Innocent In Death

7

FATIGUE DRAGGED AT HER WHEN SHE TURNED through the gates. Out of the unrelenting noise, the crowds, the quick temper, and vicious pace of the city, she thought, and into Roarke’s world.

Exclusive, private, perfect. The long sweeping drive, which curved through the snow-covered grounds where no tromping feet, no impatient traffic had marred that pristine white carpet, led the way to the big stone house with its many windows.

They gleamed with light, warm and gold.

She’d grown used to it, she thought, to sliding through those iron gates, to seeing the stunning home spread and jut with its towers and turrets, like a fantasy in the dark.

Room after room ranged behind that glass and stone, some practical, some elegant, some fun. All beautiful, all reflecting his vision. What he’d needed to build, to have, to hold.

Not just for the status, the elegance, the privilege-though with Roarke those would play a part-but because he’d needed, very much needed, to make a home.

What had she added to that? she wondered. Some clutter, an orphaned cat, an office that was undoubtedly plain and lacking in style by his standards.

Hell, by most anyone’s.

But she’d learned to fit there, had made a home there with him. Hadn’t she? Despite the odds, they had a life there that mattered to both of them.

She wouldn’t let some ghost from the past put a blight on that.

She left the car in front, climbed the steps to the grand front doors. Roarke may have built it, but this was her territory now, too, her turf. No one was going to invade it without getting bloody.

She walked in, and Summerset slid out into the foyer, the cat a fat shadow at his heels.

“Let me just say kiss my ass and avoid the rest of the conversation,” she began. “I’ve got work.”

“He isn’t home yet.”

Her stomach squeezed, just a little as she shrugged out of her coat. “Thanks for the report.”

“He had to reschedule some meetings in order to take a personal lunch.”

Eve tossed her coat over the newel post and whirled. At least now she had a handy target for the rage that churned with the sickness in her belly. “Couldn’t wait to rub my face in that one. I bet you’re just dancing a jig that Maggie’s in town. Well, you can-”

“On the contrary,” he interrupted with absolute calm. “I couldn’t be less pleased. I’d like a moment of your time.”

“For what?”

His jaw tightened, and she saw she’d been wrong. There were ripples under the calm.

“I dislike discussing Roarke this way, and you’re only making it more difficult. However, my concerns leave me, I feel, little choice in the matter.”

Her mouth was dry now. “What kind of concerns?”

“Come into the parlor for a moment. There’s a fire.”

“Fine, fine.” She stalked in. The fire simmered, red and gold. All the rich fabrics gleamed while the antique wood, so lovingly tended, glowed. And standing in the room, she felt chilled to the bone.

“Will you sit?”

She only shook her head, walked to the window to stare out. “What do you need to say to me?”

“I’ll pour you some wine.”

“No.” She couldn’t handle wine with her head beginning to throb. “Just spill it.”

“She’s a dangerous woman, Lieutenant.”

“In what way?”

“She manipulates, she maneuvers. She enjoys the adventure of conflict. And she has power, as truly beautiful women usually do. In her case, it was well honed even a dozen years ago, and I don’t imagine it’s lost its edge.”

“No,” Eve murmured. “She’s got a punch.”

“And added to it, she has a strong intellect.”

“How long were they together?” When he said nothing, she looked back at him. “Don’t tap dance around this. How long?”

“A number of months. Nearly a year.”

She had to turn back to the window because there was a pain now, just under her heart. “Long time. Why did it end?”

“They had planned a job-weeks of planning.” She may not have wanted wine, but he did. He wanted something to get him through this. “The mark was a wealthy man with a superb collection of art.”

Summerset moved to a painted cabinet and, taking a decanter, poured himself a short whiskey. “Magdelana’s part was to intrigue him, to develop a relationship. He was much older than she, and had a penchant for young, vibrant women. She would access information from the inside, the security, the routines, the placement of the artwork. They decided on a pair of Renoirs. Just the two. Roarke was, even then, not the sort to dip too deeply into one well. The day they were to complete the job-with her and the mark on his yacht-she eloped with the mark.”

“Bird in the hand.”

“Precisely. He had to scrap the job, of course, not being sure the information he had was valid, or that he wasn’t being set up. It cost him quite a bit, on several levels.”

