Promises in Death

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SHE DIDN’T CONSIDER IT HIDING. MAYBE SHE was in a room she wasn’t entirely sure she’d been in before with the door shut. And locked. But it wasn’t hiding.

It was working, Eve told herself. In a quiet place, where she wouldn’t be distracted. She could probably stay in here for the next twenty-four hours, no problem at all. She had a sleep chair, a workstation—a mini-unit, but very slick. She didn’t see a wall screen, but when she booted up and requested one, the glass on the fancy mirror went black.

A little playing around with the control panel netted her a mini-AutoChef and friggie when the counter under the window opened, and up they came.

She poked into the attached bathroom and found all the necessities, including a shower designed like a little waterfall. Yes, she could be happy here. Maybe for years.

She got coffee, settled at the workstation. Callendar first, she thought.

“Yo,” Callendar said when she came on-screen.

“Report.”

“This place is a frigging hole, but it’s got some serious hardware. You’re caged here, you’re seriously caged. Security’s as tight as my uncle Fred on New Year’s Eve. Even with the clearance and co-op, it’s taken a while for us to get to the meat of the system. We’ve got our on-person communication devices because we’re cops and got the authorization. Otherwise, they’re held at docking.”

“How far into the work are you?”

“I’m working the trans, Sisto’s working the visitations. He’s goose egg so far. I’ve got many a little ding, but it’s a long way from a gong. It’s going to take some time.”

“What kind of ding?”

“It’s really more of a burp. Do you really want me to explain it to you?”

Geek talk or party girls? Eve considered, decided they rated a toss-up. “I’ve got a minute.”

“Let me put it this way. The burp may be a trans from here to New York, but I’ve got to go through half a zillion filters to nail that. I’m doing that because it’s reading, so far, like it hit New York the afternoon of Coltraine’s death—and it’s not logged. Could be one of the techs here made it, off log, ’cause he was calling New York for some ’link sex. But I’ve got a suspicious mind.”

“I’ve got a print—or whatever the hell—from a toss-away ’link here. I need to know if it matches.”

“I nail this down, I can verify a match. Easy-peasy.”

“Do you have Ricker’s locations when the transmission was made?”

“It’s still a burp, but the records have him in his cage. But the records also show that thirty minutes before the burp he was enjoying his daily hygiene privilege. Solitary shower, under full security. I’ve ordered A and V of that record, and the wheel’s grinding slowly.”

“He could’ve sent the trans on delay, or paid someone else to send it for him. Do you have the name of the guard or guards who took him from the cage to hygiene?”

“Yeah. We did a standard run—clear. I figured we’d go deeper if the burp turns into a really juicy belch.” Callendar swigged down something pink from a clear bottle. “You want them?”

“Yeah.” Eve noted down the names. “Good. Keep digging.”

Eve signed off, sat back, and considered. It was the green light from Ricker to his New York hitter. It had to be. “Computer, full run, priority authorized.” She read off the names and ID numbers of the guard and com officer. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

An hour later, Roarke walked in. “Eve” was all he said.

“I’ve got something. Callendar heard a burp, and I’ve got something. Rouche, Cecil, cage guard on Omega—six years in. Assigned to max security wing. Ricker’s wing. Divorced. But, oddly, his ex-wife’s financials have had a serious increase in the last year. Well, not her financials so much as her insurance coverage. She’s increased it to five mil. Now what does the ex-wife of an Omega guard, who also quit her mid-level drone job eight months ago, when she also relocated from a rental in Danville, Illinois, to a twenty-room villa in the south of France, have that’s worth five mil?”

“Art, jewelry. Liquidating cash into solid investments.”

“You got it. Plus the real estate. She paid cash for the house, which is in both her name and the ex’s. Callendar’s having him pulled in for interview once things click. And they will. I haven’t been able to track the money yet. Can’t track it back from the ex-wife to Ricker. You could probably—”

“No, I’m going to Vegas.”

She goggled at him, jaw dropped, eyes bugging. “But, Jesus. ”

“Callendar, who is more than qualified, has the guard, is on the search. You have your connection, your link to Ricker—who isn’t going anywhere. The manhunt continues for Sandy, who you believe is probably dead anyway.”

