The In Death Collection 06-10 (27 page)

“And contact me the minute you have the answer. I need to take your ’link log into evidence,” she told Brian as she stuffed the palm ’link back in her pocket. “We’ll dupe it for Inspector Farrell, but I need the original.”

“Well, I thought you might.” Brian took out a disc. “Anticipating that, I brought it with me.”

“Good thinking. What did you tell the man who called you?”

“Oh, that I had a business to run, that I couldn’t just be traipsing off across the Atlantic on a whim. I tried to draw him out, asked after Roarke here. He only insisted that I come, straight off, and Roarke would make it worth my while.” He smiled thinly. “A tempting offer. First-class transpo and accomodations, and twenty thousand pounds a day while I’m away from home. A man would have to be mad to say no to that.”

“You’ll stay in Dublin.” Roarke’s voice was sharp, edged with fury, and put Brian’s back up.

“Maybe I’ve a mind to go to New York City and give this murdering bastard a taste of Brian Kelly.”

“You’ll stay in Dublin,” Roarke repeated, eyes narrowed and cold, fists clenched and ready. “If I have to beat you unconscious first, then that’s fine.”

“You think you can take me down, do you?” Primed for a fight, Brian started to strip off his topcoat. “Let’s have a go.”

“Stop it, you idiots.” Eve stepped between them, prepared to deck both if necessary. “You’re staying in Dublin, Brian, because the only thing this bastard’s getting a taste of is me. I’ll have your travel visa blocked, and if you try
to leave the country you’ll spend some quality time in lockup.”

“Travel visa be damned—”

“Shut up. And you,” she continued, swinging to Roarke. “Step back. Nobody’s beating anyone unconscious unless it’s me. A couple days in Ireland and all you can think of is punching somebody. Must be the air.”

Her ’link beeped. “That’s Peabody. Now, the two of you remember: People who act like assholes get treated like assholes.”

She stalked away to take the call. Brian’s face broke out in a wide grin as he slapped Roarke on the back. “That’s a woman, isn’t it?”

“Delicate as a rose, my Eve. Fragile and quiet natured.” He grinned himself when he heard her curse, loud and vicious. “A voice like a flute.”

“And you’re sloppy in love with her.”

“Pitifully.” He remained silent a moment, then spoke quietly. “Stay in Dublin, Brian. I know you can get around a blocked visa as easily as crossing High Street, but I’m asking you to do this. It’s too soon after burying Jennie for me to risk losing another friend.”

Brian heaved out a breath. “I wasn’t thinking of going until you ordered me not to.”

“The son of a bitch sent me flowers,” Eve fumed as she stalked back. “Hey.” When Roarke grabbed her lapels, she slapped at his hands and scowled.

“Explain.”

“A couple dozen roses just arrived—with a note that hopes I’ll be back on my feet and ready for the next match soon. Something about a novena—whatever that is—being said in my name for my full and speedy recovery, too. Peabody’s called a bomb unit, just in case, and she’s holding the delivery boy, but he looks genuine. No direct transmission from our ’links this morning. McNab needs Brian’s
disc to run it for bounces.” When his hands relaxed slightly, she put hers over them. “I’ve got to go back. .  . . Now.”

“Yes, we’ll go straight back. Do you need a lift back to Dublin, Brian?”

“No, go on. I’ve my own ride. Take a care, Roarke,” he said and wrapped his arms around him. “And come back.”

“I will.”

“And bring your lovely wife.” While Eve blinked in surprise, Brian gathered her up in a bear hug, then kissed her long and lavishly. “Godspeed, Lieutenant darling, and you keep our lad here on the narrow if not the straight.”

“Watch your back, Brian,” Roarke called out as they walked away.

“And the rest of me as well,” Brian promised, then turned to watch the fast boats streak across the water.

It was barely eight
A
.
M
. on the East Coast when Eve settled in to her office. She eyed the young, gawky delivery boy coolly while he sat fidgeting in the chair across from her desk.

“You get a call to deliver roses before six
A
.
M
. and that doesn’t seem weird to you, Bobby?”

