Rapture in Death (20 page)

That stopped him, had emotion swimming back into his eyes. “Christ, Eve.”

“And it scares me. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the wondering just what’s inside me. I live with it every single day. I knew where you came from when I took you on, and I don’t care. I know you’ve done things, broken laws, lived outside them. But I’m here.”

She huffed out a breath, shifted her feet. “I love you, okay? That’s it. Now, I’m hungry, and I’ve got a full day ahead of me, so I’m going down before Feeney cleans us out of eggs.”

He stepped in front of her before she could storm out. “One more minute.” He framed her face with his hands, lowered his mouth to hers, and turned her scowl into a sigh with a kiss so tender it made her throat ache and her toes curl.

“Well,” she managed when he eased back. “That’s better, I guess.”

“Much better.” He linked his fingers with hers. And because he had used it when he’d hurt her, he balanced that out by using it now. “A ghra.”

“Huh?” A line appeared between her brows. “Is that Gaelic again?”

“Yes.” He brought their joined fingers to his lips. “Love. My love.”

“It’s got a nice ring.”

“It does, yes.” He sighed a little. It had been a long time since he’d let himself hear the music of it.

“It shouldn’t make you sad,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t. Just thoughtful.” He gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “I’d love to buy you breakfast, Lieutenant.”

“Talked me into it.” Comfortable, she tightened her grip. “We got any crepes?”

The trouble with chemicals, Eve thought as she set up for the next interview with Jess Barrow, was that no matter how safe, mild, and helpful they claimed to be, they always made her feel false. She knew she wasn’t naturally alert, that underneath that surging, induced energy, her body was a mass of desperate fatigue.

She kept imagining her system wearing a huge clown’s mask of enthusiasm over a gray, exhausted face.

“Back in the saddle, Peabody?” Eve asked as her aide walked into the white-walled, uncluttered room.

“Yes, sir. I briefed myself via your reports, dropped by your office on the way here. You have a message from the commander on hold, and two from Nadine Furst. I think she smells a story.”

“She’ll have to wait. I’ll relay to the commander during our first break here. Know anything about baseball, Peabody?”

“I played short for two years at the Academy. Golden Glove.”

“Well, warm up. When I toss you a ball, you field it, zing it back. We’re going Tinker to Evers to Chance here, with Feeney coming in before the end of the inning.”

Peabody’s eyes lit. “Hey, didn’t know you were a historian.”

“I have many hidden facets. Just field the ball, Peabody. I want to dust this son of a bitch at the plate. You’ve read the report, you know the drill.” She signaled for the suspect to be brought in. “Let’s cook him. If he lawyers up, we’ll have to juggle. But I’m banking on him being too arrogant to go that route initially.”

“Mostly, I like cocky men. I guess I’ll have to make an exception here.”

“And he’s got such a pretty face,” Eve added, then moved aside as a uniform delivered her man. “How’s it going, Jess? Feeling better today?”

He’d had time to regroup and time to stew. “I could hang you on undue force. But I’m going to let it pass because before this is done, you’ll be the top joke of your idiot department.”

“Yep, he’s feeling better. Have a seat.” She stepped to the small table, engaged the recording unit. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, with Peabody, Officer Delia, as aide. The time is oh nine hundred, September 8, 2058. Interview subject Barrow, Jess, file number S-one nine three oh five. Would you please state your name for the record?”

“Jess Barrow. You got that much right.”

“I have, during our previous interview, given you your rights and options under the law, is that correct?”

“You gave me the drill, sure.” For all the good it had done him, he thought, and shifted carefully in his seat. His cock ached like a rotted tooth.

“And you understand those rights and options as stated?”

“I got them then; I get them now.”

“Do you wish, at this time, to make use of your right to an attorney or representative?”

“I don’t need anybody but myself.”

“All right then.” Eve sat, linked her fingers, smiled. “Let’s get started. In your previous statement, you admitted to the design and use of equipment built for tampering with personal brain patterns and behavior.”

“I didn’t admit to shit.”

She kept smiling. “That’s a matter of interpretation. Do you now deny that during a social gathering at my home last evening, you utilized a program you have designed to make certain suggestions, subliminally, to the subject Roarke?”

“Hey, if your husband took you off and tossed your skirts over your head, it’s your business.”

Her smile never faltered. “It certainly is.” She needed to hang him here, on this one point, to hang him on the rest. “Peabody, perhaps Jess is unaware of the penalty for giving false statement to a police official during Interview.”