“But he didn’t go after her, make her pay?” She turned back again. “He didn’t do that because he was more hurt than he was angry. Did he love her?”

“He was infatuated.”

Something twisted in her. “Worse. That’s worse.”

“Agreed.” He sipped. “He tolerated a great deal from her during the time they were together. She enjoyed risks, both personal and professional. You’ve seen her, she has a light. He was attracted to it.”

“She’s smart,” Eve managed. “Educated and smart. I did a run on her.”

“Naturally. Yes, she was a very intelligent young woman.”

“He’d admire that. He’d like that, even over the physical, that would count.”

He hesitated a moment. Summerset had seen her take a hit, on full, right in this very room. But the words he had to say would do more damage. “She knew art and music, and literature. He’d always been thirsty to know, to experience the things that had been denied to him as a young boy. She had a head for figures, and an appetite for, well, glamour, you could say.”

“And she liked to steal. That would have appealed to him.”

“She enjoyed taking. If he bought her a gift, she’d bubble over it for a time, but much preferred if he’d lifted it. And always, she wanted more, and got more without directly asking. She has a way. She’ll want more now.”

“She came by my office before I left.”

“Ah.” He looked down into his glass again, drank more. “She would, sprinkle a few dark seeds under the guise of smoothing the water.”

“Something like that. She wanted to twist me up, and I knew it. But she got the dig in, she got it done. She said he’d agreed to work with her on some business stuff. If she talked him into doing another job, or even just setting up the groundwork for her-Christ.”

“You can’t allow it.”

“I don’tallow Roarke. No one does.”

“You have influence, use it. She’s a blind spot for him, and always was.”

“All I can do is ask him straight out. I can’t fight with innuendoes and wiles.” The headache was grinding in her skull, and pain was twisting her gut. “The first are insulting to both parties, and I don’t have any of the second. Not on her level, that’s for fucking sure. In the end, it’s his choice. It always was. I’ve got work.”

She started out, stepped, and made herself turn around, meet Summerset’s eyes. “She’s a manipulator. I get that. She’s also beautiful, polished, sophisticated, smart. Smart enough, I’d bet your skinny ass, to settle happily with what Roarke’s got at his fingertips now. Basically, she’s just the type I’d think you’d do a happy dance if he flipped me for.”

She had to take a breath so her voice would stay steady. “She wouldn’t track blood into the house, she’d know just what dress to wear to the next dinner party. And she wouldn’t forget therewas a goddamn dinner party because she was standing over a dead body. So, why tell me all this?”

“She would be a sparkling accent on his arm. She speaks flawless French and Italian, and has a limitless supply of charm when she wishes to dispense it. And she’ll use him. She’ll take, take more. If it was necessary, or if she simply had the whim, she’d toss him to the wolves to see who’d win.”

He finished the whiskey. “You, Lieutenant, are often crude, you are certainly rude, and have very little sense of how to be the wife-in public-of a man in Roarke’s position. And you would do anything, no matter what the personal risk, to keep him from harm. She will never love him. You will never do anything but.”

No, she thought as she walked away, she’d never do anything but. And wasn’t it strange she’d forgotten just how much fear and misery love could carry with it?

She’d never felt any of this before she’d met him. Never felt this twisting, this aching, the shaky fear of losing.

And never felt the thrill or the comfort, the stunning happiness that laid so thickly over everything else.

She went straight to her office, programmed a full pot of coffee. Before Roarke, she’d often-most often-bury herself in work. No reason she couldn’t do the same now.

More, she had a duty to honor.

A man was dead. A man, by all current evidence, who’d been a nice guy, an ordinary sort of guy who had actually had something to give to society.

She had no evidence, no reason to believe he’d hurt anyone, had wished harm on anyone. Hadn’t performed salacious acts, used or trafficked in illegal substances.

Hadn’t stolen anything, extorted anyone. Hadn’t cheated on his wife.

Having lunch wasn’t cheating, she thought as she carted her coffee to her desk. Banging another woman like a steel drum a dozen years before marriage wasn’t cheating.

Roarke wouldn’t cheat on her. She could rest easy on that point.

But would he want to? That was the sticker.

And that had nothing to do with Craig Foster.

