Immortal in Death (34 page)

“Your suspects?”

“They’ve got a minimum break coming.”

“And so,” he said, taking her arm, “do you.” She started to tug away, but he continued to march her out into the hall. “I’m sure everyone appreciates your new interview look, but I imagine you’d do a better job of it after a nap, a shower, and a change of clothes.”

She looked down at the black satin gown. She’d completely forgotten she had it on. “I’ve probably got a pair of jeans in my locker.” When he was able to bundle her into the elevator with little effort, she realized she was flagging. “Okay, okay. I’ll go home and catch a shower, maybe some breakfast.”

And, Roarke thought, at least five hours’ sleep.

“How’d it go in there?”

“Hmm?” She blinked, shook herself alert. “Not too much progress. Didn’t expect it on the first round. They’re sticking tight to their original story and claiming the drug was planted. We’ve got enough for an enforced drug test on Fitzgerald. Her lawyers are making a lot of noise over it, but we’ll get it.”

She yawned hugely. “We’ll use that to finesse data out of her, if not an outright confession. We’ll triple team them on the next round.”

Roarke led her out the breezeway to the visitors’ lot where he’d parked. She was walking, he noted, with the intense care of a woman deeply drunk. “They won’t stand a chance,” he said as they approached his car. “Roarke, disengage locks.”

He opened the door, all but folded her into the passenger seat.

“We’ll shift off. Casto’s a good interviewer.” Her head lolled back on the seat. “Gotta give him that. Peabody’s got potential. She’s tenacious. We’ll keep the three of them in separate rooms, keep changing interviewers on them. I’m betting on Young to fall first.”

Roarke eased out of the lot, headed for home. “Why?”

“The bastard loves her. Love messes you up. You make mistakes ‘cause you’re worried, protective. Stupid.”

He smiled a little, brushed her hair back from her face, and she dropped steeply into sleep. “Tell me about it.”

If recent behavior was any example of what it was like to have a husband, Eve told herself it couldn’t be half bad. She’d been coddled into bed, which she was forced to admit had been for the best, and had been awakened five unremembered hours later by the scent of hot coffee and fresh waffles.

Roarke had already been up, dressed, and poring over some vital business transmission.

It did irk her from time to time that he seemed to get by on less sleep than a normal human, but she didn’t mention it. That sort of comment would only gain her a smirk.

It was to his benefit that he didn’t point out that he was taking care of her. Knowing it was weird enough without having him crow over it.

So she headed toward Cop Central, rested, well fed, and in her newly repaired vehicle, which in under five blocks decided to surprise her with a new foible. Her speed indicator shot straight into red, though she was sitting dead still in a traffic snarl.

WARNING, she was told pleasantly. ENGINE OVERLOAD IN FIVE MINUTES AT CURRENT SPEED. PLEASE REDUCE VELOCITY OR SWITCH TO AUTO OVERDRIVE.

“Bite me,” she suggested, not so pleasantly, and drove the rest of the way with the constant cheerful advice to reduce velocity or blow up.

She wasn’t going to let it affect her mood. The nasty blackhearted thunderclouds rolling in and sending air traffic scrambling didn’t bother her. The fact that it was Saturday, a week before her wedding, and she was in for a long, hard, potentially brutal day at work didn’t diminish her pleasure.

She strode into Cop Central, her smile fixed and grim.

“You look ready to gnaw raw meat,” Feeney commented.

“The way I like it best. Any additional data?”

“Let’s take the long way. I’ll fill you in.”

He detoured to a sky glide, nearly empty at midday. The mechanism stuttered a bit, but carried them upward. Manhattan receded to a pretty toy town of crisscrossing avenues and brightly colored vehicles.

Lightning cracked the sky with an accompanying boom of thunder that shook the glass enclosure. Rain poured through the crack in gleeful buckets.

“Just made it.” Feeney peered down, watched pedestrians scramble like maddened ants. An airbus blatted its horn and skidded past the glass with inches to spare. “Jesus.” Feeney slapped a hand to his jumping heart. “Where do those fuckers get their license?”