“That penalty,” Peabody said smoothly, “carries a maximum term of five years in full lockup. Shall I replay the pertinent data from the initial interview, Lieutenant? The subject’s memory might be faulty due to the injury received while assaulting an officer.”

“Assault, my ass.” He snarled at Peabody. “You think you can double-team me this way? She struck me without provocation, then let that bastard she married come in and…”

He trailed off, remembering the warning Roarke had issued in a soft, silky voice directly in his ear. While the pain, almost sweet in its intensity, had radiated through his system.

“You wish to make an official complaint?” Eve asked.

“No.” Even now, a light line of sweat beaded on his upper lip and made Eve wonder just what Roarke had done to him. “I was upset last night. Things got out of hand.” He took a steadying breath. “Listen, I’m a musician. I take a lot of pride in my work, in the art of it. I like to think what I do influences people, touches them. My pride in that might have given you the wrong impression as to the scope of my work. Basically, I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

He smiled again, with a good deal of his usual charm, and spread his handsome hands. “Those people you talked about last night. I don’t know them. I’ve heard of some of them, sure, but I didn’t know them personally or have anything to do with their decision to self-terminate. I’m against it, myself. In my opinion, life’s too short as it is. This is all a misunderstanding, and I’m willing to forget it.”

Eve leaned back in her chair, sent a look toward her aide. “Peabody, he’s willing to forget it.”

“That’s generous of him, Lieutenant, and not surprising, under the circumstances. A stretch for breaking the statute on personal privacy through electronics is stringent. And, of course, there’s the added charge of designing and implementing equipment designed for individual subliminals. Right there, with the multiple counts, you’re looking at a ten-year minimum in the cages.”

“You can’t begin to prove any of it. Any of it. You’ve got no case here.”

“I’m giving you a chance to roll over here, Jess. They go easier on you when you roll. And as to the civil case that my husband and I are entitled to bring against you, I will state here, for the record, that I will waive that right, contingent on your admission of guilt on the criminal charges — if that admission comes in the next thirty seconds. Think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about anything, because you’ve got nothing.” He leaned forward. “You’re not the only one with people behind you. What do you think will happen to your big, bad career if I go to the press with this?”

She said nothing, just watched him, then glanced at the time count on the recorder. “Offer is rescinded.” Eve nodded at the monitoring camera. “Peabody, please uncode the door for Captain Feeney.”

When Feeney walked in, he was beaming. He set a disc and file on the table and stuck out his hand to Jess. “I’ve got to tell you, your work’s the best I’ve ever seen. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Jess shifted to audience mode, shook hands warmly. “I love my work.”

“Oh, it shows.” Feeney sat down, made himself comfortable. “I haven’t enjoyed anything for years as much as I did taking that console apart.”

Another time, another place, it might have been comic, the way Jess’s face underwent the transformation from obliging star to blank shock to ripe fury. “You fucked with my equipment? Took it apart? You had no right laying a hand on it! You’re meat! You’re dead! You’re destroyed!”

“Let the record show the subject is overwrought,” Peabody recited blandly. “His threats against the person of Captain Feeney are accepted as emotional rather than literal.”

“Well, the first time, anyway,” Feeney said cheerfully. “You want to watch your step there, friend. Put too much of that on record, and we tend to get pissy. Now.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Let’s talk shop. You had some great security, admirable. Took me a while to bypass. But then, I’ve been in the game as long as you’ve been breathing. Designing that personal brain scanner was some accomplishment. So compact, so delicate to the touch. I gauged its range at two yards. Now, that’s damn good for that small and portable a unit.”

“You didn’t get into my equipment.” Jess’s voice wavered. “You’re bluffing. You couldn’t get down to the core.”

“Well, the three fail safes were tricky,” Feeney admitted. “I spent nearly an hour on the second one, but the last was really just padding. I guess you never figured you’d need anything at that level.”

“Did you run the discs, Feeney?” Eve asked him.

“Started on them. You’re on there, Dallas. We don’t have Roarke’s on file. Civilian, you know. But I found yours and Peabody’s.”

Peabody blinked. “Mine?”

“I’m running comparison checks on the names you requested, Dallas.” He smiled broadly at Jess again. “You’ve been busy, collecting specimens. That’s a fine storage option you designed, terrific data compression capabilities. It’s going to break my heart to destroy that equipment.”

