Holiday In Death

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was a rambling and rather pitiful video journal. A year in a man's life when that life shatters into pieces and begins to fall away from the core.

Eve supposed Mira would have called it a cry for help.

He referred to his mother a dozen times or more. His true love, whom he canonized in one entry and vilified in the next.

She was a saint. She was a whore.

The one thing Eve was certain of at the end was that she had been a burden, one that Simon had never shirked, and never understood.

Every Christmas she had re-boxed and re-wrapped the gold cuff bracelet she had purchased for her husband, engraved with the words "My True Love," and placed it under the tree for the man who had left her and her young son. And every Christmas she had told her son that his father would be there on Christmas morning.

For a long time, he believed her.

For a longer time, he allowed her to believe.

Then on Christmas Eve the year before, sick of it, revolted by the men she let use her, he'd smashed the box and destroyed her illusion.

And she hanged herself with the pretty garland her son had strung around the tree.

"Not a cheerful seasonal tale," Roarke murmured. "Poor bastard."

"A lousy childhood's not an excuse to rape and murder."

"No, it's not. But it's a root. We grow our own way, Eve, one choice leading to another."

"And the choices we make we're responsible for." She dug out an evidence bag and held it open. After a moment, Roarke ejected the disc and dropped it inside.

Taking out her communicator, Eve called McNab.

"No luck on his hidey-hole, Dallas. I traced the father. He relocated to Nexus Station nearly thirty years ago. Got a second wife, two kids, grandchildren. I've got data if you want to contact."

"What's the point?" she murmured. "I've got a video diary from Simon's place. The crime scene techs and the sweepers missed it. I'll transmit to EDD. Go in and file it, will you, McNab? Then you're off duty. Relay that same status to Peabody. Both of you remain on call as long as subject is at large."

"That's affirmative. Hey, he's got to come out sometime, Dallas. Then we'll have him."

"Right. Go hang your stocking, McNab. Let's hope we all get what we want for Christmas. Dallas out."

Roarke watched her pocket the communicator. "You're too hard on yourself, Eve."

"He'll have to move tonight. He'll need to move. And he's the only one who knows where. And who." She turned back to the closet. "He's got his clothes organized – color, fabric. Even more obsessive about it than you."

"I see nothing obsessive with organizing your wardrobe."

"Yeah, especially if you own two hundred black silk shirts. Wouldn't want to pull out the wrong one and make a fashion faux pas."

"I take that to mean you didn't buy me a black silk shirt for Christmas."

She glanced over her shoulder, grimaced. "I kind of messed up on the shopping. I didn't understand the deal until Feeney pointed out you're supposed to buy in bulk for a spouse. I've just got this one thing."

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Do I get a hint?"

"No, you're too good at puzzles." She looked back in the closet. "So puzzle this. You've got shirts and trousers here, white to cream to whatever this color is."

"I'd say taupe."

"Fine. Then it goes into blues, greens. All of them hung in order. Now there's a gap, then we pick up browns, grays to black. What color do you suppose is missing?"

"Best guess is red."

"Right. No other red in here. Maybe he only wore red for special occasions. He had a backup suit, and he took it with him. Something else the sweepers didn't come up with. The rest of the tokens. Six geese whatever and so on. He's got them, too. He'll be ready for the show. But where has he stashed it all? Where's he keeping it, and himself?"

She circled the room. "There's no coming back here for him. He knows that. He risked coming back because he's got to finish, and he can't finish without his tools, his costume, his props. But he's too smart, he's too organized, too fucking anal not to have had a place to go."

"His life was here, with his mother and the memories," Roarke pointed out. "And it was at his work."

She closed her eyes as it struck. "God, he went back to the building. He's in that building."

"Then let's find him."

Street traffic was vicious, the road skinned with thin icy patches, but the pedestrian jam had whittled down to a trickle. People rushed over the sidewalk, hurrying home to family, to friends. The few who were desperate for the eleventh-hour gift haunted the handful of shops and stores still open.

