The In Death Collection 06-10 (154 page)

“Oh. Not really.”

“It might be a place to start. A date, where you’d pick her up at her apartment at a time agreed upon, then take her to a place where food and entertainment are offered. While enjoying that food and/or entertainment, you
might try having a conversation with her, one that doesn’t directly involve sex or work.”

“I know what a date is,” McNab grumbled, and felt put upon. “I haven’t got the credit base to take her places like that bastard Monroe.”

“Ah, therein lies one of the wonders of the female mind and heart. Go with your strengths, take her places that appeal to her sense of adventure, romance, humor. Don’t compete with Monroe, Ian. Contrast with him. He gives her orchids grown in greenhouses on Flora I, you give her daisies you picked from the public field in Greenpeace Park.”

As the information, the idea of it, processed, McNab’s eyes cleared. Brightened. “Hey, that’s good. That could work. I guess I could try it. You’re really into this shit. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Roarke picked up his briefcase. “I’ve always been a gambling man, Ian, and one who likes to win. If I were to wager on your little triangle, I’d put my money on you.”

The idea pumped up McNab’s mood so high he forgot about the pie in the kitchen and got straight to work. He was having such a good time planning out his first date with Peabody, he nearly missed the data that scrolled on-screen.

“Holy shit!” He jumped back up on his boots, did a little dance, and grabbed his communicator.

“Dallas.”

“Hey, Lieutenant, hey. I think I’ve got something. Criminal charges, assault and a civil suit—bodily harm, property damage and blah blah, both filed by Richard Draco, June 2035. Charges were dropped, then sealed. Civil action settled to the tune of five million smackeroonies and sealed. Defendant in both cases was—”

“How did you access sealeds, McNab?”

He blinked, and his mind went blank. “How did I what?”

“Detective, how did you access sealed records without
the proper authority or the orders of the primary investigation to obtain said authority?”

“I . . .”

“Where’s Roarke?”

Even on the small communicator screen he could see flames leap into her eyes. “Roarke?” Though he had a bad feeling it was already too late, McNab tried to shift his expression into innocence, confusion, and righteousness all at once. “I don’t know. I guess he’s working somewhere. Um . . . did you want him for something?”

“Has he been playing with you?”

“No, sir! Absolutely not. I’m on duty.”

Her eyes stared out from the communicator screen for a very long twenty seconds. He felt sweat begin to slip greasily down the center of his back.

“I . . . as to how I accessed data, Lieutenant, it occurred to me that, well, previous backgrounds had been negative, and your instincts, which I respect and admire and trust absolutely, indicated there
should
be something. So I took what you could call a shot in the dark. That’s it, a shot in the dark, and communicated our position to Judge Nettles, who agreed to issue the proper authority. I have the warrant.”

He picked it up, waved it. “It’s signed and everything.”

“I just bet it is. Is this going to spring back and bite my ass, McNab? Think carefully before you answer, because I promise you, if it bites mine, it’s going to have a chew fest on yours.”

“No, sir.” He hoped. “Everything’s in proper order.”

“I’m ten minutes away. Hold everything . . . in proper order. And McNab, if I see Roarke’s fingerprints anywhere, I’m going to wring your skinny neck.”

The first thing Eve did when she walked back into the house was hit the house scanner. “Where is Roarke?” she demanded.

Roarke is not currently on the premises. He is logged, at this time, at his midtown offices. Shall I direct a transmission for you, Darling Eve?

“No. Sneaky bastard.”

“It called you
darling,
sir. That’s so sweet.”

“One of Roarke’s little jokes. And if I hear it repeated, I’ll have to kill you.”

She headed up the stairs out of habit. Peabody sighed again, knowing there were numerous elevators that would be delighted to save them the climb.

When they walked into the office, she smirked at McNab on principle, but she did offer up a quick little prayer for his skinny neck. She’d grown, however reluctantly, fond of it.