“You can’t!” It was sincere pain and distress now. His eyes swam with it. “I’ve put everything I’ve got into that. Not just money, but time and thought and energy. Three years of my life, almost straight through without a break. I stepped back from my career to design it. Do you have any idea what I can accomplish with it?”

Eve picked up the ball. “Why don’t you tell us, Jess? In your own words. We’d love to hear it.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jess Barrow started slowly, in fits and starts, speaking of his experiments and research, his fascination with the influence of outside stimuli on the human brain; the senses, and the enhancement of the senses through technology.

“What we can do for pleasure, for punishment — we haven’t even tapped the surface. That’s what I wanted to do,” he explained. “Tap the surface and go under it. Dreams, Dallas. Needs, fears, fantasies. All my life, music’s been what’s moved me to… everything: hunger, passion, misery, joy. How much more intense would all that be if you could just get inside, really use the mind to exploit and explore?”

“So you worked on it,” she prompted. “Devoted yourself to it.”

“Three years. More really, but three solid on the design, experimentation, perfecting. Every penny I had went into it. I’ve got next to nothing left now. That’s why I needed backing. Why I needed you.”

“And Mavis was your link to me, and from me to Roarke.”

“Look.” He lifted his hands, rubbed them over his face, dropped them onto the table. “I like Mavis, and she’s got a real spark. Yeah, I’d have used her if she was bland as a droid, but she’s not. I didn’t do her any harm. If anything, I gave her a boost up. Her ego level was ditch low when we hooked up. Oh, she was masking it pretty good, but she’d lost confidence in herself from what happened before. I gave her confidence a jolt.”

“How?”

He hesitated, decided he’d take a bigger fall by evading. “Okay, I gave her some subliminal nudges in the right direction. She should be grateful,” he insisted. “And I worked with her, straight stuff, getting her shined up without taking away her natural edge. You heard her yourself. She’s better than she ever was.”

“You experimented on her,” Eve said, and wanted to hang him for that alone, “without her knowledge or consent.”

“It wasn’t like she was some droid rat. Christ, I’d perfected the system.” He jabbed a finger at Feeney. “You know it’s prime.”

“It’s beautiful,” Feeney agreed. “Doesn’t make it legal.”

“Shit, genetic engineering was illegal, in vitro work, prostitution. What did that get us? We’ve come a long way, but we’re still in the dark ages, man. This is a benefit, this is a way to push the mind forward into dreams and make what we dream real.”

“Not all of us want our dreams to be reality. What gives you the right to make that choice for someone else?”

“Okay.” He held up a hand. “Maybe I got over-enthusiastic a few times. You get caught up. But all I did with you was expand on what was there. So I enhanced the lust bars that night in the studio. What did it hurt? Another time I gave your memory a little push, jiggled a few locks. I wanted to be able to prove what could be done, so when the time was right, I could approach you and Roarke with a business proposition. And last night…”

He trailed off, knowing he’d miscalculated badly there. “Okay, last night I went too far, the tone was too dark. I got carried away with it. Performing before a real audience again, it’s like a drug. It hypes you. Maybe I punched the power a little hard on him. An honest mistake.” He tried that smile again. “Look, I’ve used it on myself, dozens of times. There’s no harm, nothing permanent. Just temporary mood enhancement.”

“And you pick the mood?”

“That’s part of it. With standard equipment, you don’t have as much control, not nearly the depth of field. With what I’ve developed, you can turn it on and off like a light. Sexual need or satisfaction, euphoria, melancholy, energy, relaxation. Name it, you got it.”

“A death wish?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly. “I don’t play those games.”

“But it’s all a game to you, isn’t it? You push the buttons, and the people dance. You’re the electronic god.”

“You’re missing the big picture,” he insisted. “Do you know what people would pay for this kind of capability? You can feel anything you want.”

Eve opened the file Feeney had brought in. She tossed photos out, faceup. “What did they feel, Jess?” She pushed the morgue shots of four deaths at him. “What was the last thing you made them feel so that they killed themselves with smiles on their faces?”

He went white as death itself, eyes glazing before he managed to shut them. “No. No way. No.” Doubling over, he retched out his health center breakfast.

“Let the record show the suspect is momentarily indisposed,” Peabody said dryly. “Should I call for maintenance and a health aide, Lieutenant?”