Streetlights blinked on and offered cold pools of light. Eve watched an animated billboard Santa fly in his sleigh and wish Merry Christmas to all.

And it began to rain ice.

Perfect.

When Roarke pulled to the curb, she got out quickly, slipped out her master code, then hesitated. After a brief internal debate, she bent over and unstrapped a weapon from her ankle holster. "Take my clutch piece. Just in case."

They stepped out of the cold and into the glow of security lights.

"There were people in and out of the salon, the shops, the health clubs all day. He'd need privacy. There's probably some empty offices, and we can run a check to save time, but my hunch is he'd use Piper's apartment. He'd know she's in the hospital and he'd know Rudy wouldn't leave her, not even to come back here. It would've been safe and quiet. No reason for the cops to go back in after the sweep was done."

She jabbed the control for the elevator, swore. "Shut down."

"Would you like me to activate them for you, Lieutenant?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'll take that as a yes." He slipped the weapon away and took out a small tool kit. "Just take a moment." He removed the control plate, flicked a few keys on the mother board with his quick, clever fingers. There was a quiet hum, then the light over the glass doors blinked on.

"Slick work – for a businessman."

"Thank you." He gestured, then followed her into the car. "Hoffman apartment."

I'm sorry. That floor is only accessible with a key code or clearance.

Eve bared her teeth, and started to reach for her master again, but Roarke already had the controls unplated. "Just as quick this way," he said, and neatly overrode the block.

The elevator rose, smooth and fast and quiet. As it began to slow, Eve shifted, putting her body between Roarke's and the door.

He narrowed his eyes at her back, waited. When the doors slid open, he bumped her aside, pivoted out, and swept the foyer with his weapon.

"Don't you ever do that again." She hissed it at him, leaping out to cover his back.

"Don't you ever use yourself as a shield for me. I'd say we're clear here. Ready for the door?"

She was still vibrating with outrage. Something else to deal with later, she decided. "I go low," she murmured, bypassing the locks. "That's the way I like it."

"Fine. On three then. One, two." They hit the door, smooth as a training program.

Inside the lights blazed, and the recording system had been switched on to play bouncy Christmas tunes. Though the privacy screens had been pulled tight over the windows, the Christmas tree glowed in front of the glass.

She pointed toward the left. On the route to the bedroom she noticed small things. The smears and smudges the sweep would have left had been polished away. The air smelled of flowers and disinfectant.

There was a faint haze of steam over the spa. The water was still hot.

The bedroom was tidied, the bed made, the spills mopped up.

Eve tugged up the spread, swore under her breath. "He put on fresh sheets. The bastard slept in the bed where he raped her." With fury edging along her stomach, she yanked open the closet. There among the flowing styles Rudy and Piper preferred, several shirts and slacks were neatly hung.

"Making himself right at home." She crouched down and opened the trim black suitcase lying on the closet floor. "The rest of his props." Heart thudding, she nudged through the jewelry, muttering the numbers and lyrics. "All the way to twelve – this hair clip with a dozen guys drumming. They're all here except number five. He's got that with him." She rose. "He took himself a nice relaxing bath, dressed in his suit, packed up his tools, and went out. And he's planning on coming back."

"So, we wait."

She wanted to agree. More than she could stand to admit she wanted to be the one to take him down, to look in his face when she did. To know she'd beaten him, and that part of herself she faced in nightmares.

"I'm calling it in. We'll have a few slobs who'd've drawn duty tonight. I'll need some men on the building, some inside. It'll take an hour or so to set it up. Then we'll go home."

"You don't want to turn this over to someone else, Eve."

"No, I don't. Maybe that's why I need to. And…" She turned back to him, thinking of Mira's words. "I'm entitled to the life I've started to carve out for myself. With you."

"Then make the calls." He reached out to touch her cheek. "And let's go home."