“Anybody with a pulse can drive those sky doggers. You couldn’t get me in one with a laser blast.”

“Public transportation in this city’s a disgrace.” He took out a bag of candied nuts to calm himself. “Anyway, your hunch on the calls from Maui panned out. Young called Fitzgerald’s place twice before he hopped a shuttle back. He ordered the showing on screen, too. Full two hours.”

“Got any security of his place on the night Cockroach bought it?”

“Young came in, with his flight bag, about six A. M. His shuttle got in at midnight. No data on how he spent the missing six hours.”

“No alibi. He had plenty of time to get from the terminal to the murder scene. Can we place Fitzgerald?”

“She was at the ballroom until a little past twenty-two thirty. Rehearsals for last night’s do. Didn’t show up at her place until oh eight. She made plenty of calls: her stylist, her masseuse, her body sculptor. Spent four hours yesterday at Paradise, getting herself buffed and polished. Young, he spent the day talking with his agent, his business manager, and…” Feeney smiled a little. “A travel consultant. Our boy was interested in a trip for two to the Eden Colony.”

“I love you, Feeney.”

“I’m a lovable kind of guy. Picked up the sweeper’s reports on my way in. Nothing we can use on Young’s place or Fitzgerald’s. The only trace of illegals was in the blue juice. If they’ve got more, they’re keeping it elsewhere. No logs or records of any transactions, no sign of formulas. I’ve still got the hard drives to diddle with, see if they hid anything in them. But if you ask me, those two aren’t high-tech geniuses.”

“No, Redford would probably know more about that. We’ve got more than murder and trafficking here, Feeney. If we can get the stuff classified as poison and pin them with prior knowledge of its lethal qualities, we’ll have full-scale racketeering and conspiracy to slaughter.”

“Nobody’s used conspiracy to slaughter since the Urban Wars, Dallas.”

The glide ground to a halt. “I think it has a nice ring.”

She found Peabody waiting outside the interview area. “Where’s the rest of our party?”

“Suspects are in conference with their attorneys. Casto’s getting coffee.”

“Okay, contact the conference rooms. Their time’s up. Any word from the commander?”

“He’s on his way in. He wants to observe. The PA’s office will participate via ‘link.”

“Good. Feeney’s going to oversee the recordings on all three subjects. I don’t want any slipups when this business comes to trial. You take Fitzgerald for the first round, Casto’s on Redford. I want Young.”

She signaled when she spotted Casto coming toward them juggling a tray of coffee. “Feeney, fill them in on the additional data. Use it wisely,” she added and copped a cup of coffee. “We’ll switch teams in thirty minutes.”

She slipped into her interview area. The first sip of miserable eatery coffee made her smile. It was going to be a good day.

“You can do better than that, Justin.” Eve was revving up, had barely hit her stride. It was hour three of interview.

“You asked me what happened. The other cops asked me what happened.” He took a drink of water. He was well off his stride, and faltering. “I told you.”

“You’re an actor,” she pointed out, all friendly smiles. “A good one. All the reviews say so. I read one just the other day that said you can make a bad line sing. I don’t hear music here, Justin.”

“How many times do you want me to go over the same ground?” He looked toward his lawyer. “How long do I have to do this?”

“We can stop the interview process at any time,” his lawyer reminded him. She was a sharp-looking blonde with killer eyes. “You’re under no obligation to make any further statements.”

“That’s right,” Eve chimed in. “We can stop. You can go back to holding. You’re not going to make bail on the illegals charges, Justin.” She leaned forward, made sure his eyes focused on hers. “Not while there are four counts of murder hanging over you.”

“My client has not been charged with any crime other than suspicion of possession.” The lawyer peered down her needle-straight nose. “You don’t have a case here, Lieutenant. We all know it.”

