Divided in Death

Chapter 10

She’d gone with pills, and had dressed in a frothy pink nightgown, done her face and hair carefully, then draped herself on the bed among a mountain of pretty pillows and a stuffed purple bear.

She smelled of something very young, very floral, and might have been mistaken for sleeping if her eyes hadn’t been wide and staring, and already clouded with death.

The note lay on the bed beside her, just at her fingertips, with a single line written in dramatic, loopy script on cheap, reconstituted pink paper.

There is no light, there is no life without him.

The empty pill bottle sat on the nightstand, beside a glass of tepid water and a single pink rosebud, shed of all thorns.

Eve studied the room and decided the rose fit with the frilly pink-and-white curtains, the framed posters of fantasy landscapes and meadows. The room was tidy, if overly female, but for a scatter of used tissues lying like snow over the floor by the bed, the remains of a melted pint of Sinful Chocolate frozen dessert, and a half bottle of white wine.

“What does it look like?” Eve asked Peabody.

“It looks like she had herself a major pity party. Wine and ice cream for comfort, lots of tears. Probably used the wine to help herself gear up for the pills. She was young, stupid, and theatrical. The combo led her to self-termination over a sleazeball.”

“Yeah, that’s what it looks like. Where’d she get the pills?”

With a sealed hand, Peabody picked up the bottle to examine the unmarked green plastic. “It’s not a prescription bottle. Black market.”

“She strike you as the type who’d have black market connections?”

“No.” And the question had Peabody frowning, studying scene and body more closely. “No, but you get fringe dealers working colleges and art circles. She moved in both.”

“True enough, true enough. Could be. She’d have had to move fast, but from our brief meeting earlier, I’d peg her as the impulsive type. Still…”

Eve walked around the room, into the little bath, out into the stingy living area with its mini kitchen. There were lots of knickknacks, more art reproductions, romantic themes, on the walls. There were no dishes in the little bowl of the sink, no articles of clothing tossed around. No tissues scattered anywhere but the bedroom.

And, she noted, running a sealed finger over a table, not a speck of dust.

“Place is really clean. Funny that somebody so mired in grief they’d self-terminate would tidy up like this.”

“Could’ve always been tidy.”

“Could’ve been,” Eve agreed.

“Or she might’ve buffed the place up, just the way she buffed herself up before she did it. One of my great-aunts is obsessed about making the bed as soon as she’s out of it every morning, because if she keels over and dies, she doesn’t want anybody thinking she’s a careless housekeeper. Some people are weird that way.”

“Okay, so she gets the pills, buys herself a pink rosebud. Then she comes home, cleans the house, spruces herself up. Sits on the bed crying, eating ice cream, drinking wine. Writes the note, then pops the pills, lies down and dies. Could’ve gone down just that way.”

Peabody puffed air into her cheeks. “But you don’t think so, and I feel like I’m missing something really obvious.”

“The only thing obvious is a twenty-one-year-old girl’s dead. And from first look, it appears to be a straight, grief-induced self-termination.”

“Just like Bissel and Kade appeared to be a straight, passion-motivated double homicide.”

“Well now, Peabody.” Eve hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “You don’t say?”

“Okay, I’m picking up the trail, but if this, like the double homicide, is an HSO or terrorist hit, what’s the motive?”

“She knew Bissel. She was his lover.”

“Yeah, but she was a kid, a toss-away. If she knew anything relevant to Bissel’s work, or the Code Red, anything hot, I’ll eat my shiny new detective’s badge.”

“I tend to agree, but maybe someone else didn’t. Or maybe it was just housecleaning. The fact is that there’s a connection between her and Bissel, and because there is we’re not treating this like a straight self-termination. We’ll start with the body, then I want this place picked apart. What’s the name of the woman who found her?”

“Deena Hornbock, across-the-hall neighbor.”

“Do a run. I want to know everything about her before I interview her. Have the uniform keep her in her apartment and under control.”

“Check.”

“Contact Crime Scene, and Morris. I want Morris personally on her. And I want CSU to sweep this place down to the last molecule.”