Peabody filed the last of her paperwork, let out a long, self-pitying sigh, then caught sight of McNab in the doorway. "What?"

"Just passing by. I told you Dallas said you're off duty."

"I'm off when my reports are finished and filed."

He smiled blandly as her machine reported filing complete. "Then I guess you're off. Hot date with Mr. Slick?"

"You're really ignorant, McNab." Peabody pushed away from the desk. "You don't spend Christmas Eve with a guy you've only dated once." Besides, she thought, Charles had already been booked for the evening.

"Your family's not around here, are they?"

"No." Stalling, willing him to leave, she fussed around the desk.

"Couldn't get home for Christmas?"

"Not this year."

"Me either. This case has eaten away at my social life. I got no plans, either." He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "What do you say, Peabody, want to call a truce, like a Christmas moratorium?"

"I'm not at war with you." She turned to get her uniform coat from a hook.

"You look a little down."

"It's been a long day."

"Well, if you're not going to spend Christmas Eve with Mr. Slick, why don't you spend it with a fellow cop? It's a bad night to be alone. I'll buy you a drink, some dinner."

She kept her head lowered as she buttoned her coat. Christmas Eve alone, or a couple of hours with McNab. Neither were very appealing, but she decided alone was worse. "I don't like you well enough for you to buy me dinner." She looked up, shrugged. "We split the check."

"Deal."

She didn't expect to enjoy herself, but after a couple of St. Nick Specials, she decided she wasn't miserable. At least shoptalk was a way to kill a few hours.

She picked at the chicken nibbles she knew were going to go straight to her ass. Her diet could just go to hell. "How can you eat like that?" she asked McNab, watching with hate and envy as he plowed through a double-crust pizza with the works. "Why aren't you pig fat?"

"Metabolism," he said with his mouth full. "Mine's always on overdrive. Want some?"

She knew better. Fighting off the chunkies was a constant personal battle. But she took half a slice and reveled in it.

"You and Dallas straighten things out?"

Peabody swallowed hard and glared. "She talk to you about it?"

"Hey, I'm a detective. I notice shit."

The two drinks had loosened her tongue just enough. "She's really pissed at me."

"You screw up?"

"I guess. So did she," Peabody said, brow furrowing. "But I screwed up bigger. I don't know if I can make it right again."

"You got somebody who'd go to the wall for you and you screw it up, you fix it. In my family we yell, then we brood, then we apologize."

"This isn't family."

He laughed. "Hell it isn't." And he smiled at her. "You going to eat all those nibbles?"

She felt something loosen around her heart. The man might be a pain in the ass, she thought, but when he was right, he was right. "I'll trade you six nibbles for another slice of pizza."

Eve made an effort to put the surveillance operation out of her mind. She had good, experienced officers in place, electronic scans set up in a four-block radius. The minute Simon entered the perimeter, he'd be tagged.

She couldn't wonder, couldn't question, couldn't think of where he was, what he was doing. If someone else would die. It was out of her control.

Before the night was out, they'd have him. Her case was solid, and he'd go into a cage. Never come out. It had to be enough.

"You said something about wine."

"Yeah, I did." It was easier to smile than she'd expected. The simplest of matters to take the glass Roarke handed her.

"And making love like animals."

"I recall suggesting that."

It was simpler yet to put the wine aside and jump him.

Peabody stayed out later than she'd intended, enjoyed herself more than she'd imagined. Of course, she thought, as she clomped up the stairs to her apartment, that was probably the result of the liquor and not the company.

Though, she could admit, McNab hadn't been as much of an asshole as usual.

Now that she was pleasantly oiled, she thought she'd like to bundle into her ratty robe, turn on her tree, and curl up in bed to watch some sappy Christmas special on screen. At midnight, she'd call her parents and they'd all get sloppy and sentimental.

It had turned out to be a halfway decent Christmas Eve after all.

She turned at the top of the stairs and, humming a bit, walked toward her door.