He sprang to his feet, leading with the warrant. “All proper and official, sir.”

Eve snatched it away, took a good, hard look. The tension in her shoulders unknotted muscle by muscle. She was dead sure Roarke was behind this sudden bounty of data, but the warrant would pass muster.

“Okay, McNab. You can live for the time being. Contact Feeney, put him on a conference-link and let’s see what we’ve got.”

What they had was twenty-four years old, but it was violent, petty, mean-spirited, and provocative.

“So the sophisticated Kenneth whopped big time on one Richard Draco.”

“Really big time,” Peabody put in. “He knocked out two teeth, busted his nose, bruised his ribs, and managed to break several articles of furniture before security got through the door and pulled him off.”

“It says in the civil action that Draco was unable to work for three weeks, suffered emotional damage, extreme embarrassment, physical trauma, and, this is my personal favorite, loss of consortium. Both the criminal
charges and the civil action were taken against Stiles in his birth name, Stipple, which he legally changed to his current stage name immediately after the suit was settled.”

Eve turned the new data over in her mind. “He made a deal with Draco to take the payment and I’m banking it was more than the aforesaid five million smackeroon-ies to agree to having all of it sealed. The media didn’t get hold of it, and that had to cost, too.”

“Twenty-four years ago,” Peabody pointed out. “Neither of them were major names. But from what we know of Draco, he’d have whined to the press unless it was worth his while not to.”

“He could have spewed it out any time. Could have continued to hold it over Stiles’s head. Bad for the image developed.” Still she shook her head. “I can’t see Stiles being overly worried about this coming out now. He’s an established celebrity. He could spin it into a positive. ‘Ah, my wild youth’ or some such thing. It’s
why
he broke Draco’s balls that’s the key.”

She checked her wrist unit, figured angles. “McNab, continue search and scan. If you turn up anything else interesting, relay it to me or Feeney. I’ll be at Central. Feeney? Reserve us an interview room, first available.”

“You hauling him in?” Feeney asked.

“Yeah. Let’s see how he does on my stage. Peabody, have Dispatch send some uniforms to Kenneth Stiles’s address. I want him to have a ride in a black and white.”

She started out while Peabody dug for her communicator.

“Hey, Peabody, just a minute.”

She hesitated, glanced over her shoulder. “I’m busy, McNab.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed her hand, gave her a tug.

“Cut it out.” But her own hand reached back and gave his butt a quick squeeze. “I’ve got real cop work to do.”

“You uniforms only wish you could dance the cop
dance like us EDDs. Listen, you want to go out tonight?”

Being pressed against him always managed to get her lust quotient hopping. “I guess I could come by after shift.”

He nearly let it go at that as an image of her out of that uniform swirled into his mind. Still, Roarke hadn’t said they couldn’t have sex
after
the date. “No, I was thinking we could go out.”

“It’s too cold to have sex outdoors.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again as the image in his mind switched to rolling naked with Peabody in the shadows of Central Park. If they didn’t get mugged, knifed, or murdered, it would be incredible.

“Is sex all you think about? Not that I’m against it, but how about we go to the Nexus Club, catch some music. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Pick me up? You’ll pick me up?”

“That’ll give you time to change.” It was interesting, he thought, seeing her look at him as if he’d grown a third ear in the center of his forehead.

“Peabody! Move your ass!”

“You better go.” He smiled as Eve’s irritated voice boomed up the stairs. “I’ll catch you later.”

And because he was feeling lucky, he crushed his mouth down on hers, sucking until the kiss broke with a wet, sexy sound.

Peabody stumbled back and staggered out the door.

Eve grabbed a cup of coffee and was forced to settle for an energy bar as the candy thief had hit her again. The first chance she got, she was setting a trap for the sneaky bastard. But at the moment, she had other priorities.

She caught the glide to the interview area and picked up Feeney on the way.