“Your client’s dangling over the edge of a very steep cliff. We all know that. Want to take the fall alone, Justin? That doesn’t seem very fair to me. Your friends are answering questions right now.” She lifted her hands, spread her fingers. “What are you going to do if they roll over on you?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.” He flicked his gaze toward the door, toward the mirror. He knew he had an audience, and for once he didn’t know how to play the crowd. “I never even heard of those other people.”

“But you knew Pandora.”

“Of course I knew Pandora. Obviously I knew her.”

“You were there, at her house on the night she died.”

“I’ve said so, haven’t I? Look, Jerry and I went to her house, at her invitation. We had a few drinks, that other woman came around. Pandora got obnoxious, and we left.”

“How often do you and Ms. Fitzgerald use the unsecured entrance at your building?”

“It’s just a matter of privacy,” he insisted. “If you had media hounding you every time you tried to take a piss, you’d understand.”

Eve knew exactly what that was like and smiled toothily. “Funny, neither of you seemed to be particularly shy of media exposure. In fact, if I were a cynic, I’d have to say the two of you exploited it. How long has Jerry been on Immortality?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes shifted to the mirror again, as if he was hoping a director would say “cut” and end the scene. “I told you I didn’t know what was in that drink.”

“You had a bottle in your bedroom, but you didn’t know the contents. Never took a taste of it?”

“I never touched it.”

“That’s funny, too, Justin. You know, it seems to me if something was in my friggie, I’d be tempted to sample it. Unless I knew it was poison, of course. You know Immortality’s a slow poison, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He stopped himself, breathed hard through his nose. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“An overload on the nervous system, slow acting, but lethal all the same. You poured Jerry a drink, handed it to her. That’s murder.”

“Lieutenant — “

“I’d never hurt Jerry,” he exploded. “I’m in love with her. I’d never hurt her.”

“Really? Several witnesses claim you did just that a few days ago. Did you or did you not strike Ms. Fitzgerald in the backstage area of the Waldorf’s Royal Ballroom on July second?”

“No, I — We lost our tempers.” The lines were tangling in his head. He couldn’t remember his cue. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“You hit her in the face.”

“Yes — no. Yes, we were arguing.”

“You were arguing, so you punched the woman you love, knocking her off her feet. Were you still violently angry with her when she came to your apartment last night? When you poured her a glass of slow-acting poison?”

“I tell you, it’s not poison, not like you mean. I wouldn’t hurt her. I was never angry with her. I couldn’t be.”

“You were never angry with her. You never hurt her. I believe you, Justin.” Eve soothed her voice, leaned forward again, laid a kind hand over his trembling one. “You never hit her, either. You staged it all, didn’t you? You’re not the kind of man who strikes the woman he loves. You staged it, just like one of your performances.”

“I didn’t — I — ” He looked up helplessly into Eve’s eyes, and she knew she had him.

“You’ve done a lot of action videos. You know how to pull a punch, how to fake one. That’s what you did that day, isn’t it, Justin? You and Jerry pretended to fight. You never laid a hand on her.” Her voice was gentle, full of understanding. “You’re not a violent kind of guy, are you, Justin?”

Torn, he pressed his lips together, looked at his lawyer. She held up a hand to hold off more questions and leaned close to Justin’s ear.

Keeping her face bland, Eve waited. She knew the pickle they were in. Did he admit to the staging, making himself into a liar, or did he cop to punching his lover, showing his capabilities for violence? It wasn’t a steady wire to cross.

The lawyer shifted back and folded her hands. “My client and Ms. Fitzgerald were playing a harmless game. Foolish, admittedly, but it isn’t a crime to pretend to fight.”

“No, it isn’t a crime.” Eve felt the first crackle, weakening the back of their alibi. “Neither is going off to Maui and pretending to play house with another woman. It was all make believe, wasn’t it, Justin?”

“We just — I suppose we didn’t take time to think it all through. We were worried, that’s all. After you picked up Paul, we wondered if you’d shoot for us. We were all there that night, so it seemed logical.”

“You know, that’s just what I thought.” She beamed a friendly smile. “It’s a very logical step.”