Santa Claus stepped around the corner with his big silver box in hand, and beamed at her out of mad eyes. "Hello, little girl! You're out late. I was afraid I'd miss giving you your Christmas present."

Oh, Peabody thought. Oh shit. She had a split second to make up her mind. Run or stand. Her stunner was strapped inside her coat, and her coat was buttoned. But the communicator was in the pocket, within reach.

She opted to stand. Straining for a smile, she slid her hand into her pocket, engaged the unit. "Wow, Santa Claus. I never expected to run into you right here in front of my apartment door. Bearing gifts, too. I don't even have a chimney."

He threw back his head and laughed.

Eve groaned, rolled over, and stretched. They'd never made it to the bed, but had torn into each other on the floor. She felt bruised, used, and fabulous.

"That was pretty good for starters."

Beside her Roarke chuckled and slid a fingertip down her warm, damp breast. "I was just thinking the same thing. But I want my Christmas present."

"Wasn't that it?" But she laughed, sat up, and rubbed her hands over her hair. "But next year – "

She broke off as she heard Peabody's voice coming out of a pile of discarded clothes.

Wow. Santa Claus. I never expected to run into you right in front of my apartment door.

"Oh my God. Oh God." She was already up, ripping at the clothes, dragging on trousers. "Call it in, call it in. Officer needs assistance. Oh Jesus, Roarke."

He was pulling on his pants one-handed and snatching his porta-'link with the other. "Let's move. Go. We'll call on the run."

"I've been waiting for you," Simon told her. "With something very special."

Stall, stall, stall. "Do I get a hint?"

"Something someone who loves you chose just for you." He started toward her, and she kept the smile in place as she frantically flipped open the buttons of her coat.

"Yeah? Who loves me?"

"Santa loves you, Delia. Pretty Delia."

She saw his hand come up, caught a glimpse of the pressure syringe palmed in it. Pivoting, she brought up her elbow to block, fighting to get past the stiff wool to her weapon.

"Naughty!" His breath wheezed out as he slapped her into the wall. She countered with a backhand punch, but it bounced off the box. And now her weapon hand was trapped between her body and the wall.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch." She swiveled, and kicked back to hook her foot around his ankle, cursing herself for indulging in that last drink. She felt the quick sting of the syringe against her neck even as he went down behind her.

"Damn, oh damn," she managed, as she stumbled two steps away, then just slid bonelessly down the wall.

"Look what you've done. Just look." He scolded her as he opened her bag, searched through for her key card. "You might have broken something. I'm going to be very angry if you've broken any of my things. Now, you be a good girl and let's go inside."

He hauled her up first, steering her to the door, where he disengaged the locks, then simply let her drop.

She felt the jolt, but it was distant, as if her body were padded with foam. Her mind was screaming for her to move, the message so loud she imagined herself springing up, but she couldn't feel her legs.

Dimly, she heard him come in and close the door. "Now, let's get you into bed. We have a great deal to do. It's nearly Christmas, you know. There's my love," he murmured and carried her into the bedroom as if she were a doll.

"I don't give a flying fuck about skeleton crews and available units," Eve shouted into the 'link. "Officer Peabody is down! She's down, goddamn you."

Profanity is unacceptable on this channel, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. This offense will be on record. Units are being dispatched. ETA twelve minutes.

"She doesn't have twelve minutes. If she's injured, you asshole, I'm personally going to come in and rip out every one of your circuits."

She pounded her fist into the 'link. "Droids, they put goddamn droids on Dispatch, on the desk, every place, because it's Christmas. Jesus, Roarke, can't you get this thing to go any faster?"

He was already up to a hundred and ten, screaming through the vicious curtain of icy rain. But he pushed it.

"Nearly there, Eve. We'll be in time."

She was suffering unspeakable agonies listening to Simon's voice through her communicator. She could picture it too clearly in her mind.

He was securing the restraints, carefully cutting away her clothes.