Peabody paused at the door. “You really don’t think she killed herself.”

“If she did, I’ll eat my no-longer-shiny lieutenant’s badge. Let’s get to work.”

There were no signs of struggle, no evidence of insult or injury to the body that would indicate force. Eve hadn’t expected any. She’d died shortly after three A.M. Painlessly, quietly. Uselessly, Eve thought.

Her ‘links were in working order, though they’d been shut down shortly after midnight. Reactivating, Eve found her last transmission was an incoming from Deena across the hall at twenty-one hundred and involved a great deal of weeping and sympathy.

I’m coming over, Deena had said. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.

Much tearful gratitude, then the transmission ended.

But the data unit wouldn’t boot. Infected, she’d bet the bank on it. What would a silly art student have on a data unit that could worry the HSO, or techno-terrorists?

When she’d done all she could with the body and the bedroom, she moved into the living area where Peabody worked with the sweepers. “They’re bagging her for transport. Suspicious death. Give me Deena Hornbock.”

“Student, single, twenty-one. A theater major, with a eye toward set design. She’s got considerable work on her résumé. Lived at this location for a year. Prior to that did the dorm thing at Soho Theatrical Studies. Prior to that, lived with mother and stepfather in St. Paul. One younger sib, brother. No criminal except a suspended for recreational Zoner when she was eighteen. Pays the rent on time. I contacted the landlord.”

“Good.”

“McCoy’s also up to date on rent, though she tended to pay just before the late fee would kick in. She paid up yesterday, an e-transfer at sixteen thirty-three.”

“Yeah? Really tidy to pay the month’s rent when you’re planning to kill yourself. Let’s see what her pal has to say.”

Deena Hornbock was shaken but composed as she sat in a plush red chair and sipped continuously from a bottle of water. She was a thin, striking black woman with a small tattoo of a pair of red wings at her left temple.

“Ms. Hornbock, I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody. We need to ask you some questions.”

“I know. I’m really going to try to help. I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t know, so I ran out and started yelling for somebody to call the police. Somebody did, I guess. I just sat down, right out in the hall until Officer Nalley came.”

“How did you get into Chloe’s apartment?”

“Oh, I have a key. She’s got one for mine, too. We were always in and out of each other’s places. Should I give it to you? The key?”

“I’d appreciate that. We’ll get it before we leave. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Okay.” She drew breath in and out, scrubbed a hand over her face. “Okay. I got back from class, and I thought I’d see how she was doing. She was so upset about Blair’s death. Just flattened, you know?” Deena let out a long sigh. “I just went right in. When I left her last night I promised to come by this afternoon after class, so I didn’t bother to knock or anything. I just went in and called out that I was there.”

“The door was locked?”

“Yeah. When she didn’t answer, I went back to the bedroom. I was going to try to talk her into going out, or at least over to my place. Cheer her up. God. It’s hard to say it,” she managed. “It makes me see it again.”

“I know.”

“I went in. I saw her on the bed. I didn’t get it at first, just didn’t think… I said something like: ‘Oh, come on, Chlo.’ I said something like that…” Her voice started to break. “Jesus, ‘Come on, Chlo,’ a little impatient, I guess, because it was all so… stagey and dramatic. I was a little irritated with her as I walked over to the bed. And then…”

“Take your time,” Eve instructed as Deena took a long, long sip from the bottle of water.

“Her eyes were open. Staring and open, and I still didn’t get it. For just an instant, I couldn’t get it. It was like part of my brain shut down. I’ve seen someone dead before. My great-grandmother.” Deena knuckled a tear away. “She lived with us for a while, and she died in her sleep one night. I found her in the morning, so I’ve seen somebody dead before. But it’s not the same when they’re young, when you’re not expecting it.”

It’s never the same, Eve thought. “Did you touch her, or anything else?”

“I think I touched her shoulder, or her arm. I think I reached down to touch her because I didn’t see how she could be dead. But she was cold. God, her skin was cold, and I knew. That’s when I ran out and started yelling.”

