Holiday In Death

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Here's what we've got," Eve began once her team had regrouped in her home office. "He's good at disguises. We can give his photo to the media, let them blast it every half hour, but he won't look like his picture. We suspect he has enough cash, loose credits, or alternate ID to travel freely. We'll put out the traces, but the odds of tagging him that way are slim."

She rubbed the fatigue out of her eyes and pumped more caffeine into her system. "I want Mira's take, but mine is that his being interrupted tonight, after the rape, before the payoff, will have him sexually frustrated, on edge, shaken. He's an obsessively neat individual, but he left his workspace and his living space upended in his rush to get what he needed and get out."

"Lieutenant." Though she didn't raise her hand for attention, Peabody felt as if she should. It was cop to cop and nothing else when Eve looked at her. "Do you think he's still in the city?"

"The data we've been able to gather so far indicates he was born here, raised here. He's lived here all of his life and it's unlikely he would seek safety elsewhere. Captain Feeney and McNab will continue to dig for personal data, but for now we assume he's still in the area."

"He doesn't own transpo," Feeney put in. "Never took any vehicle pilot tests. He has to depend on public for his movements."

"And public transpo, in, out, and around the city, is at peak usage right now." This was from McNab, who barely glanced up from his work at the computer. "Only way he's getting out of the city if he didn't have pre-booked reservations is to sprout wings and fly."

"Agreed. Added to that, the other targets on his agenda are here. All previous victims have been in the city. Spooked or not, he's going to be compelled to go for number five. The Christmas holidays are his trigger."

Eve moved over to the wall screen. "Run Evidence Disc, Simon, 1-H," she ordered. "We confiscated dozens of video discs with holiday themes from his apartment," she continued as the first flashed on screen. "This is vintage stuff. Some twentieth-century film – "

"It's a Wonderful Life,"' Roarke said from the doorway. "Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed." He only smiled pleasantly at Eve's scowl. "Am I interrupting?"

"This is police business," Eve told him. Didn't the man ever sleep?

Ignoring her, Roarke came in and sat on the arm of Peabody's chair. "You've put in a long night. Can I order some food for you?"

"Roarke – "

"Man, I could eat," McNab said over Eve's objections.

"There are several other like videos," she continued, turning back to the screen as Roarke rose and strolled into the kitchen area. "He collected them, and print discs such as A Christmas Carol. In addition, we found a large supply of porn, in both print and video, that follow the theme. Run Evidence Disc, Simon, 68-a. For example," she said dryly when the screen behind her filled.

Roarke stepped back just in time to see a woman, wearing nothing but reindeer antlers and a strap-on tail, purr "Just call me Dancer," as she took Santa's waiting dick into her mouth.

"Now, that's entertainment," he commented.

"There are more than a dozen of these, another dozen underground snuff films, also vintage, that aren't quite as cheery. But this one's the award winner. Run Evidence Disc, Simon, 72."

She flicked, a glance at Roarke, then stepped away.

On screen Marianna Hawley struggled against restraints. Her head whipped frantically right and left. She was weeping. Simon stepped into view, still wearing his red suit and beard.

He mugged for the camera, then grinned at the woman in bed. "Have you been naughty or nice, little girl?"

Be quiet, little girl. The smell of candy on his breath with liquor under it. Daddy's going to give you a present.

The voice came into her mind, like a whisper in the ear. But Eve forced her hands steady and kept her eyes on the screen.

"Oh, I think you've been naughty, very, very naughty, but I'm going to give you something nice anyway."

He turned back to the camera, doing a stylish striptease. He left the wig and beard in place as he began to stroke himself.

"It's the first day of Christmas. My true love."

He raped her. It was quick and brutal. While her screams echoed through the room, Eve picked up her coffee. However bitter and foul it felt going down her throat, she swallowed it.

He sodomized her. And she stopped screaming and simply whimpered like a child.

His eyes were glassy when he'd finished, his well-toned chest heaving. He took something out of his enhancement case, swallowed it.

"We believe that he's ingesting an herb and chemical mix, partly Exotica, in order to maintain an erection." Eve's voice was flat, and her eyes stayed on the screen. It was, for her, a responsibility to the dead and a challenge to herself. She would look, she would see. And she would survive it.

Marianna didn't struggle through the next rape. She'd gone away, Eve knew. Away where it couldn't hurt any longer. Deep inside where she was all alone in the dark.

She didn't struggle as Simon began to weep, began to curse her as a whore, wrapping the pretty garland around her neck and yanking it taut until it snapped and he was forced to use his hands.