Eve's mouth went dry.

Spraying her, inside and out, so she would be clean and perfect.

She was out of the car before Roarke had fully screamed to a stop. Her boots skidded, slid, then she dug in and flew to the door. Because her hands weren't steady, it took her two tries to bypass the locks.

When she pounded up the steps, Roarke was beside her.

And now at last, in the distance, came the shriek of sirens.

Eve slipped the master through the slot and shoved the door open.

"Police!" Weapon out, she charged the bedroom.

Peabody's eyes were wide and dazed. Naked and bound, she shivered violently as the cold air rushed through the open window.

"He went out, down the fire escape. He ran. I'm okay."

Eve hesitated for a heartbeat then dived for the window. "Stay with her," she called to Roarke.

"No, no." Shaking her head frantically, Peabody strained against the restraints. "She'll kill him, Roarke. She means to kill him. Try to stop her."

"You hold on." He snatched the blanket off the floor, tossed it over her, then went out the window after his wife.

Her ankles sang as she leaped the last two feet to the ground, and her feet slid out from under her on the slick ground. She went down hard on one knee, then scrambled up. She could see him, heading east in a limping run, his bright red suit like a beacon.

"Police! Stop where you are." But she was already running after him, knowing she was wasting her breath with the order.

There were a thousand bees buzzing in her head, a thousand of them stinging on her skin. In her gut was a ball of hate so hard and bitter it burned. In a deliberate move, she jammed her weapon into the waist of her slacks. She wanted to take him down with her own hands.

She leaped on him like a tiger on the hunt, sent him skidding on his face and belly over the pavement.

She was clawing at him, pounding on him, but couldn't feel it. Cursing him between harsh, labored breaths, but couldn't hear it.

Then she was dragging him onto his back and her weapon was in her hand. At his throat.

"Eve." Roarke stood where he was, a foot away, and kept his voice quiet.

"I told you to stay with her. Stay out of this." She stared into the bleeding, weeping face under hers. And God help her, she could see her father.

Her weapon was on full stun – not fatal. Except when pressed directly to a pulse. She jammed it harder against his throat. And wanted to, craved.

"You've beaten him. You've stopped him." Suffering with her, Roarke moved closer, crouched down, and looked into her eyes. "Taking that next step, it's not your way. It's not who you are."

Her finger trembled on the trigger. Little bullet points of ice hissed and cracked against the ground, pricked her skin. "It could be."

"No." He brushed a gentle hand over her hair. "Not anymore."

"No." She shuddered, shifted her weapon. "Not anymore."

While the man beneath her cried for his mother, she rose. On the pavement, Simon curled into a ball. Hot tears cut through the happy color he'd painted on his face.

And made him pitiful.

Beaten, Eve thought. Destroyed. Over.

"I need you to get a couple of uniforms back here," she said to Roarke. "I don't have my restraints."

"I have mine." Feeney crossed trie pavement. "I still had my communicator tuned for her and McNab. The boy and I got here right behind you." He held her gaze for a moment. "Good job, Dallas. I'll take him in for you. You oughta go check on your aide."

"Yeah, okay." She wiped blood from her face, unsure if it was Simon's or her own. "Thanks, Feeney."

Roarke wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Neither of them had stopped for a coat. Her shirt was soaked through, and she was just starting to shiver. "Around or up?"

"Up." She glanced at the iron steps above her head. "It's quicker. "Give me a boost and I'll pull you up after me."

He cupped his hands, and lifted when she set her boot in them, then watched as she vaulted agilely onto the platform. "I'll wait for you out front," he told her. "You'll want a little time with her."

"Yeah, I do." She stayed there, kneeling in the wind. Her nose was beginning to run, from the cold, from the storm of emotion still beating inside her. "I couldn't do it, Roarke. I wondered if I could. I was afraid I could. But when it came down to it, I couldn't."