She sat, braced her elbows on the table, and rested her head in her hands. She just had to clear her mind, that was all. Clear it out. Should probably take a blocker for the goddamn stupid headache pounding inside her skull.

Annoyed, she yanked open the top drawer, knowing Roarke had left a case in there with the little blue pills inside. She hated taking pills, but she’d never be able to think unless she popped one.

She swallowed the blocker, chased it with coffee as Galahad jogged in to get a running start for the leap to her desk. He plopped his ass down and stared at her.

“I’ve got to work.” But it was an odd comfort to run her hand over his head and have him stretch under the stroke. “I’ve got to be able to work or I’ll go crazy.”

Shifting, she inserted the data discs she wanted to run first.

“Computer, cross-reference both employee and client list, disc A with student guardians, administration, faculty, and support staff lists, disc B. Report any matches.”

Acknowledged. Working…

“Secondary task, standard data run on all names on disc C, include criminal, financial, employment, marital, education.”

Acknowledged. Working…

Maybe something would pop on one of the parents or child care providers who’d been in the building that morning.

“Subsequent task, display data on faculty, administration, and support staff of Sarah Child Academy, in alpha order, on wall screen one.”

Acknowledged. Data displayed on wall screen one…Primary task complete. No matches…

“Yeah, that would’ve been too easy. Using the same lists, cross-reference search for family relations, former spouses or cohabs.”

Acknowledged. Working…Secondary task is now complete. Choice of display?

“Display on comp screen.” Sitting back with her coffee, she studied the data.

There was nothing hot. A couple of hand slaps here and there-the ever-popular illegals possession for personal use, a four-year-old shoplifting charge. No violent crimes, no cage time for any.

Before she began on the data on her wall screen, she closed her eyes and let her mind wind back through what she knew, what she wanted to know.

Poison in the hot chocolate. Thermos unattended and accessible at several points during the morning. Habitual.

“Wait.”

She sat up, eyes narrowed, then tried another angle. She contacted Lissette Foster. “Lieutenant Dallas,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I have a couple of questions. You made the hot chocolate yourself, every morning.”

“Yes, I told you. I made it for him.”

“You ever drink it?”

“No. Too many calories,” she said wearily. “I used some real chocolate along with the soy milk and the powdered mix. He didn’t know.”

“Sorry?”

“Chocolate’s so expensive. He didn’t know I bought it, added it in like my mother always did. He liked it so much, said no one made it like I did. It was the half ounce of real chocolate I mixed in every morning.”

“Anyone else know about that addition?”

“My mother. She taught me how to make it. I mentioned it at work, I’m sure. Sort of bragging about it. I think I might have told Mirri. It was just a little secret from Craig. He wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the money on him.”

“I noticed the mix in your kitchen, and the stash of liquid chocolate inside a box of Vital Fem.”

Now Lissette smiled, just a little. “He’d never poke around in my vitamins, so I kept the chocolate there.”

“We sent the mix and the liquid to the lab. Anyone else know where you kept them?”

“The mix, maybe. Not the chocolate. You think…”

“The lab will determine if any of the ingredients were tampered with. Was anyone in your apartment the weekend before your husband’s death?”

“No.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I don’t think so. I was out for a while on Saturday, shopping. But Craig was home. He didn’t mention it.”

“Does anyone have a key, a spare? Your code.”

“Mirri does, for emergencies. But-”

“Okay. Your building doesn’t have security cameras or a doorman.”

“We couldn’t afford one that ran to those. It’s a nice neighborhood. We never had any trouble.”

“All right, Mrs. Foster. I appreciate the time.”

So here’s a what-if, Eve mused. What if person or persons unknown accessed the Foster apartment, knowing the habits. Poisoned the powder. Maybe Craig had a visitor he hadn’t told his wife about.

Or…Maybe it didn’t have to be the day before, she thought. Maybe he’d lucked out a few times, hadn’t gotten any of-or not enough of the poison.

She pulled up her lab report, read off the contents of the go-cup. There was no real chocolate listed.

So the killer hadn’t known about Lissette’s secret recipe.

Considering, she rose and walked to her murder board. She studied her victim, the shots of the scene. Tapped her fingers on her thigh as she studied the thermos.