"Oh sweet Jesus." McNab's choked whisper was full of horror and pity. "Isn't that enough?"

"Now he decorates her," Eve continued in the same empty voice. "Pretties her face, styles her hair, drapes the garland. You can see as he lifts her here, the tattoo is already in place. He lets the camera linger on her. He wants this. Wants to be able to run this over and over again when he's alone. See her as he left her. As he made her."

The screen went blank.

"He didn't need a record of the cleanup. This disc ran thirty-three minutes and twelve seconds. That's how long it took him to accomplish this section of his goal. There are other discs of the subsequent murders. All follow the same pattern. He's a creature of habit and discipline. He'll find a comfortable place in the city he knows to recuperate, to hide. He won't go for a flop, but a good hotel, or another apartment."

"Booking a room this time of year won't be easy," Feeney put in.

"No, but it's where we start looking. Uptown to start. We'll question his friends and co-workers at start of business tomorrow. We might get a handle on where he'd go. Peabody, you'll meet me at the salon at nine hundred, in uniform."

"Yes, sir."

"The best we can do is get some sleep, for what's left of the night."

"Dallas, I can hang with this for another hour. If I could bunk right here, I could get an early roll on it in the morning."

"All right, McNab. Let's pack it in for now."

"I'm for that." Feeney rose. "I'll give you a lift home, Peabody."

"Don't play with my toys, McNab," Eve added as she walked out. "I get really cranky."

"You need a sleep inducement tonight." Roarke took her arm as they started toward the bedroom.

"Don't start on me."

"You don't need dreams tonight. You need to turn it off for a few hours, if not for yourself, for the sake of that woman we watched being brutalized."

"I can do my job." She began to strip the minute she was inside, peeling off her clothes in a rush. She needed a shower, viciously hot water to scrub the stench off her skin.

She left her clothes heaped on the floor, strode directly into the bath, and ordered water at blistering.

He just waited her out. She would, he knew, need to fight it first. Even to fight him and his offer of comfort. That prickly, resistant shell was only one of the aspects of her that fascinated him.

And he knew, as if he'd been inside her head, inside her heart, what she had gone through viewing that disc.

So when she came out, bundled in a robe, her eyes too dark, her cheeks too pale, he simply opened his arms and took her in.

"Oh God, God!" She clung, her fingers digging into his back. "I could smell him on me. I could smell him."

It tore him to pieces to see her break, to feel her shudders and the quake of her heart against his. "He can't ever touch you again."

"He touches me." She buried her face in his shoulder, filled herself with the scent of him. "Every time he comes into my head he touches me. I can't stop it from happening."

"I can." He picked her up, and sat on the bed to cradle her. "Don't think any more tonight, Eve. Just hold onto me."

"I can do my job."

"I know." But at what cost? he wondered and rocked her like a child.

"I don't want drugs. Just you. You're enough."

"Then go to sleep. Let go." He turned his head to kiss her hair. "And sleep."

"Don't go away." She burrowed into him and sighed once, long and deep. "I need you. Too much."

"Not too much. It can't be too much."

She'd put a memory into their box, he thought. Now he put a wish there. One night, or the few hours left in it, she would sleep in peace.

So he held her until she slipped away into dreamless slumber.

And was holding her still when she woke.

They were wrapped around each other, her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder. Sometime during the night he'd undressed and slipped them both into bed.

She lay still a moment, studying his face. It seemed impossibly beautiful in the soft light. Strong lines, long thick lashes, that dreamy poet's mouth. She had an itch to stroke his hair, the silky sweep of it, but her arms were pinned.

She kissed him instead, lightly, as much to thank him as to rouse him enough to allow her to wiggle free. But his hold merely tightened.

"Mmm. Another minute."

Her brows lifted. His voice was thick, slurry, and his eyes stayed closed. "You're tired."

"God, yes."

She pursed her lips. "You're never tired."

"I am now. Quiet down."

It made her chuckle, that edge of sleepy crossness in his tone. "Stay in bed awhile."

"Damn right."

"I have to get up." She pried an arm free and did stroke his hair. "Go back to sleep."

"I would if you'd shut up."

She laughed, then slithered free. "Roarke?"

"Oh Christ!" He rolled in defense and buried his face in the pillow. "What?"

"I love you."

He turned his head, heavy eyes slitting open with a lazy gleam that had her juices flowing. That, she thought, was the magic of him. That he could make her yearn for sex after what she'd seen, what she'd experienced.

"Well then, come back here. I can probably manage to stay awake long enough."