“But—”

Roarke didn’t give an inch. “Knowing Ricker’s methods, it’s highly unlikely this guard has the names of the New York contact. You’ve narrowed it down to the squad, which was your instinct all along. And on Monday, you’ll push forward on that. Whoever this cop is, you’re smarter, and by God, more tenacious. But right now, you have a houseful of women, I have a limo waiting outside, and a group of men who are anxious to get very drunk and lose their money. It’s life.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s our life. We’re going to live it for the next twenty-four hours.”

“When you put it like that,” she muttered.

“Morris has gone home.”

“Oh. Damn it.”

“He said to tell you he wanted to think about you enjoying yourself for a few hours. That he felt lighter leaving here than he did when he came. I think he did, and I know he spoke to Mira for a short time before he left.”

“I guess that’s good. I guess that’s something.”

“Come on then, walk me out. Kiss me good-bye.”

Trapped, she rose. “How’d you find me in here? House scan,” she realized. “Didn’t think about that. What’s this room for anyway?”

“A guest office. You never know, obviously, when someone might need it. Good work, by the way, on the financials.”

“I don’t suppose, on the shuttle, you could—”

“No, I couldn’t,” he said, very firmly. “Tomorrow, after I get home and your guests have gone, is soon enough. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Yes.” He gave her a full-out, and completely unsympathetic smile. “It is.”

“There you are!” Mavis, in full party gear of a bride-white mini and knee-high skin-boots of screaming red, skipped down the hall. Her hair, the same screaming red as the boots, bounced as it tumbled to her waist. “Everyone’s asking. I was just checking on Bella. You are the maggest of the mag! The little nursery’s so cute!”

“We want Belle to be happy and comfortable whenever she visits,” Roarke told her.

Eve’s stride took yet another hitch. “You brought the baby?”

“I was going to bring a sitter, but Summerset said he’d rather be with Bellisimo than go to Vegas. The man is sugar. They’re in there now, playing with Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo.”

Eve didn’t want to know what Kissy Kitty and Puppy Poo might be, or imagine Summerset playing with them. Or anything. She did her best to scrub any and all imagery from her mind as Mavis bubbled on.

“We are going to have the abso-mega best time. Wait till you see the decorations, the food. And the salon is completely uptown. I’m going to plant a big wet one on my honey bear, so we can get this party started.”

“What am I going to do?” Eve managed as Mavis bounded down the stairs.

“You’re going to plant a big wet one on me. After that? I’m in an alternate reality.”

There were so many of them, Eve thought, as everyone spilled outside where a limo the size of Long Island waited. She couldn’t possibly know all these people. When her head stopped ringing, she realized she didn’t. Strange faces mixed with the familiar.

The groom-to-be caught her in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you,” Charles told her. “For everything. Louise is so excited about all this.”

Eve glanced over to see Louise with Dennis Mira. Good God, sweet Jesus, Eve thought, Roarke was taking Mr. Mira to Vegas. Her world was inside out.

Somewhere in the chaos, men packed into the enormous limo. As it rolled down the drive, Baxter popped out of one of the moonroofs, shooting up the victory sign while the ladies cheered.

Then she was alone with them.

They squealed. Jumped around. They made inhuman noises and whirled in a blur of color and limbs. And ran for the house, still making them.

“Maybe it’s all some strange dream.”

Laughing, Mira stepped over to put an arm around Eve’s shoulders.

“I didn’t realize you were out here.”

“It was quite a crowd and such an interesting dynamic. The men going off to their indulgence, and the women gathering here for theirs.” Mira gave Eve’s shoulder a little pat. “Celebrations, very defined, very traditional to prepare two individuals for becoming one unit.”

“Mostly it seems like a lot of drinking and screaming.”

“And at the very outer rim of your understanding, I know. But it’s going to be fun.”

“Okay.” She noted Mira wore a dress—pale, pale blue and subtly elegant. “Do I have to change?”

“I think you should. It’ll put you in the mood. In fact, I’d love to get a look at your closet and pick something for you.”