“Christ, yes,” Eve muttered as Jess continued to heave. “We’ll break this interview at oh ten fifteen. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, record off.”

“Great brain, weak stomach.” Feeney went to the dispenser in the corner and poured a cup of water. “Here, boy, see if you can choke some of this down.”

Jess’s eyes watered. His stomach muscles were raw. Water sloshed in the cup so that Feeney had to guide it to his mouth. “You can’t hang that on me,” he managed. “You can’t.”

“We’ll see about that.” Eve stepped aside so that the incoming aide could cart him off to the infirmary. “I need some air,” she muttered and walked out.

“Hold on, Dallas.” Feeney hurried after her, leaving Peabody to direct maintenance and gather up the file. “We need to talk.”

“My office is closer.” She swore lightly as her knee throbbed. The ice bandage was wearing off and needed to be replaced. Her hip was murderous.

“Took a beating with that CEC hit yesterday, didn’t you?” Feeney clucked sympathetically as she hobbled. “Been looked over yet?”

“Later. I’ve been pressed for time. Let’s give the creep an hour to get his stomach back in place, then hit him again. He hasn’t cried lawyer yet, but it’s coming. Won’t matter a damn once we match those brain patterns to the victims.”

“That’s the problem. Sit down,” he advised when they stepped into her office. “Take a load off that leg.”

“It’s the knee, and sitting’s making it stiffen up. What’s the problem?” she asked and headed for the coffee.

“Nothing matches.” He studied her mournfully when she turned. “Not one match in the whole lot. Plenty as yet unidentified, but I’ve got the prints on all victims, no autopsy scan on Devane, but I got the one from her last physical. There’s no match, Dallas.”

So she did sit, heavily. There was no need to ask if he was sure. Feeney was as thorough as a domestic droid searching for dust in corners. “Okay, he’s got them someplace else. Did we get the warrant for his studio and quarters?”

“A team’s going through it right now. I haven’t gotten a report.”

“He could have a lock box, some safe hole.” She shut her eyes. “Shit, Feeney, why would he keep them when he was done with them? He’s probably destroyed them. He’s arrogant, but he’s not stupid. They’d hang him and he’d know it.”

“The possibility’s high there. Then again, he could have kept them as souvenirs. It never fails to surprise me what people keep. That guy last year that cut up his wife? Kept her eyes, remember. In a damn music box.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Where had this headache come from? she wondered and rubbed uselessly at her temples to erase it. “So, maybe we’ll get lucky. If we don’t, we’ve got plenty now. And a good shot of breaking him.”

“Here’s the thing, Dallas.” He sat on the edge of her desk, reached into his pocket for his bag of candied almonds. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t feel right? We’ve got him cold.”

“We’ve got him cold, all right. But not on murder.” Thoughtfully, Feeney chewed a coated nut. “I can’t resolve myself to it. The guy who designed that equipment is brilliant, twisted some sure, self-absorbed. The guy we just shook down is all of those things, and you can add childish. It is a game to him, one he wants to make a big profit on. But murder…”

“You’re just in love with his console.”

“That I am,” he admitted without shame. “He’s weak, Dallas, and not just his stomach. How’s he going to make himself rich by killing people off?”

She arched a brow. “I guess you’ve never heard of murder for hire.”

“That boy doesn’t have the guts for it, or the steel.” He ate another nut. “And where’s the motive? Did he pick those people out of a hat? And there’s this. What he’s got requires proximity to tap the subconscious. You can’t place him at any of the scenes.”

“He said something about remote capabilities.”

“Yeah, it had a fine one, but it wouldn’t command this option. Not that I can figure.”

She sat back, deflated. “You’re not making my day here, Feeney.”

“Just food for thought. If he’s got a hand in it, he’s got help. Or a more personal, portable unit.”

“Could it be adjusted into VR goggles?”

The idea intrigued him, made his hangdog eyes gleam. “Can’t say for sure. It’ll take some time to work that out.”

“I hope you’ve got the time. He’s all I’ve got, Feeney. If I can’t crack him, he’s going to walk on the murders. Tucking him away for ten to twenty on what we’ve got doesn’t do it for me.” She huffed out a breath. “He’ll go for a psych evaluation. He’ll go for anything he thinks will buy him a shot. Maybe Mira can pin him.”

“Send him over after the break,” Feeney suggested. “Let her take him for a few hours, and do yourself a favor. Go home and get some sleep. You run on empty long enough, you drop.”