“Well, ma’am—sir—Lieutenant, we get that sometimes. We got this twenty-four-hour delivery service because people want the convenience. This one time I delivered a fern to the East Side at three
A
.
M
. This guy, see, he’d forgotten his lady’s birthday, and she’d given him grief, and so he—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eve brushed it off. “Tell me again about the order.”

“Okay, sure. No problem.” His voice bobbed up and down like a cork on a restless sea. “I’m on call, see, for the midnight-to-eight shift. What happens is anybody who calls in to the shop, the transmission gets bounced to my
beeper. I read the order on the screen, then I gotta go in, put the order together, and get it where it’s going. I got a master for the flower shop so I can get in when it’s closed. My aunt owns the joint, so she, like, trusts me, and I’m going to school on the three-day-week thing, so it gives me some pocket credit.”

“Officer Peabody has your beeper.”

“Yeah, I handed it over. No perspiration, no debate. You want it, you got it.”

“And you, personally, put the flowers in the box.”

“Oh yeah. It’s no whoop. You just dump in some greenery, coupla sprigs of those little white flowers, then lay on the roses. My aunt keeps the boxes and tissues and ribbons all together so we can slap the orders together fast. The officer, she, like, called my aunt and verified. Do I need a lawyer?”

“No, Bobby, you don’t need a lawyer. I appreciate you waiting until I could talk to you.”

“So, like, I could go.”

“Yeah, you can go.”

He got up, grinning shakily. “I never really, like, talked to a cop before. It’s not so bad.”

“We hardly ever torture our witnesses these days.”

He paled, then laughed. “That’s, like, a joke, right?”

“You bet. Beat it, Bobby.”

Eve shook her head, then signaled for Peabody to come in. “McNab get anything off the beeper?”

“The order was shot in on a public ’link, from Grand Central. It was keyed in, no voiceprint—and the order was paid for via electronic transfer of cash, point of order scrambled. We couldn’t trace it with a fleet of bloodhound droids.”

“I didn’t figure he’d slip up again, not so soon. The van?”

“Nothing solid yet. I’m working on the shoes, too.
Computer estimates a size eight. That’s small for a man’s shoe. That style hit the market only six months ago—high-end price range. It’s the epitome of air tread for the stylish jock. So far, I’m down to six hundred pair of size eights sold in the city.”

“Keep running it. And the coat?”

“I’ve only got about thirty purchases for the same three-month period. No matches yet. And none on the statue.”

“McNab?”

Seconds later, he stuck his head in the doorway. “Yo.”

“Full progress and status report.”

“Let’s start with the wand.” He made himself at home by sitting on Eve’s desk. “I like our chances there. That e-jock of Roarke’s knows his shit. Down at Trident Security and Communications—that’s Roarke’s gig—they’ve been working on a jammer of this style and power for over a year. A. A. says they’ve nearly worked out the bugs.”

“A. A.?”

“That’s the jock. Plenty of brain cells there. Anyway, he projects they’ll have a model under wraps within six months—four if they get lucky. Rumor is that several other e-firms are working on the same deal. One of those firms is Brennen’s. The take from the industrial espionage people is that Brennen’s is the closest competition.”

“Does anyone have a prototype?”

“A. A. showed me one. It’s fairly icy, but only hits the mark as of now at extreme close range. The remote capability’s giving them some grief. It’s still got some major power fluctuation.”

“So how did our man get his hands on one that doesn’t give him grief?”

“Good question. I’m thinking he’s put some time in at R and D himself.”

“Yeah, I’d agree with that. We’ll run the six most likely
from Inspector Farrell’s shakedown and see if any of them pop.”

“And I wonder if the unit he used is a one-shot.”

Eve narrowed her eyes. “Only good for one jam at a time? What would you do, recharge it? Toss it? Reconfi-gure?”

“Recharge or recon, I’d say. I’m working with A. A. on it.”

“Good, keep at it. Any luck with the echo?”

“I can’t lock it. Driving me bat-shit. But I did scrape the layers off the disc you brought back from the Emerald Isle. Projected image. Hologram.”

“A holo? You’re sure?”