Nothing special about it, she decided. Just your average go-cup, jumbo size. About fifty bucks. Solid black, with the vic’s first name scripted in silver across the body. Looked new.

Used it every day, every working day for over a year. Why did it look brand-new?

Maybe it was new. She’d already speculated on that one, and now she was stepping over her own feet. Damn it.

“Faster,” she murmured. “Simpler. For fifty bucks, you could switch the good stuff with the bad in three seconds. You don’t have to pour out the original chocolate, pour in the killing drink. You just take the whole damn thing, shove the good in your briefcase or pack, leave the bad.”

Smarter, she thought. Not as messy.

She pulled out the sweeper’s report, already knowing she wouldn’t have missed such a vital listing if a second engraved thermos had been found in the building.

“Computer, run probabilities on the following options as pertains to case number HP-33091-D. Poison was added to vic’s go-cup on the morning of his death. Option next, vic’s go-cup was switched with an identical one containing the poison, again on the morning of his death. Which option has the highest probability?”

Acknowledged. Working…

Eve added more coffee to her mug, paced around the board. Sat back at her desk.

Probabilities on both options have no viable difference with current data…

“Big help.” And it would matter, she decided. It would matter just how.

With the absence of the real chocolate in the poisoned drink, the theory of the mix being tampered with inside the Foster apartment was out of the running.

Adding it on the spot was easier, more efficient. Still a risk factor involved.

But just replacing the whole shot, now that was smart, most efficient, most foolproof.

They’d do a more thorough search of the school the next day. But if she were to bet, she’d lay her money on the killer taking Craig’s cup as a souvenir. Or certainly disposing of it well off school grounds.

She called up the physical description of the cup, started a search for retailers in the city and online who sold that specific brand and model, with personalization option.

There were more than twenty retail stores in Manhattan alone offering that specific item, and three times that through online vendors.

But it was a break, she thought. Whether or not the cup itself played, she knew the drink had been made by the killer. Someone who didn’t know Lissette’s secret ingredient.

She was reaching for her coffee again when she saw Roarke in the doorway.

“Lieutenant.”

“Hey.”

They watched each other, warily, as he came into the room. “I’d hoped not to be this late.”

“Happens.”

Cross-referencing task complete. No matches found.

“Sometimes the world’s not as small as you want it to be,” she commented, and picked up her coffee.

“Long day for you.”

“Back at you.”

He sat on the corner of her desk, his gaze level with hers. “Are we at odds here, Eve?”

She hated, hated, that she just wanted to lay her head down on the desk and weep. “I don’t know what we are.”

He reached out, skimmed his fingertips over her hair. “You pushed some button on me this morning. Irritated the hell right out of me. Don’t you trust me, then?”

“Do you think I’d be sitting here if I didn’t?”

“That being the case, there should be no problem between us.”

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“I love you, absolutely. Nothing’s simple about it, but it’s complete. You never kissed me good-bye this morning.” He leaned down, brushed his lips over hers.

She couldn’t help it, the love simply welled up. “Bye,” she murmured, and made him smile.

He brushed her lips again, warm and sweet. “Hello. I’ll wager you haven’t had any dinner.”

“I’m spinning my wheels on this investigation. Haven’t thought much about food.”

“Think about it now.” He took her hand, linked their fingers, and used the other to scratch the cat when Galahad bumped his head against Roarke’s arm. “You’re looking tired, Lieutenant, and hollow-eyed the way you do when you haven’t eaten or gotten enough sleep. I’ll punch in burgers, that usually tempts you. And you can tell me about the case.”

He didn’t want to discuss the morning, she thought, or his meeting with Magdelana. He was nudging it all aside, very smoothly. But it had to be discussed. Had to be front and center.

“She came to my office.”

Nothing changed on his face, not by the smallest flicker. It was hardly a wonder he was lethal in business negotiations.

“Magdelana?”

“No, the Queen of the May.”

“A bit early for her. Does she work anything like the February groundhog?”

“Gee, that’s funny. But to get back to the topic. She came to see me at the end of shift. Thought we could have a nice, chatty drink, be pals. Guess what my answer was?”