“Maybe I will. I’ll set it up, deal with Whitney. A couple hours off might clear my head. I must be missing something.”

For once, Summerset wasn’t hovering. Eve snuck in the house like a thief, limped her way upstairs. She left a trail of clothes on her way to the bed, and she sighed greedily when she fell on it.

Ten minutes later, she was on her back, staring at the ceiling. The aches were bad enough, she thought grumpily. But the stimulator she’d taken hours before hadn’t worn off. It was passing, leaving her light-headed with fatigue, while her system still bubbled like a brew.

Sleep was not going to happen.

She found herself picking apart the pieces of the case, putting them back together. Each time the puzzle formed differently until it was a blurred jumble of facts and theories.

At this rate, she wouldn’t be close to coherent when she met with Mira.

She considered indulging in a long, hot bath in lieu of sleep. Then, inspired, she popped up and grabbed a robe. She took the elevator, with the purpose of avoiding Summerset, and stepped up on the lower level into the garden path of the solarium. A session in the lagoon pool, she decided, was just the ticket.

She dumped the robe, padded naked to the dark water walled in genuine stone and framed with fragrant blooms. When she dipped a toe, she found it blissfully warm. She sat on the first step and set the control panel for jets and bubbles. As the water began to churn, she started to program music. With a quick grimace, she decided she wasn’t in the mood for tunes.

She simply floated at first, grateful there was no one around to hear her whimpering as the pulsing water worked on her aches. She let herself breathe. Floral perfume. She let herself drift. Simple pleasures.

The conflict of fatigue and stimulation balanced out into relaxation. Drugs, she decided, were highly overrated. Water worked wonders. Turning over lazily, she began to swim, slowly at first while her muscles warmed and limbered. Then she put some kick into it, hoping to work off the excess of the stimulant and revive herself with natural exercise.

When the timer clicked and the water calmed, she continued with long, steady strokes, skimmed down to the glossy black bottom until she felt like an embryo in the womb, then broke the surface with a loud, satisfied groan.

“You swim like a fish.”

Instinct had Eve reaching for her side arm only to encounter her own naked ribs. Quickly, she blinked the water out of her eyes and focused on Reeanna.

“It’s a cliche.” She walked to the edge of the pool. “But accurate.” She set her shoes aside, sat, and slid her legs into the water. “Do you mind?”

“Help yourself.” Eve didn’t consider herself fanatically modest, but she dipped a little lower. She hated being caught naked. “Were you looking for Roarke?”

“No, actually, I’ve just left him. He and William are still at it upstairs in his office. I was just leaving for a salon appointment.” She tugged at her gorgeous, glossy red curls. “I’ve got to do something about this mop. Summerset mentioned you were down here, so I thought I’d just drop in on you.”

Summerset. Eve smiled grimly. He’d spotted her after all. “I had a couple of hours personal time. Thought I’d take advantage of it.”

“And what a lovely spot to take it. Roarke’s got such amazing class, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, you could say so.”

“I really just wanted to stop for a moment to tell you how much I enjoyed last evening. I barely got to speak to you — such a crowd. And then you were called away.”

“Cops are lousy socializers,” Eve commented and wondered how to get out and to her robe without feeling like an idiot.

Reeanna reached down, cupped water, and let it pour out of her hand. “I hope it wasn’t anything… dreadful.”

“Nobody died, if that’s what you mean.” Then Eve made herself smile. She was lousy at socializing, and she told herself to make a better effort. “Actually, I got a break in the case I’ve been working on. We took a suspect into custody.”

“That’s good.” Reeanna tilted her head, her eyes intrigued. “Would that be the suicide matter we discussed before?”

“I’m not really free to say one way or the other at this time.”

Reeanna smiled. “Cop talk. Well, one way or the other, I’ve been giving it quite a bit of thought. Your case, or whatever you’d call it, would make a fascinating paper. I’ve been so busy with tech, I haven’t done any writing in some time. I hope, when you resolve the matter and it’s public record, I can discuss it with you in some detail.”

“I can probably do that. If and when.” She bent a little. The woman was an expert, after all, and could be of some help. “As it happens, the suspect is being evaluated by Dr. Mira right about now. Do you ever do behavioral and personality evaluations?”

“I have, certainly. From a different angle than Mira. You’d have to say we’re two sides of one coin. Our final diagnosis would often be the same, but we’d use a different process and a different viewpoint.”