“This guy likes to role play,” Eve began. “I don’t want to give him the chance to latch onto a character type. Let’s mess with his rhythm.”

“I want to be bad cop this time.”

“Feeney, you’re—” She stopped, sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

Feeney hunched his shoulder. “I don’t smell anything. I’m taking bad cop.” He said it so decisively, Eve rolled her eyes, then shrugged.

“Okay, fine. I’ll start off being pleasant and reasonable, then we’ll jam him. If he’s lawyered . . .” She sniffed again, scenting the air like a bloodhound as other cops and Central personnel streamed by. “It smells, I don’t know, green,” she decided. “Like a salad.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s keep focused, okay? A guy whips hell out of somebody like
this one did, he’s got a temper. Let’s see if we can heat it up.”

“Fine.” As they stepped off the glide, she leaned in, sniffed at Feeney. “Hey, it’s you.”

“Shut up, Dallas.”

She grinned now, as the back of the neck she’d just sniffed turned cherry red. “How come you smell like a fancy green salad, Feeney?”

“Quiet down, will you? Christ.” He darted looks right and left until he was sure no one was close enough to hear. Then he lowered his voice to a mutter, just in case. “Look, my wife gave me this stuff for our anniversary.”

“You’re supposed to put salad dressing on lettuce and stuff, Feeney.”

“It’s not salad dressing, it’s cologne.”

“You smell good enough to eat.”

His mouth found a spot between a snarl and a sneer. “Yeah, that’s what she says. Keep it down, will you? I couldn’t get out of the house this morning without putting it on, or I’d’ve hurt her feelings. You have to get pretty close to catch it, but the damn stuff lasts hours. I’ve been taking stairs and glides all day. I can’t risk an elevator.”

“Gee, that’s really sweet, Feeney. Maybe you could tell her you want to save it for special occasions.”

“You think she’d tumble for that? Dallas, you don’t understand women.”

“Got me there.” They turned the corner and saw Peabody outside Interview Three talking to another uniform. Eve recognized the tall young cop, sent him a nod when he turned, saw her, flushed.

“Well, it’s Officer Trueheart. How’s it going?”

“It’s going good, Lieutenant. The suspect’s inside.”

“Subject,” Eve corrected. “We’re not calling him suspect at this point.” She watched him process the difference in procedure. She could smell rookie on him as clearly as she could smell Feeney’s cologne. “Did the subject request a lawyer or representative?”

“No, sir. I think—” He cut himself off, stiffened his already soldierly back. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.”

“You’re allowed to think, Trueheart. In fact, we encourage thinking around here.” She remembered, with some bitterness, his first trainer who’d not only discouraged thinking, but humanity. “Give me your take.”

“Yes, sir. Well, sir, I think he’s too mad to ask for representation at this time. Mad, Lieutenant, plus he wants to go a few rounds with you. In my opinion. The subject referred to you in . . . inflammatory terms during transport.”

“And here I was planning to be nice to him. Stand by, Trueheart. You can go to Observation if you want. We’ll need you to transport the subject, one way or the other, after interview.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. And I’d like to express my appreciation for your assistance in having me transferred from stiff-scooping detail to Central.”

“The transfer was easy, Trueheart. Staying here will be up to you. Are we set?” she asked Peabody and Feeney.

She opened the door, strolled inside.

Stiles sat at the small table, his arms crossed, his face mutinous. He sent Eve one steely glare. “And what is the meaning of this outrage, Lieutenant Dallas? I want an explanation as to why I was removed from my home by two uniformed officers and shoved into the backseat of a police car.”

“Peabody, make a note to speak with said uniformed officers. No shoving.”

“So noted, sir.”

“Record on,” she said meandering to the table. “Interview with subject Kenneth Stiles, regarding case number HS46178-C. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, as primary. Also in attendance Feeney, Captain Ryan, and Peabody, Officer Delia. Mr. Stiles, have you been informed of your rights and obligations in this matter?”