“You sat down in the hall, and stayed there until Officer Nalley came.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Did you or anyone else go into the apartment before the officer responded?”

“No. I just sat in front of her door, crying. Some people came out of their apartments, and asked me what was going on. I said, ‘She’s dead.’ I said, ‘Chloe’s dead,’ that she killed herself.”

“Okay. You talked to her last night.”

“I called when I got home. I’d been out working on a set for a play on the West Side. I knew she was having a rough time. We talked awhile, then I went over. Kept her company for a little while. I stayed till about eleven. I had an early class, and she said she was going to bed. Escape into sleep, that’s what she said. She said things like that, but I didn’t think she meant…” Deena reached out to grip Eve’s arm.

“Officer Dallas. I’d never have left her alone if I’d understood what she meant. I’d never have let her do it.”

“This isn’t your fault. You were a good friend.” And because she could see how the guilt was pricking, she didn’t correct Deena on her rank. “How was the apartment?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I wondered what sort of state the rooms were in last night when you were there.”

“Oh. It was pretty neat, I guess. Chloe liked to keep things neat. Well, there were tissues everywhere. She was crying a lot at first, and tossing them around.”

“Did you have anything to eat or drink?”

“We had some wine. I brought over a bottle, and we went through about half of it, maybe.”

“Ice cream?”

“Ice cream? No, I didn’t think of it. That would’ve been good, though.”

“Did you clean up the wineglasses?”

“The glasses? Ah, no. I didn’t think about it. I was tired, and she’d about cried herself out. We just left everything in the living room.”

“Not the bedroom?”

“No, we sat on the floor in the living room, just a couple hours. Maybe if I’d stayed over with her…”

“I want to ask you to look at this note.” Eve took out the pink paper in an evidence bag. “Do you know if this is Chloe’s handwriting?”

“Yeah. Big and splashy, that’s Chloe. But she was wrong. There was life without him. There’s always more life. And for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. It was all just a fantasy.”

“Did you ever meet Blair Bissel?”

“No.” She took a balled-up tissue, blew her nose. “She kept him really close. I didn’t even know about him. I mean, I knew there was somebody, and I knew the somebody was married, but she wouldn’t tell me his name, or anything. Made a vow, she said. A solemn vow. It’s so like her to say that: ‘I made a solemn vow.’ That, and the fact she knew I didn’t see him as the love of her life the way she did, meant she didn’t tell me a lot of specifics about him. I didn’t know his name, or that it was the guy she worked for part-time in the gallery until after it happened. After his wife killed him, I mean, and she told me about it last night.”

“So he never came here.”

“Yeah, he did. At least I think he did. We had this signal, Chloe and I. If either of us had something going on and didn’t want other company-if you get me-we’d hang this pink ribbon on the doorknob. That was her idea. As far as I know, and I’m pretty sure I’d know, she wasn’t seeing anybody but the artist for the last few months. And there’d be a pink ribbon on the door about once a week.”

“Did she usually turn off her ‘links when she was entertaining?”

“Oh yeah. That was Chloe. She didn’t want anything from the outside world to disturb the ambiance.”

“When you left her last night, did you hear or see anything?”

“I went right to bed. I’d had a couple glasses of wine, and the whole emotional scene. I was wiped. I didn’t hear anything until the alarm kicked me out of bed this morning at six-thirty.”

“What time did you leave for class?”

“About quarter after seven. Give or take.”

“See anything then?”

“No, nothing. I thought about running in and checking on Chloe, but figured she’d be…” Her voice wavered again. “I thought she’d be asleep-and I was cutting it close anyway, so I just went straight out, and to class.”

“I know this is a tough time for you, and appreciate you answering all the questions.” She started to rise, then sat again, as if just remembering something. “Oh, I noticed-when I reviewed the ‘link transmissions-that she was wearing a necklace when she talked to you. A heart on a chain, I think. Pretty. She kept playing with it while she talked.”

“The locket? I think the artist gave it to her a couple months ago. She never took it off. She was really sentimental.”