"Later."

His response was a grunt as he pushed his face back into the pillow.

Deciding not to take it the wrong way, she dressed, ordered up coffee, strapped on her weapon. He hadn't stirred a muscle when she left the room.

She decided to check in with McNab first and found him sprawled out flat in her sleep chair with Galahad draped over his head like fat earmuffs. Both of them snored.

At her approach, the cat slitted one eye open, gave her a bored look, then offered her an irritable meow.

"McNab." When she got no response from him, Eve rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a light punch. He only snorted and turned his head.

The slight shift had the cat drooping lower. Galahad retaliated by digging in with his claws. McNab snorted again and smirked in his sleep. "Watch the nails, honey."

"Jesus." Eve punched harder. "No sick sex dreams in my chair, pal."

"Huh? Come on, baby." His eyes opened, glazed and heavy, then focused on Eve's face. "Uh, Dallas, what? Where?" He lifted a hand to the weight on his shoulder and closed it over Galahad's head. "Who?"

"You forgot why, but don't ask me. Pull it together."

"Yeah, yeah. Man." He turned his head again and found himself eyeball to eyeball with Galahad. "This your cat?"

"He lives here. You awake enough to give me an update?"

"Okay, sure." Struggling to sit up, he ran his tongue around his teeth. "Coffee. I'm begging you."

Because she shared the addiction, she was sympathetic enough to go into the kitchen and order him a double-sized mug, strong and black.

The cat was in his lap when she came back, kneading McNab's thighs and watching him as if daring the man to protest. McNab took the mug in both hands and downed half the contents.

"Okay, wow. I dreamed I was off planet on some resort island and making it with this incredibly built mutant with fur instead of skin." He eyed Galahad again and grinned. "Jesus."

"I don't want to know about your prurient fantasies. What have you got?"

"Right. I checked out all the high-end hotels in the city. No single man booked a room last night. I ran the mid-level ones, same results. I got personal data. Disc's on your desk, marked."

She went over to pick it up and slipped it into her bag. "Give me the highlights."

"Our man's forty-seven, born here in New York. Parents divorced when he was twelve. Mother was custodial parent." He yawned until his jaw cracked. "Sorry. She never remarried. Worked as an actress, mostly nickel-and-dime productions. She's got a history of mental illness. In and out of nut palaces – mostly depression. They didn't do the trick because she offed herself last year. Guess when?"

"Christmas."

"That's a bull's-eye. Simon, he got himself a good education, double majored. Theater and cosmetology. He's got a degree in both. Did some gigs as makeup producer. Took over the salon two years ago. He never married, shared living digs with his mama."

He paused to slurp down more coffee. "He isn't hurting for credits, but his mother's treatments took big bites out of his accounts. No criminal record. Nothing but standard exams and checkups on the physical end, and no mental work."

"Copy the personal data to Mira, then see what you can dig up on the father. Stick with the hotel checks. He's got to go somewhere."

"Can I get some breakfast?"

"You know where the kitchen is. I'll be in the field. Keep me updated."

"Sure. Uh, Dallas, you and Peabody okay?"

Eve lifted her brows. "Why shouldn't we be?"

"Just seemed like something was off with you."

"Keep me updated," she repeated, and left him drinking coffee, scratching the cat's ears, and puzzling.

Eve decided that her aide had either slept on a board or put extra starch in her uniform. Peabody was stiff and brittle as burned toast.

But she was prompt. Exchanging nods rather than words, they walked into the salon together. Yvette was already behind her console, busily plugging in the day's schedule.

"You're getting to be a regular," she said to Eve. "You ought to let me work in a manicure or something for you."

"Got an empty treatment room?"

"I've got a couple, but no free consultants until two o'clock."

"Take five, Yvette."

"Excuse me?"

"Clock off. I need to talk to you. We'll use one of those empty rooms."

"I'm really busy."

"Here or at Cop Central. Let's go."

"Oh, for God's sake." With an irritated huff, Yvette pushed off her stool. "Let me set up the backup droid. We don't like to use droids. They're not as personal."

She scooted around the corner and uncoded a tall cabinet. The droid inside was beautifully groomed and coiffed, outfitted in a smart pastel skinsuit that set off deep gold skin and fiery red hair. When Yvette initialized, the droid opened big, baby blue eyes, blinked thick, weighty lashes, and smiled.

"May I assist you?"

"Take over the reception counter." "I'm happy to be of service. You're looking lovely today."