“Don’t I look sure?” He let his cocky smile go when Eve only stared coolly at him. “Yeah, it was a holo. Damn good one, but I enhanced, did heat and light testing. The image was projected.”

“Good.” It was one more stone to weigh on Summerset’s side. “Any hits yet on the analysis of the security discs on the Luxury Towers?”

“They’re whining in EDD. Backlog. I used your name and got them to promise we’d have results within the next forty-eight.”

Feeney,
Eve thought,
where the hell are you?
“What else have you got?”

“The transmission had the same echo as the others. Exact match.”

“Even better. Now find the source.” She rose. “It’s time for me to put in a public appearance. Let’s get this jerk now that I’m up for another round. Peabody, you’re with me.”

“My favorite place, Lieutenant.”

“Sucking up noted.” She pulled her palm ’link as she started out, coded in for Nadine Furst at Channel 75.

“Hey, Dallas, you look pretty good for an invalid.”

“Get this. Lieutenant Eve Dallas has recovered from her injuries and is reporting back to duty. She remains in charge of the investigation involving the murders of Brennen, Conroy, and O’Leary. She is confident a suspect will be in custody shortly.”

“Hold it, let me get my recorder.”

“That’s all you get, pal. Put it on.” She clicked off as she jogged down the stairs. There, draped across the newel post, was a new and butter-smooth leather jacket of golden brown. “He doesn’t miss a trick,” Eve murmured as she picked it up.

“Man oh man.” Unable to resist, Peabody stroked a hand down the sleeve as Eve shrugged into it. “Like a baby’s bottom.”

“It had to cost ten times what my old one did, and I’ll have it banged up in a week. I don’t know why he—Shit, where’s Roarke?” She turned to the house computer. “Locate Roarke.”

Roarke is not on the premises at this time.

“Well, hell,” Eve muttered. “Where the hell did he go so fast? He damn well better be out buying some country and not poking into this.”

“Does he really buy countries?” Peabody wanted to know as she hurried outside after Eve.

“How the hell do I know? I stay out of his business, which is more than he does for me. Central Park Arms.” She swore, suddenly sure that’s where he’d gone. Then she stopped, stared at the empty space in front of the steps. “I don’t have a vehicle,” she remembered. “Goddamn it, I don’t have a ride.”

“Auto requisition hasn’t come through. You can make a personal order.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll only take a week or two. Shit.”
Jamming her hands in new, silky pockets, she jogged to the end of the house.

The garage attachment melded with the main structure. The massive doors were wood with thick brass fittings. The windows, arched and majestic, were sunscreened to keep the finish on the vehicles housed there from fading. Inside the temperature would be kept, year-round, at a comfortable seventy-two degrees.

Eve uncoded the locks, identified herself through voice and palm print. The doors swung gracefully open.

So did Peabody’s mouth. “Holy cow.”

“It’s excessive,” Eve said, sniffing. “It’s ridiculous and such a clichéd man-thing.”

“It’s frigid,” Peabody said reverently.

Vehicles were housed in individual bays, on two levels. Sports cars, limos, air cycles, all-terrains, sedate sedans, and sleek solo-riders. Colors ranged from flashy neon shades to classic blacks. Peabody stared dreamily at a tandem-style air cycle and imagined herself riding the skies, wind in her hair, with some muscled hunk behind her.

She snapped out of it when she saw Eve heading toward a discreet compact model in industrial gray.

“Dallas, how about this one?” Hopefully, Peabody gestured up to a snazzy electric blue sportster, its silver wheels gleaming, its narrow grille a piece of automotive art.

“That’s a fuck-me car, and you know it.”

“Well, yeah, maybe, but it’s got to be fast, and really efficient. It’d be loaded, too.” She smiled winningly.

“Everything in here’s loaded.”

Peabody danced forward when Eve reached for the button to release the sedan. “Come on, Dallas, live a little. Don’t you want to see how she moves? And it’s only temporary. You’ll be back in some departmental clunker before you know it. It’s a 6000XX.” Her voice came perilously close to a whine. “Most people live their whole lives
without even touching one. Just one ride. What could it hurt?”