“She wasn’t wearing a locket,” Peabody said as they stepped back into Chloe’s apartment.

“Nope.”

“No locket found on premises.”

“Negative.”

“So, potentially, whoever killed her or induced her to kill herself took the locket.”

“It sure as hell’s missing. People put things in lockets, don’t they?”

“Sure, pictures, locks of hair, DNA samples.”

“If Bissel gave it to her, could be there was something more than romantic inside it-or about it.”

“Am I going to have to eat my shiny new badge?”

Eve shook her head. “Doesn’t mean she knew what she had. But I’m betting she died because of it, and whatever she might have had on her data unit.”

Peabody adjusted her thinking and looked around the living room. “She tidied up, or someone did. I can’t see why anyone who came in would wash the neighbor’s wineglass or pick up the place. If she did it, she had a reason. Expecting someone? That means she’d have gotten a call, but there’s no record of one on any ‘link.”

“None that show. The data unit’s down. Could be somebody sent her an e-mail.”

“So we have the EDD whizzes look closer on data and on communication.”

“There you go.”

“The building’s got minimal security, but they should take a look at the run for last night through the 911 call.”

“I’ll arrange a pickup.”

“We can make all those contacts while fueling our bodies with nutrition. After all, you missed your candy fix.”

“Don’t remind me.” She didn’t have to look over to know there would be the beginnings of a pout on Peabody’s face. “Okay, we’ll eat. I want to juggle some things in my head anyway.”

Eve couldn’t have said why she picked the Blue Squirrel for anything resembling food, and a passing resemblance was as close as anything on the menu came to food. Maybe she needed to touch base with something from her old life-to indulge in a few memories of sitting at one of the sticky tables, half lit on a Zombie while Mavis bounced on stage and screeched out songs for the crowd.

Or maybe, she thought as she studied the soy burger on her plate, she had a death wish.

“I know better than to eat this,” she muttered, and took a bite anyway. “Nothing in this comes from the natural universe.”

“You’ve gotten spoiled.” Peabody plowed through a chicken wrap and side of veggie chips with apparent pleasure. “Meat from actual cows, real coffee, genuine chicken eggs, and all that.”

Eve scowled and bit into the burger again. Now she could say why she’d opted for the Squirrel. She’d wanted to prove to herself she wasn’t spoiled.

“Somebody helps themselves to the coffee from my office AutoChef whenever she damn well pleases.”

“Sure, it’s the first degree of separation rule.” Peabody wagged a veggie chip that was, remotely, carrot-colored. “I get spoiled by association. Or maybe it’s second degree, because the coffee comes from Roarke to you. So you’re first degree. But since you’re married-”

“Shut up and eat.”

Obviously, Eve thought, since she was eating the mysterious substance purporting to be meat substitute that was slapped between two bricks of some sort of bread matter, she wasn’t spoiled.

A person got used to what they were used to, that’s all. And since Roarke insisted on having cow meat and other natural food products around the house, she was accustomed to them. She didn’t even notice the difference now. The food was just there, like a chair, or a picture on the wall that she didn’t really look at…

Because it was day to day.

She yanked out her communicator.

“Feeney.” His face filled her screen. “And this better be good.”

Eve noted that his hair, however he’d shortened it, was sticking up in mad tufts. Whatever he was working on, she concluded, wasn’t going well.

“I need you to take the civilian and his magic fingers over to Queens. Take those sculptures apart.”

“You want us to take sculptures apart.”

“You didn’t find eyes and ears in the house yet, right?”

“I got a couple of boys doing another sweep.”

“Move them out, and you and Roarke move in. The sculptures, Feeney. She wouldn’t have thought twice about the sculptures. Reva wouldn’t have checked them because he brought them in. She wouldn’t have thought twice about them, and they’re every fucking where inside and out. Take them apart.”

“Fine, fine. I could use a change of scene.”

“Have Roarke talk to her, see if there was anywhere in particular where she might’ve done some work at home in addition to her office. Or had conversations with him or anyone regarding Securecomp. When you nail those locations, concentrate on the artwork-such as it is-in that sector.”