"Right." Obviously annoyed, Yvette turned away. "She'd say that if I had a face covered with warts. That's the problem with droids. I hope we can make this fast," she added, clicking her way toward the back. "Simon doesn't like us to leave our posts except on scheduled breaks."

"He's not going to be a problem." Eve stepped into the treatment room and wished it didn't remind her of an autopsy suite. "When did you last talk to Simon?"

"Yesterday." Since she was there, Yvette picked up a massage mitt, slipped it on, and engaged. It hummed low as she ran it over her neck and shoulders. "He had a breast plumper at four, finished up at six. If you need him, he'll be here any minute. Fact is, he was supposed to open up. Day before Christmas we're swamped with appointments."

"I wouldn't expect him today."

Yvette blinked and the massage mitt stuttered as her hand jerked. "Is something wrong with Simon? Did he have an accident?"

"Something's wrong with Simon, but no, he didn't have an accident. He attacked Piper Hoffman last night."

"Attacked? Simon?" Yvette bubbled out a laugh. "You're out of orbit big time, Lieutenant."

"He's killed four people, raped and murdered four people, and nearly did the same to Piper last night. He's gone under. Where would he go?"

"You're wrong." Yvette's hand shook as she ripped off the mitt. "You have to be wrong. Simon's gentle and sweet. He couldn't hurt anyone."

"How long have you known him?"

"I – A couple of years, ever since he took over the salon. You have to be wrong." Yvette held up her hands, then pressed them to her cheeks. "Piper? You said Piper was attacked? How badly is she hurt? Where is she?"

"She's in a coma, in the hospital. Simon was interrupted before he'd finished with her, and he ran. He's been back to his apartment, but he's not there now. Where would he go?"

"I don't know. I can't believe this. You're sure?"

Eve kept her eyes level and cool. "I'm sure."

"But he adored Piper. He was her consultant, hers and Rudy's. He did all their work. He called them the Angel Twins."

"Who else is he close to? Who does he talk to about his personal life? His mother?"

"His mother? She died last year. He was devastated. She had an accident and she died."

"He told you she had an accident?"

"Yes, she fainted or something, in the bathtub. Drowned. It was awful. They were really close."

"He talked to you about her?"

"Yeah, we worked together, put in a lot of hours here. We're friends." Her eyes filled. "I can't believe what you're telling me."

"You'd better believe it, for your own safety. Where would he go, Yvette? If he's scared, if he can't go home. If he needs somewhere to hide."

"I don't know. His life was here. The salon, especially after he lost his mother. I don't think he has any other family. His father died when he was a kid. He didn't call me. I swear he didn't."

"If he does, I want you to contact me immediately. Don't play games with him. Don't meet him alone. Don't open the door if he comes to your place. I need to get into his locker, and interview the rest of the staff."

"Okay. I'll fix it. He hasn't been acting weird or anything." Yvette dashed a tear from her lashes as she rose. "He was all pumped up about Christmas. He's a real softie, you know. And last year, losing his mother put a cloud over the holidays for him."

"Yeah, well, he's making up for it this time around." Eve stepped into the staff room, and glanced briefly at a beefy consultant gulping down a mint-green nutri-drink.

"He's changed the combo," Yvette murmured. "He's got it blocked. I can't open this without his new code."

"Who's in charge around here with him gone?"

Yvette blew out a breath. "That would be me."

Eve drew her weapon, tilted her head. "This'll open it, but you have to give me assent for forced entry."

Yvette simply closed her eyes. "Go ahead."

"On record, Peabody?"

"Yes, sir."

Eve adjusted the setting, aimed, and fired at the lock. The gun gave a muffled blast, sparked. Then metal sheered away and crashed to the floor.

"Jesus, Yvette, what the hell?"

"It's cop business, Stevie." She waved a hand at the gaping consultant. "You got a nine thirty buffer. Go on and set up for it."

"Simon's going to be pissed," he said with a shake of his head as he left the room.

Stepping to the side so Peabody could get the right angle on record, Eve tapped a finger on the pull. "Shit." She winced and sucked her fingertip. "Too hot."

"Try this." Peabody handed her a neatly folded handkerchief from her pocket. Their eyes met briefly.

"Thanks." Using the cloth, Eve covered the pull and opened the locker door. "Santa was in a hurry," she murmured.

The red suit was balled up and shoved into the locker. High, shiny black boots stood on top of it. Reaching down, Eve pulled a can of Seal-It out of her bag, coated her hands. "Let's see what else we've got."

There were two cans of disinfectant, a half case of herbal soap, tubes of protective cream, an over-the-counter gadget that promised to destroy germs with high-frequency sound waves. She found another box of tattoo works along with templates for several complicated designs.

