Memory in Death (18 page)

As she headed for the elevator, she pulled out her communicator again. "Peabody, status."

"Two blocks west. Got what we were looking for, first stop."

"Meet me in front of the hotel."

"Are we a go?"

"We're a go," Eve said. She switched over to Baxter. "We're in place. You have the signals."

"That's affirmative."

"Give them some room. Let's see how they spend their day."

On the street, she took a look around. If Trudy's killer had tracked them to the new location—and anything was possible—where would he wait and watch? There were always places. A restaurant, another hotel room, even the street for a period of time.

But those chances were slim. Tracking them wouldn't have been a cinch. That would take skill, smarts, and luck. Finding a spot to watch for a couple of days would take a great deal of patience.

And for what purpose? Money, if money was the object, would only come through them if she paid it out. Smarter, simpler, to try the direct blackmail route.

Smarter, simpler, to try to shake her rather than the victim's daughter-in-law.

She leaned on her car as she waited for Peabody. If money was the motive for murder, why wasn't the killer pushing harder for a payoff?

Peabody hiked up, rosy-cheeked from the cold and the walk.

"What if the money's the beard?"

"Whose beard?"

"The beard, Peabody. I keep circling back to payback instead of payoff. It just slides in better. But if it's payback, why do you wait until she's in New York, coming after me? Why do you smash her head in

after she's made contact? Why don't you wait until you see if she gets the dough first? Or you take her out at her home base, easier to make it look accidental."

"Maybe the killer lives here. In New York. Maybe she was playing two at once."

"Maybe. But so far, I've got nobody who's local popping out of her file. If it was impulse, why hang around trying to threaten Zana into coughing up money she doesn't have?"

"Because now you're greedy."

"Yeah, greed's usually good." But it wasn't gelling for her.

She got in the car. She didn't want to be loitering out front when and if the Lombards came out.

"What did you find out?" she asked Peabody.

"National Bank, a block from the boutique. One of the tellers made her photo straight off. She was in right before they closed, Friday afternoon. Wanted two hundred single-dollar credits. Snippy about it, so says the teller. Wanted them loose. No bag, no rolls. Just dumped them into her purse. Oh, they want a warrant before they turn over any security discs."

"Get one. Let's tie up all the threads."

"Where are we heading?"

"Back to the murder scene. I've run re-enactments on the comp. I want to try it on the spot." She dug out her homer, stuck it on the dash. "Baxter and Trueheart can handle the shadow, but we'll keep an eye on them anyway."

"Haven't moved yet," Peabody observed.

"They will."

Eve took a second-level street slot at the West Side Hotel. "How could there be anything left in the city to buy?" She clambered down, scowling at the masses of people. "What more could they possibly want?"

"Speaking for myself, I want lots and lots. Piles of boxes with big shiny bows. And if McNab didn't spring for something shiny, I'll have to hurt him. Maybe we'll get that snow." She sniffed the air like a hound. "Smells like it."

"How can you smell anything in this city but city?"

"I got a prime nose. I can scent soy dogs grilling. And there they are, down the block. I'm sort of going to miss being here for Christmas. I mean, it's exciting—scary, too—going to Scotland, but it's not New York."

Inside, the same droid worked the desk. "Hey!" He signaled. "When you gonna unseal the room?"

"When justice is served."

"Manager's busting me on it. We got reservations. Full house next week for New Year's Eve."

"He's got a problem with my crime scene, tell him to contact me. I'll tell him what he can do for New Year's."

She checked her homer on the way up. "They're moving. Baxter?" she said into the communicator. "They're coming out."

"We've got them. Got audio. They're talking about heading over to Fifth, window shopping. Looking for a tabletop tree for the room."

"I can hear them. I'm tuning down the audio. Tag me if there's anything I should know."

"They're stepping out. My youthful companion and I will be taking a stroll. And we're out."

Eve pocketed her communicator, took out her master to break the seal. A woman opened the door across the hall a crack.

"Are you the police?"

"Yes, ma'am." Eve drew out her badge.

"Somebody said a woman was killed in that room, just a few days ago."

"There was an incident. There's no reason for you to be concerned."