“The cop with peach fuzz on his chin recited the standard. I want to know—”

“And do you understand these rights and obligations, Mr. Stiles?”

He showed his teeth. “I’m not a nitwit; of course I understand them. I insist—”

“I apologize for the inconvenience.” She settled back, tried out a smile. There was no need to repeat the revised Miranda and remind him he could holler lawyer. “I realize this is unpleasant for you, again apologize for the inconvenience, and will try to expedite this interview.”

Feeney gave a sharp snort so that Eve sent him a quick, worried look that had Stiles shifting in his seat.

“What is this about?” Stiles demanded. “I have a right to know why I’ve been dragged down here like a common criminal.”

“You’ve been read your rights, Stiles.” Feeney’s voice was clipped and harsh. “Now we’re the ones who ask the questions.”

“I’ve already answered questions. I don’t know anything other than what I’ve already told Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I guess you don’t know anything about that poor slob who ended up dangling by his neck a couple feet off the floor, either.”

“Feeney.” Eve held up her hands for peace. “Easy.”

Feeney folded his arms over his chest and tried to look burly. “He keeps pulling my chain, I’m pulling his back.”

“Let’s take a minute. Want some water?”

Stiles blinked at her, baffled. He’d been ready to rip into Eve, and now she was giving him sympathetic looks and offering him water. “Yes, yes, I would.”

“Why don’t you offer him a snack while you’re at it?”

Ignoring Feeney, Eve rose to fill a small cup with lukewarm water. “Mr. Stiles, some new information has
come to light regarding your relationship with Richard Draco.”

“What new information? I told you—”

“I said we ask the questions.” Feeney came half out of his chair. “You didn’t tell us squat. You didn’t tell us you kicked Draco’s face in, did you? A guy puts another guy in the hospital, maybe he finds a way to come back around and put him in the ground.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles’s voice was smooth, even, but his hand trembled lightly as he took the cup of water.

“Mr. Stiles, I’m going to warn you that there’s a very stiff penalty for lying in interview.” Eve leaned forward so that Stiles would focus on her face. “You don’t want that kind of trouble; take my word for it. You cooperate with me, and I’m going to do what I can to straighten this out. If you’re not straight with me, I can’t help you. And it’s going to be tough for you to help yourself.”

“Guy’s a coward,” Feeney said in disgust. “Takes Draco out, but hides behind some poor woman to do it.”

“I never—” The mutiny in Stiles’s eyes turned to horrified shock. “My God, you can’t believe I actually arranged Richard’s death. That’s absurd.”

“At least he used to have some guts,” Feeney went on, and deliberately cracked his knuckles in three nasty little pops. “Used his own hands to pound Draco’s face in. Must’ve really ticked him off, huh, Stiles. You actor guys are fussy about your pretty faces.”

Stiles moistened his lips. “I had absolutely nothing to do with Richard’s death. I’ve told you everything I know about it.”

Eve put a hand on Feeney’s shoulder as if to restrain him, then with a sigh, rose. “The file, Officer Peabody. Hard copy.”

“Yes, sir.” Keeping her face blank, Peabody offered Eve a folder.

Eve sat with it, opened it, gave Stiles a chance to read as much as he could manage upside down. And watched
his color drain. “I have documents here relating to both criminal and civil actions, which involve you, as defendant.”

“Those matters were resolved years ago. Years. And sealed. I was assured they were sealed.”

“This is murder, pal.” Feeney’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Seal’s broken.”

“Let’s give the guy a chance to settle into this, Feeney. Mr. Stiles, we were authorized to break the seal due to the course of this investigation.”

“You don’t owe him explanations.”

“Let’s just keep it smooth,” Eve murmured to Feeney. “You were charged with assaulting Richard Draco, causing extensive bodily harm, mental and emotional trauma.”

“It was twenty-four years ago. For God’s sake.”