"This nails it." Eve took out a thin sheet with stylized letters:

MY TRUE LOVE

"Bag everything, Peabody, and arrange for a pickup. I want it all in the lab within the hour. I'll be in that treatment room doing the interviews."

She didn't get anything more from the staff. Simon had been loved and appreciated by his people. Eve heard words like compassionate, generous, sympathetic.

And she thought of the horror and pain in Marianna Hawley's eyes.

The drive to the hospital to check on Piper was made in silence. Though the new vehicle's climate control pumped out pleasant heat, the air seemed very chilly.

Fine, Eve thought. That was just fine. If Peabody wanted to walk around with a stick up her ass that was her problem. It wouldn't affect the work.

"Bounce a call to McNab." Eve stepped into the elevator, stared straight ahead. "See if he's got any more on possible locations for Simon. Then see if Mira got the personal data."

"Yes, sir."

"You call me sir again in that snotty tone, I'm going to belt you." With this Eve marched off the elevator and left Peabody scowling after her.

"Status on Piper," Eve said and slapped her badge on the counter at the nurses' station.

"Patient Piper is sedated."

"What do you mean sedated? Did she come out of the coma?"

The nurse wore a colorful tunic crowded with spring flowers and a harried expression. "Patient Piper regained consciousness about twenty minutes ago."

"Why wasn't I contacted? Her chart was supposed to be flagged."

"It was, Lieutenant. But Patient Piper regained consciousness at the top of her lungs. She was incoherent, hysterical and violent. We were forced to restrain and sedate at the attending's recommendation and next of kin's approval."

"Where's the next of kin now?"

"He's in the room with her, where he's been all night."

"Page the attending. Get him up here." Turning on her heel, Eve strode down the hall and into Piper's room.

She looked like a fairy sleeping. Pale and blond and pretty. Delicate shadows were under her eyes and a faint flush of pink from the medication traced her cheekbones.

A short distance from the bed, monitors hummed. The room itself was decked out like the parlor of a classy hotel suite. Patients who had the means could afford to heal in class and comfort.

Eve's first memory of medical treatment had been a horrid, narrow room lined with horrid, narrow beds where women and girls moaned in pain or misery. The walls were gray, the windows black, and the air thick with the stench of urine.

She'd been eight, broken and alone, without even the memory of her own name to comfort her.

But Piper wouldn't wake to such discomfort. Her brother sat beside the bed, holding her hand, gently, as if it would shatter like thin glass at the wrong pressure.

There were already sweeps and flows of flowers, in baskets, in bowls, in tall, spearing vases. Music, something soothing with strings, played quietly.

"She woke up screaming." He didn't look over, but kept his bruised eyes on his sister's face. "Screaming for me to help her. She made sounds that didn't even sound human."

He lifted that long, narrow hand and stroked it over his cheek. "But she didn't recognize me; she beat at me, at the nurses. She didn't know who I was, where she was. She thought she was still… She thought he was still with her."

"Did she say anything, Rudy? Did she say his name?"

"She shrieked it." His face seemed to have lost its texture as well as his color as he lifted his head. It was flat, waxy. "She said his name. 'Oh please God,' she said, 'Simon, don't. Don't, don't, don't.' Over and over and over again."

Pity, for both of them, squeezed her heart. "Rudy, I have to talk to her."

"She needs to sleep. She needs to forget." He lifted his other hand and stroked Piper's hair. "When she's better, when she's able, I'm going to take her away. Somewhere warm and sunny and full of flowers. She'll heal there, away from all this. I know what you think of me, of us. I don't care."

"It doesn't matter what I think of you. She's what matters." She moved closer, so that they could face each other on either side of the bed. "Won't she heal cleaner, Rudy, knowing the man who did this to her is locked away? I need to talk to her."

"She can't be made to talk about it. You can't understand what she'll feel, what it's like for her."

"I can understand. I know what she's been through. I know exactly what she's been through," Eve said, pacing her words while Rudy studied her face. "I won't hurt her. I want to put this man away, Rudy, before he does what he did to her, and worse, to someone else."

"I have to be here," he said after a long moment. "She'll need me here – and the doctor. The doctor has to stay. If she's too upset, I want him to sedate her again."

"All right. But you have to let me do my job."

He nodded, and shifted his eyes back to Piper's face. "Will she… How long… If you know what it's like for her, how long will it take her to forget?"

Oh Jesus. "She'll never forget," Eve said flatly. "But she'll live with it."