"Easy for you to say. Larry! Larry, I told you there was a murder. The cops are right here." She poked her head back out. "He wants to get his vid cam. Get something we can show the kids tomorrow."

Larry, busting with smiles as he pushed the door open, led with the camera. "Hi! You think maybe you could put your hand on your weapon, maybe hold up your badge. Look tough. The kids're going to love it."

"Now's not really a good time, Larry."

"It'll only take a minute. You going in? Great! I can just get a quick shot of the inside. Is there still blood?"

"What, are you twelve? Put that thing down, go back in your room before I arrest you for being dirt stupid."

"Great! Great! Keep going."

"Jesus Christ, where do people come from? What dark hole vomits them out into my face? Peabody."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to go back inside now. This is a police investigation." She lowered her voice as she moved to block his view. "You don't want to tick her off. Trust me."

"Can you say your name? Like this is Officer Smith, ordering you to cease and desist."

"It's detective, and, sir, you will have to cease and desist before—"

Eve simply stepped forward, wrenched the little camera out of his hand.

"Hey!"

"If you don't want me to drop it, and have it somehow end up under my boot, you're going to go back inside."

"Larry, give it a rest." The woman elbowed him back. "I'll take it."

"I got some good stuff on there," Larry said as his wife nudged him back inside. "You can't buy this kind of stuff." The door finally shut after him.

Eve glanced back. She knew damn well Larry had that damn camera up to the security peep. She broke the seal on room 415, jerked a thumb at Peabody. She kept the door open just enough for her partner to squeeze through, then followed. Closed it. Locked it.

"Asshole." Eve scanned the room, shook off the incident in the hall. "She comes in Friday, worked up. Got herself a new plan. Following a pattern we've established. Doesn't mind hurting herself or her property to pin it on someone else. Complicate their lives. Pay them back. She's laid in some supplies. We'll check some of the markets. Harder to pin that down, though. But she's going to have some supplies. The wine, soup, easy food."

"She's already planning how to take care of herself once she's hurt. Blockers, then," Peabody added. "Some soothers."

"If she didn't travel with enough, yeah. We'll check that, too. Bet she has a drink first. Yeah. A big gulp of wine maybe. Maybe some solid food. Thinking, working it out."

Eve walked the room as she imagined it. "Does she call her killer? I don't know, I don't know. Why?

This is her deal. She's in charge. And she's hot. She's plenty steamed."

"Have to be gritting down to do that to herself."

"She thinks how it's going to play out. How it's going to make Roarke scramble. Thinks he can brush her off? Well, she'll show him. Rips the socks apart. Pulls off the tag, balls it up, tosses it and pulls the pair apart. Tosses the spare, floor, dresser. Fills the one with the credits. Checks the weight. Maybe takes a blocker first, gets ahead of the pain."

Eve strode to the bathroom. "In here. You'd do it in here, in case the pain makes you sick. Don't want to puke on the floor. Who's going to clean it up?"

Eve stepped to the sink, looked into the mirror. "Takes a good look. She's paid good money to keep her face in tune. But that's all right, that's okay. There'll be more. And there's no way that son of a bitch is going to get away with treating her that way. He doesn't know who he's dealing with."

Eve brought her fist up hard, right below the chin. Fast enough, violently enough to make Peabody jolt behind her.

"Jeez, I could almost feel it."

"Saw stars. Pain grinds right down into the gut. Dizzy, half sick. Gotta do the rest, gotta do it while you've still got the courage, and the strength." She mimed the blows, imagined them. Tipped forward, gripped the sink as if for support.

"They got her prints off the sink? Where?"

Peabody pulled out her PCC, called up the file. "Pretty much where your hand is. Good imprints—all four fingers and thumb, left hand."

"Yeah, cause she's still holding the sap in her right, had to grab hold to stay upright. Good grip, good prints. Got to bleed a little, from the face."

She turned, reached out for a washcloth. "Should be two of these. She takes one, holds it to her face, maybe dampens it first. So we get a little of her blood in the sink. But the cloth's not here when we find her."

"Killer took it? Why?"