“I know. I understand that. But . . . you indicated to me in your previous statement, on record, that you and the deceased had no overt difficulties. And yet . . .” Eve said, letting the silence hang a moment. “At one time you were driven to assault him seriously enough to result in his hospitalization, in your arrest, in a seven-figure civil suit.”

The paper cup crumpled in Stiles’s hand. Little drops of water flew. “It was all resolved.”

“Look, Kenneth.” She used his first name now, establishing intimacy. “The fact is, everything I’ve come up with on Draco points to him being a sorry son of a bitch. I have to figure you had cause to lay into him. Good cause. You were seriously provoked. You don’t strike me as a violent man.”

“I’m not.” The sheen of sophistication had turned into a sheen of sweat. It gleamed on his face as he nodded at Eve. “No, I’m not. Of course, I’m not.”

Feeney snorted again. “I’ll buy that one. Didn’t even have the nerve to stick Draco himself.”

“I didn’t kill Richard!” Stiles’s voice rose, boomed as he looked at Feeney. “I had nothing to do with it. What
happened before, good Lord, I was hardly more than a boy.”

“I understand that, Mr. Stiles. You were young, you were provoked.” Sympathy rang in Eve’s voice. She got up, filled another cup with water, brought it back to him. “Tell me how it happened. Why it happened. All I want to do is clear this up so you can go home.”

Stiles closed his eyes, drew air in slowly, released it. “We’d both begun to make our marks in theater, in small regional theaters. Not much of a mark, of course, but we were beginning. We were both aiming for New York. Broadway was enjoying a rich revival in those days.”

His voice warmed a bit as he remembered his youth, that sense of anticipation, invulnerability. Color came back to his cheeks. “It was a return to the lights, the glamour, the brilliance after the destruction of the Urban Wars. People were looking for entertainment, for escape and, I suppose, for heros who didn’t carry weapons. We were a tight and perhaps an arrogant circle. It was a heady time, Lieutenant, a renaissance. We were treated like royalty. Offstage, we lived very large lives. Excessive lives. Sex, illegals, lavish parties.”

He picked up his water again, drank deeply. “It ruined some of us. I would say it ruined Richard. He reveled in the fame, in the excesses. It never affected his work, that was his genius, but offstage, he indulged in every possible vice. There was a cruelty to him, particularly toward women. He crushed more than one on his way. He liked to brag about it, to make bets about which woman he’d have next. I found it . . . unpleasant.”

He cleared his throat, shoved his cup away. “There was a woman, a girl, really. We were seeing each other. It wasn’t serious, but we enjoyed each other’s company. Then Richard began the hunt. He stalked her, lured her, and in the end, ruined her. When he cast her off, it broke her. I went to her apartment. I don’t know what instinct sent me there. When I found her, she . . . she was on the
point of taking her own life. She had already slashed her wrists. I got her to a health center. I . . .”

He trailed off, hesitated, then continued with obvious difficulty. “They saved her, but something inside me snapped when I looked at her lying there, so pale, so used. I got drunk, then I went after Richard.”

Stiles ran his hands over his face. “I might have killed him that night. I admit it. But people from the neighboring apartments stopped me. Afterward, I realized what a useless gesture it had been. It changed nothing and cost me a great deal. Instead of damaging Richard, I could have destroyed my own career, my own life. I put myself at his mercy, you see. He agreed to the settlements and the seals to protect his own image. I had reason to be grateful he was just that self-interested. It took me three years to pay off the suit, with merciless interest. Then I put it behind me.”

“Seems to me you had plenty of reason to hate the son of a bitch,” Feeney put in.

“Perhaps.” Steadier now that the story was told, Stiles nodded. “But hate takes enormous amounts of time and energy. I prefer employing mine in more positive channels. I have everything I want; I enjoy my life. I would never risk it again on the likes of Richard Draco.”

“Not such a risk when you put the knife in the hands of a woman.”