them down like duckpins and streaked toward what was left of Cockroach.

“Oh, fucking A,” Eve muttered and raced to intercept. Less than a yard from the body, she leaped and took the woman down in a flying tackle that had them both making painful acquaintance with the concrete.

“That’s my man.” The woman flopped like a two-hundred-pound fish, beat at Eve with meaty hands. “That’s my man, you cop bitch.”

In the interest of order, of preserving the scene, and of self-preservation, Eve brought her fist up hard under the woman’s pudgy jaw.

“Lieutenant. You all right, Lieutenant?” Both uniforms reached down to help Eve off the unconscious woman. “Jesus, she came out of nowhere. Sorry — “

“Sorry?” Jerking away, Eve scalded them both. “Sorry? You miserable brain-dead assholes. Another two seconds, and she’d have contaminated the scene. Next time you’re assigned to something bigger than traffic detail, you keep your stupid hands off your dicks. Now, see if you can manage to call the MTs and have them take a look at that idiot woman. Then you get her some clothes and take her into holding. Can you handle that?”

She didn’t bother to wait for an answer but started limping off. Her jeans were torn, her own blood mixing with the dead man’s, and her eyes were still flashing when they met Roarke’s. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

“It’s always a delight to watch you work, Lieutenant.” Abruptly, he caught her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss potent enough to stagger her back on her heels. “No holding back,” he said as she blinked at him. “Have the MT’s take a look at you, too.”

It was several hours later when she received the summons to Whitney’s office. With Peabody beside her, Eve took the sky-walk.

“I’m sorry, Dallas. She shouldn’t have gotten past me.”

“Jesus, Peabody, let it go. You were in another part of the building when she made her run.”

“I should have realized one of the other tenants would inform her.”

“Yeah, we all need to keep our crystal ball polished. Look, the upshot is, she didn’t do any more than put another couple dents in me. Casto call in yet?”

“He’s still in the field.”

“Is he still in your fields?”

Peabody’s mouth twitched. “We were together last night. We were just going to have dinner, but one thing led to another. I swear, I haven’t slept like that since I was a kid. Who knew great sex was such a terrific soother.”

“I could have told you.”

“Anyway, he got a call just after mine came in. My take is, he’ll know who the victim is, maybe be able to help.”

Eve grunted. They weren’t kept waiting in Whitney’s outer office, but shown straight in. He pointed to chairs. “Lieutenant, I realize your written report is on the way, but I prefer a verbal rundown on this latest homicide.”

“Yes, sir.” She relayed the address and description of the murder scene, the name and description of the victim, along with details of the weapon found, the wounds, the ME’s determination of time of death. “Peabody’s initial door to door didn’t turn up anything useful, but we will follow that up with a second pass. The woman who was living with the victim was of some help.”

Whitney lifted his brows. Eve was still wearing her stained shirt and torn jeans. “I’m told you had a bit of trouble there.”

“Nothing to speak of.” Eve had already decided the tongue lashing she’d given would do. There was no need to layer on punishment with official reprimands. “She’s a former licensed street companion. Didn’t have the credits to renew. She’s also a user. By applying a little pressure in that area, we were able to get her to tell us something of the victim’s movements last night. According to her statement, they were together in the apartment until about oh one hundred. They’d had some wine and a little Exotica. He claimed he had to go, had a deal to close. She took some Download, passed out. As the ME puts the time of death at approximately oh two hundred in his prelim, it jibes.

“Evidence indicates the victim was killed where he was found early this morning. It also strongly indicates that the victim was taken out by the same person who killed Moppett, Boomer, and Pandora.”

She took time for a breath and continued to speak formally. “Mavis Freestone’s movements during the time of this murder can be accounted for by the primary and others.”

Whitney said nothing for a moment, but kept his eyes on Eve’s face. “This office does not believe that Mavis Freestone is in any way connected with this murder, nor does the office of the prosecuting attorney. I have Dr. Mira’s preliminary analysis of Ms. Freestone’s testing.”

“Testing?” Formality forgotten, Eve sprang up. “What do you mean her testing? That wasn’t scheduled until Monday.”

“It was rescheduled,” Whitney said calmly. “And has been completed as of thirteen hundred hours.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?” Uncomfortable memories of her own experiences with Testing roiled in her stomach. “I should have been there.”

“It was in the best interest of all parties involved that you were not.” He held up a hand. “Before you lose your temper and risk insubordination, let me tell you that Dr. Mira clearly states in her report that Ms. Freestone passed all testing. The truth detector indicates her veracity in her statements. As to the other elements, Dr. Mira feels that the subject is highly unlikely to have exhibited the extreme violence with which Pandora was killed. Leaving out the hundred-credit words, Dr. Mira recommends the charges against Ms. Freestone be dropped.”

“Dropped.” The backs of Eve’s eyes burned as she sat again. “When?”