"To keep the illusion she was beaten. Trudy takes the cloth, probably puts some ice in it, just to cool her face. None of her clothes had blood on them, except for the nightgown. Most likely she wore it while she clocked herself. Don't want to mess up a nice outfit. Besides, she's going to want to lie down for a while anyway. Sleep off the pain."

"It still doesn't make sense."

"Call up the list of her belongings. Is there a vid cam?"

"Hold on." Peabody shoved at her hair, then found the file. "No cam, but... hey. There's a disc for one. Unused. It was in her purse."

"Tourists don't come to New York without a vid cam. Just like our pal, Larry. And she used recordings before. Sleeps it off, first. Has to have her wits about her when she documents her injuries. Sets the stage, works up some tears, some shakes. Puts the finger on Roarke, or me. Or both of us."

Eve looked toward the bed, could picture Trudy sitting there, her face battered, tears streaming. "'This is what they did to me. I'm afraid for my life.' All she has to do is get a copy of it delivered to one of us. Have to have some subtext on the recording. 'I don't know what to do. Should I go to the police? But she's the police. God help me,' blah-blah. 'He's so rich, so powerful. What will happen if I take this recording to the media. Will I be safe?'"

"Figuring you'd read between the lines."

"And when we contact her, she'll insist one of us come here. No 'link conversations that can be turned around on her. Face-to-face. Give me the money, or I ruin you. But it doesn't get that far."

"Because her delivery boy took her out."

"Had to come in the door. I just don't buy the window, not with this scenario. Security's not heavy here. Anybody wants to walk in, they walk in. Or he could've been staying at the hotel. Keep him close that way, under her thumb that way. At her beck and call. We'll run the registration list again, go deeper there. Find a connection. Better if your minion's close by. She tells him to come up."

"She couldn't be feeling her best, even with the blockers, the alcohol."

"No, and she'd want to be able to complain to somebody. Fix me a drink. Get me some soup. Maybe bitching—if she'd sent the disc with him—why we hadn't jumped already. What's taking us so long? Maybe she slips about the amount she's going to demand, or maybe she just pushes the wrong button. But she's not concerned. Pacing around in her nightgown. She's there."

Eve pointed so that Peabody would assume Trudy's position. "Back to him. He picks up the sap, takes her down. Rug burns on the heels of her hand. Get down, Peabody."

"Cops have no dignity." Peabody went down on her knees, shot her hands out as if catching herself.

"And again, from above. One more to make sure. Blood. Had to get some blood on him. Now he's got to figure it out, cover his tracks. Take the weapon, take the 'link, take the camera. Record would be on the hard drive, if anyone decided to look. Make sure. Washcloth, towel, sock. Anything with her blood on it. Wrap everything up in a towel. Go out the window. Leave the window open. Logic says the killer came in that way."

By the window now, Eve looked out. "Down and gone, no problem. Or..." She studied the distance to the window of the next room, the emergency platform. "Next room was empty. Maybe..."

She turned back. "Let's have the sweepers take a look next door. I want those drains checked for blood. Bring them in now. I'll go down and deal with the desk droid."

He wasn't happy about it. The room was occupied, and moving guests generally made them unhappy.

"They'll be a lot unhappier if they're in there while my crime scene team's tearing up the room. You'll be a lot unhappier if I go through the trouble of getting a warrant to shut down this establishment until

my investigation is closed."

That did the trick. While she waited, she checked in with Baxter.

"What's the status?"

"They're making up for lost time. I think we've walked five fricking miles. And it's spitting some wet snow."

"So button up. What are they doing?"

"Shopping mostly. Just bought a little tree after looking at all the little trees in the borough of Manhattan. They're talking about heading back, thank the tiny baby Jesus. If anyone's tailing them but me and my faithful sidekick, I'm a monkey."

"Stick with them."

"Like glue."

In Midtown, Baxter shoved his communicator back in his coat pocket. On his earpiece he heard Zana talk about lunch. Should they buy some dogs and stay out a while longer? Or go drop off their things, have lunch at the hotel?

"Hotel," he mumbled. "Go to the hotel. The one with a nice warm coffee shop across the street."

Trueheart shrugged. "It's nice being out. Being able to see all the decorations. The snow just adds."