He pushed off the desk. “I’m sorry if it upset you,” he said as he moved to a wall panel, opened it to take out a bottle of brandy. “She’s outgoing, impulsive. I imagine she was curious about you.”

“Is that what you imagine?” She felt the anger warring with something inside her, something she recognized as acute distress. “Even after you told her she wouldn’t like me.”

He glanced at Eve, poured the brandy, replaced the bottle. “No more than you would her. Very likely she intended to make the gesture and prove me wrong.”

Blind spot, Summerset had told her. “I think that was pretty low on her list of intentions. You’re going to work with her?”

This time irritation escaped control just long enough to show. “I’m not, no.”

“Then she’s a liar?”

“If she said I was, she misspoke, or you misconstrued.”

“Imisconstrued?”

“Christ Jesus.” He knocked back some brandy. “You’re trying to box me into a corner here, and there’s none to be had. We had a perfectly innocent lunch, at which time she asked for my help with some investments she wants to make. I agreed to give her some direction, and some names of people she might work with. It’s nothing I haven’t done for other people countless times before.”

“She’s not other people.”

“Bollocks to this.” And there was the temper, rich and ripe. “Did you expect I would say, ‘Sorry, can’t give you the names of a few money people as my wife doesn’t like the fact we shagged a dozen bloody years ago?’ This isn’t like you, Eve.”

“I can’t say, as I haven’t been in this position before.”

“What position, exactly?”

“Having a woman you have feelings for thrown in my face. Knowing she meant for me to feel exactly that.”

“As I’m not a bleeding droid I’ve had feelings for other women before I met you, and you’ve run into a few of them. As for Magdelana, why would she want to antagonize you?” he demanded. “She’d have nothing to gain. You’re overreacting, and making a situation out of something that happened years before I knew you existed. Do you need reassurance from me? Promises, pledges? After all we’ve come to be to each other?”

“How is it she’s made all the moves, and I’m in the wrong here? You don’t see her.”

“I see you. I see my wife twisting herself into a jealous knot over something long past.”

He set the brandy aside again, ordered himself to be calm. “Eve, I can’t go back and change what I was, what was done all those years ago. I wouldn’t if I could. Why would I? If I took a step then, it somehow brought me here. To you.”

That wasn’t the point, she thought. Or was it? But everything that wanted to come out of her mouth sounded, even in her head, like the whining of a needy woman. “Can you tell me she doesn’t want to pick up where you left off?”

“If she did, or does for that matter, she’ll be disappointed. Eve, you and I didn’t come to each other as children, or as innocents. If either of us wind ourselves up over relationships that came and went before our own, we’ll forever be in knots.”

“Excuse me?” She pushed to her feet. “You beat the hell out of Webster right in this room.”

“He had his hands on you, in ourhome. That’s bloody different.” The words lashed out, hot-tipped and razor sharp. “And never did I think you invited it, encouraged it, or would have tolerated it. You and I went round, Lieutenant, because you threatened to stun me. What in fucking hell do you want?”

“I guess to know what in fucking hell she wants. Is she planning a job? Does she want you-”

“If she is, it wasn’t mentioned to me. In fact, quite the opposite. And if she is, it would be no business of mine. Is that how you see me? So spineless that I’d slip back not only over the line, but into another woman’s bed?”

“No.”

“Whatever she might want, Eve, she’ll get no more from me than what I agreed to give. Some basic investment options. Should I have my admin write that up in the form of a contract for you?”

Her throat burned, the headache was back, and she’d accomplished nothing but pissing him off while putting Magdelana squarely between them. “I hate this. I hate feeling this way, acting this way. I hate that we’re standing here arguing about her. Putting her in the center of it.”

“Then stop.” He moved to her then. He laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them up and down her arms before drawing her against him. “If we’re to argue, at least let’s argue about something real. Not this. You’re not just the center of my world, Eve.” He kissed her brow, her temples, her lips. “You’re the whole of it.”

She flung her arms around him, held hard. He’d answered, she told herself. Put at away, put it aside. “It’s your fault I love you like this.” For a moment, she pressed her face to his shoulder. “That I’m stupid with it.”

“Of course it is.” He brushed a hand over her hair, laid his cheek against it. And felt his own insides relax again. “We’ll feel stupid together. Better now?”