"I know it. You've grown your own way, Eve." He reached up and squeezed the hand she held down to him. "Go inside, you're cold. I'll be in the car."

It had been easier, Eve realized, to go out of the window than to talk herself back in. She took a couple of bracing breaths, then pushed up the window and tossed her leg over the sill.

Peabody sat in bed, wrapped in a blanket with a white-faced McNab's arm around her.

"She's okay," he said quickly. "He didn't… She's just shaken up. I told the uniforms to stay out there."

"That's good. We're under control here, McNab. Go on home, get some rest."

"I… I can bunk on the couch if you want," he said to Peabody.

"No. Thanks. Really. I'm okay."

"I'll just – " He didn't have a clue what to do or how to do it and rose awkwardly. "Should I report in the morning, to close this out?"

"Day after's soon enough. Take your Christmas. You earned it."

He managed a quick grin at Eve. "Yeah, guess we all did. I'll see you in a couple of days."

"He was really nice." Peabody let out a long breath when he left the room. "He kept everyone out, and got me loose and just let me sit. Closed the window because I was cold. So cold. God." She covered her face with her hands.

"Do you want me to take you to a health center?"

"No, I'm okay. A little woozy yet. Worse, I guess, 'cause I'd had a few drinks before I got home. You got him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I got him."

Peabody dropped her hands. She fought to keep her face blank and calm, but her eyes were stark. "Is he alive?"

"Yes."

"Good. I thought…"

"So did I. I didn't."

Abruptly the tears welled up and overflowed. "Oh man. Shit. Here it comes."

"Okay, let it rip." Eve sat down, wrapped her arms around Peabody and held on while she cried it out.

"I was so scared, so scared. I didn't expect him to be that strong. I couldn't get to my weapon."

"You should have run."

"Would you have?" She drew in a shuddering breath, let it out. They both knew the answer. "I knew you'd come to back me up. But when I came out of it, and I was here and… I didn't think you'd be in time."

"You did good. You stalled and held him off just long enough." Eve wanted to hang on, to hold on to the sturdiness that was Peabody. Instead she rose. "You want a soother or something? You can take an inducer. He only used over-the-counters."

"No, I think I'd rather not. Alcohol and tranqs are a bad enough mix without topping it with a soother."

"I'm going to cut the uniforms loose. Do you want me to call someone to stay with you?"

"No." The distance was forming, Peabody noted. Inch by inch. "Dallas, I'm sorry. Last night."

"This isn't an appropriate time to discuss it."

Peabody set her jaw, then opened and closed the blanket. "I'm not in uniform, so I'm not speaking as aide to superior officer. That means I can say what the hell I want. I didn't like the things you said. I still don't. But I'm glad it mattered enough that you said them. I'm not sorry I jumped you for it, but I am sorry I didn't see it as a friend's concern."

Eve waited a beat. "Okay, but if you ever do hire twelve LCs to fuck you blind, I want details."

Peabody sniffed, and managed a watery grin. "It's just a little fantasy of mine. I don't actually make enough to afford twelve at once. But I did have another little fantasy come true tonight. Roarke saw me naked."

"Christ, Peabody." On a shaky laugh, Eve pulled her close again. This time, she held on. "We're okay."

She looked so steady, Roarke thought as he watched her stride out of the building. So in charge and in control as she stood in the brisk wind in damp shirtsleeves and issued orders to the uniforms at the door.

There was blood on her hands. He doubted she knew it.

And the wave of love struck him like a fist as she shoved one of those smeared hands through her hair and started toward the car.

"Do you want to stay with her?"

Eve settled into the warmth of the car. "She's okay. Good cop."

"So are you." He tipped her face up, and laid his lips on hers in a soft, sweet, stirring kiss.

She blinked her eyes open, and laid a hand over his. "What time is it?"

"Just about midnight."

"Okay. Do that again." She fit her mouth to his, settled in, sighed. "There's a memory for the box – and a tradition. Merry Christmas."