“I got it. I’ll leave McNab on this detail here. Boy’s young enough a little frustration won’t kill him.”

Eve stuck the communicator away. “Finish that off,” she said with a nod at Peabody’s plate. “We’re going back to the Flatiron, and tearing down Bissel’s works-in-progress.”

“You got all that because I said you were spoiled?”

“You never know what’s going to kick it off, do you? Another thing I’m thinking: Chloe didn’t have any of Bissel’s work in her place. Wouldn’t you think she’d have wheedled something? Some small piece of her lover’s work? She’s in love with him, or so she believes. She’s an art major, she works in his gallery, but she doesn’t have a sample of his genius.”

“You’re thinking that’s gone the way of her locket.”

“We’ll contact Deena on the way, and see.”

Eve stood in the studio, hands on hips, as she studied the complicated twists and marriages of metals that formed the sculptures.

“Okay, I miscalculated this. Taking these apart’s going to require specific tools. We’ve got them around here, but using them’s another matter.”

“I actually know how to use some of them.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Eve circled the tallest of the works. “Thing is, if we cut or melt or just fucking blast, we’d damage or eradicate the device. If there is indeed a device. And we need EDD or one of those handy scanners to verify that.”

“The sweepers went over them.”

“I’m betting it wouldn’t register on a standard sweep. Even on a deeper one. A spook sweep, now that might be different. This guy sold these pieces of crap all over the world. Corporations, private residences, even government facilities.”

“And if they’re bugged, it’s a pretty slick way of getting intel.”

“Mmm.” Eve kept circling, studying. “I can’t see them wasting his talent. This makes sense to me. It’s logical. I bet they’d have loved to have had one of these inside one of Roarke’s companies. Trouble was, he didn’t like the work, and even with Reva’s influence he didn’t pony up. Didn’t matter so much, since they bugged her.”

“It’s going to sound paranoid, but do you think somebody’s watching us now?”

“Maybe.” In case, Eve offered a wide grin. Screw security and lockdowns and silent runnings. She hoped they were watching. It was time to go hand-to-hand.

“If they are, they’d better come out and play real soon. Unless they’re sniveling cowards on top of murdering bastards and perverted peepers. I’m having these dissected. We’re shutting down this floor until I do. So they’d better take a good look while they still have the chance.”

She called for the elevator, stepped in. “Peabody, I don’t like Carter Bissel in the wind. I want him found.”

“I’ll give the locals a goose.”

“Do that. In person.”

“Huh?”

“Go down, talk to the local PSD, interview the partner, and everyone who knew him. Get us a line on the brother. There’s a reason Felicity went to see him. I want the reason.”

“To Jamaica?” Peabody’s voice rose three registers. “I’m going to Jamaica?”

“One of us has to stay here, work this from here. You can get this done in forty-eight, max. I don’t want you skipping naked through the surf.”

“Can I skip through the surf with appropriate swim wear for maybe one hour?”

It took considerable effort for Eve to keep her lips from twitching. “I don’t want to hear about it. Especially since I’m sending McNab with you.”

“Oh my God. I’m having the best dream.”

Okay, maybe she couldn’t quite stop it from twitching. “You can leave as soon as Feeney clears him. This isn’t an island holiday.”

“Absolutely not. But I could probably have one drink out of a coconut shell-in the line, Lieutenant, since I’ll be interviewing the owner of a tiki bar.”

“They’ll watch you.” Peabody’s grin faded as Eve spoke. “Whoever’s responsible for this will know when you get on the transport, when you get off. They’ll know your hotel, what you have for dinner, what you have in that coconut shell. Believe that, and stay ready.”

“You’re sending McNab with me so he can watch my back.”

“So you can watch each other’s backs. I don’t anticipate anyone will move on you, but I didn’t anticipate anyone would move on Chloe McCoy either.”

“No one could have, Dallas.”

“You can always anticipate,” Eve stated as she stepped off into the lobby, and turned to seal off the elevator. “If I had, she wouldn’t be dead.”