Better, she thought. But it wasn’t over. She was afraid enough of what might happen next that she told herself, again, to let it go. Just let it go. “Good enough.”

Telling herself to change the tone, she eased back. “Burgess in New Jersey was very cooperative.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.” He traced a fingertip down the slight dent in her chin. “Who is Burgess, and why is he being cooperative in New Jersey?”

“She. She manages your plant there, and got your memo.”

“My…ah. I sent one out to various holdings right after the first of the year. Came in handy today, did it?”

“Cut through the crap. Just FYI, I don’t really mind cutting through the crap myself, but thanks. You process castor beans.”

“I’m sure I do.”

“Ricin, the poison that killed Foster, comes from the mash after the beans are processed into oil.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is the plant connected?”

“So far, I can’t find a connection between anyone on my suspect list and the plant. Would’ve been nice and tidy. I don’t have a motive either, or not a clear one. It’s possible Foster saw, at some time, one of the other teachers diddling someone inappropriate during school hours. Murder’s a pretty harsh reaction to being caught with your pants down.”

“Perhaps Foster was blackmailing the diddler, or the diddlee.”

“No evidence of it, and it veers out of his characteristic orbit. I haven’t found a single person he wasn’t on good terms with, including the infamous diddler. Waiting for lab reports, and I’m taking a look at every member of the faculty, support staff, and administration. Along with parents of students. I got no buzz on this one, nothing that feels hot.”

“Why don’t I take a look at some of it. Fresh eyes, new view.”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

He’d forgotten to nag her to eat some dinner, she thought as he sat to look over her data. Slipped his mind, she decided. Probably for the best. She didn’t have much of an appetite.

When she slept, she slept in patches, and the patches were full of dreams. The dreams were conversations, mixed and jumbled from her arguments with Roarke, her interviews, her interlude with Percell. With the voices tangling inside her head, she awoke exhausted.

But he was there where he was in the mornings, drinking coffee in the sitting area of the bedroom, financials scrolling on the screen, the sound muted.

Eve dragged herself to the shower and tried to flood out the fatigue with the jets on full and hot.

When she came back into the bedroom, he’d switched to the morning news. She headed straight for the coffee.

“You didn’t rest well,” he said with a long look at her face.

“Case is bugging me.”

“Wish I could’ve been more help.”

She shrugged, carried the coffee to the closet. “Maybe something will loosen up today.”

“There’s a change of clothes in the bag there, for your spot tonight with Nadine.”

She frowned at the hanging bag. “Why do I need to change?”

“Consider it a precaution in the event you have a normal day and end up with blood on you, or tear your pants while tackling a suspect after a mad foot chase.”

“The way things are going, I’ll spend most of today buried in paperwork and getting nowhere.”

“In that unhappy event-no, not that jacket.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Though she scowled in irritation, a part of her was so happy with his comment-the normalcy of it-she wanted to grin like an idiot.

“It’s not particularly screen-friendly.”

“Neither am I.”

“True enough. However…” He rose, wandered to her closet.

“I don’t need you to pick out my clothes.”

“Oh, darling Eve, you so absolutely do.” He pulled out a jacket in bronze tones she swore she’d never seen before, paired it with deep brown trousers, a cream-colored turtleneck.

“Be wild and crazy,” he added as he draped the pieces over the back of the sofa. “Wear some earrings. Small gold hoops, perhaps.”

When she started to snarl, he caught her face in his hands and kissed her-long, slow, and deep. “I love that mouth,” he murmured, “especially when it’s about to be sarcastic. How do you feel about bacon and eggs?”

“More enthusiastic than I feel about small gold hoops hanging from my earlobes.”

But she found a pair, dressed, pleased that he’d poked at her about her clothes.

And just as she was about to sit down with him, as the cat leaped on the arm of the sofa to eye the bacon, Roarke’s pocket ’link beeped.

She knew the minute he pulled it out to check the display. “Take it,” Eve said, even as he started to slide the ’link back in his pocket. “I guess she’s an early riser.”

“I switched her to voice mail. Let’s eat before this gets cold.”

“Take it,” Eve repeated. “ Peabody ’ll be here any minute anyway. I’ll see you later.”

“Damn it, Eve.”

“Later,” she said again, and kept walking.