She sent Peabody off to pack and went solo to the morgue. Morris was just suiting up in his protective gear when she walked in.

He had a nice golden tan, and a trio of colorful balls dangling from a temple braid. It reminded her that he’d just returned from vacation.

“Good to see you back in the trenches,” she said.

“My return would hardly be complete without a visit from my favorite murder cop. You’ve sent me three bodies in as many days. That’s a haul, even for you.”

“Let’s talk about the new one.”

“Haven’t gotten to her yet. Even I have human limitations. You’ve sent her in priority one. Since it’s you, I assume this poor young thing actually is priority one. Suspicious death.” He looked down at Chloe. “Then, I’m always suspicious of death. Called in as a probable ST?”

“Yeah, but I’m not buying.”

“No sign of force.” He fixed on his goggles, bent low. Eve waited until he’d run his eyes and his gauge over the body, studied readouts and images on his screen. “No punctures, no insults. The note written in her hand?”

“It was, to the best of my knowledge.”

“And she was alone, in her apartment. In her bed?”

“On the bed. The security discs show no one other than residents entering the building. There’s no security floor to floor.”

“Well, I’ll open her up and we’ll see what we see. Do you want to tell me what you’re looking for?”

“I want to know what she took, or was given. The amount, the potency, the time. And I want to know fast.”

“That I can do.”

“How about the tox on the other two bodies-Bissel and Kade?”

“A moment.” He walked over to his data center, called up the files. “Just in. It appears they’d both indulged in several ounces of champagne-French, excellent vintage. Last meal, three hours prior to death… very classy. Caviar, smoked salmon, brie, strawberries. No illegals or other chemical enhancements in the female. Small traces of Exotica in the male.”

“They have sex?”

“They certainly did. At least they should have died in a jovial and satisfied frame of mind.”

“Verified the murder weapon?”

“Yes. Kitchen knife, jagged-edge style. The one recovered from the scene matches the wounds inflicted.”

“Zapped, stabbed.”

“In that order,” he agreed. “No defensive wounds. Some skin under the female’s nails, that matches the other vic. Conclusion: a bit of passionate scratching, very minor, during the throes. They’d had sex, and from the positioning of the stunner marks, were likely having an encore when they were disabled. Someone was very annoyed with them.”

“You’d think.” She glanced back at Chloe, lying white and naked and cold on the slab. “Some people would think she got off easy.”

“But we know better. I’ll take care of her.”

“You can reach me at home as soon as you have the results. Morris, repasscode the files on all three of these, will you? And don’t let anyone else work on them.”

His eyes gleamed with interest behind his goggles. “More and more interesting.”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ll come back and pick up the data when you’re done. Don’t send it.”

“Now I’m fascinated. Why don’t I bring it to you? That way you can offer me some of Roarke’s wonderful wine while you explain.”

“Works for me.”

He’d bought time and space. That was the important thing. Nothing was going exactly as he’d planned, but he could think on his feet. He could, would, keep his head and think on his feet.

He’d thought on his feet with Chloe McCoy, hadn’t he? He’d tied that right up.

The police weren’t buying it, weren’t buying any of it. And that made no sense. No damn sense.

He couldn’t have handed them a sweeter package if he’d tied a damn ribbon around it.

Sweat wormed down his back as he prowled the well-appointed rooms that were, for now, his prison and his sanctuary. They couldn’t tie him to the murders, and that was what counted. That was priority one.

The rest, he’d fix. He just needed more time.

So it was all right, for now it was all right. He was safe. And he’d figure a way out.

He had some money-not enough, not enough even now and a far cry from what he’d been promised-but it gave him some breathing room.

And no matter how maddening it was, parts of it were very exciting. He was the star of his own vid, and he was writing it as he went along. He wasn’t the patsy people had taken him for, oh no, he wasn’t.

He toked a little Zeus, a small reward, and felt like the king of the world.

He’d do what he had to do, and he’d be smart about it. Careful and smart.

Nobody knew where he was, or that he was.

He was going to keep it that way.