“Fine, sure.” The trade-off would give her time to pick Mira’s brain. “Roarke said you talked to Morris before he left.”

“Yes, and we’ll talk again. He mentioned you suggested he see Father Lopez,” Mira continued as they went inside, started upstairs. “I’m glad you thought of it. Morris is a spiritual man, and I believe Lopez can help him cope with all he has to cope with. The work you gave him helps, too, and it’s good he’s self-aware enough to have asked for it. It keeps his mind active, and more, makes him a part of finding the answers.”

“I’ve got some questions.”

“I imagined you did.” Mira walked into the bedroom, and at Eve’s gesture, to the closet. She opened it, sighed. “Oh. Eve.”

“He’s always putting things in there.”

“It’s a fantasy. Like an eclectic little boutique.” She glanced back. “See, I’m already having fun. Ask your questions. I’ll multitask. Oh my God, the eveningwear alone!”

“I don’t have to wear a formal thing, do I?”

“No, no, just a moment’s distraction. Tell me what you’ve learned since the last report.”

Eve told her about Alex Ricker’s statements about his father, about Rod Sandy, Callendar’s progress, the prison guard. From the nearly sexual sounds Mira made inside the depths of the closet, Eve figured she was talking to herself. Still, orals always refined her thinking.

“This.” Mira stepped out with a flowing, thin-strapped dress the color of ripe plums. “It’s simple, comfortable, gorgeous.”

“Okay.”

“It also has slit pockets, so you can keep your ’link and communicator on you.” With an understanding smile, Mira passed the dress to Eve. “You’re wondering if Ricker could and would kill Coltraine simply as a punishment for his son. To order the hit for no profit or gain. Just spite.”

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“I raised children. I know how to listen and do a myriad of other things at the same time. Yes. He could and he would. It’s absolutely his pathology. More, his son is free, he is not. His son despises him. He would only need to despise his son more. Yes, again, he would use—delight in using—a man his son considers his closest friend. He’d revel in it.”

“It was coming to New York that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Coltraine coming here to where I am, to where Roarke is. She signed her death warrant when she transferred here.”

“It’s not your doing, Eve.”

“I know that. I’m asking, in your opinion, if he had her killed to get back at his son and at me. He used a cop to do it. He’d have other ways, other means. But he used a cop. I know it. That was for me. Sending her weapon to me. A direct threat, a little reminder that it could be me. That was for Roarke.”

“At this time,” Mira said after a moment, “with this data, with this history, yes. He manipulated this one act to strike at the three people who most obsess him.”

“That’s what I thought. It’ll make taking his trigger down and shoving that in his face more satisfying.”

“I know your mind’s not on what’s going on downstairs.”

“It’s okay.” Eve tugged at the skirt of the dress. “I’ll multitask.”

A short time later, she wasn’t sure she had a mind. the pool house had been transformed into a female fantasy of gold, white, and silver canopies, lounge chairs, towering white candles. White tables held frothy pink drinks in crystal flutes, and silver trays of colorful food. Yet another held a tower of gifts with trailing ribbons.

To the far side of the deep blue water of the pool was the salon. Reclining chairs, massage tables, manicure and pedicure stations—and the tables with all those tools and implements that always gave Eve a slightly queasy stomach.

“Bellinis!” Mavis pushed one into Eve’s hand. “Mine are with the nonalchy bubbles since I’m nursing. But they’re still delish. We’re going to draw lots for services in a few minutes. After some lube.”

“Don’t put mine in.”

Mavis grinned. “Too late,” she said and danced off.

Eve thought: What the hell. And knocked back half the Bellini. It was pretty delish.

“What do you think?” Peabody asked, and gestured to encompass the whole space.

“I think it looks like a really classy bordello without any johns. In a good way.”

“That was pretty much the idea. Listen, while it’s all the chatter, we can slip out. You can fill me in on anything new.”

Eve looked at Peabody, looked at the space, looked over to where Louise laughed with a group of women. “It’s a party. The rest can wait. But since you asked, and meant it, the hurt downgrades from pig squeal to agonized moan.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Woot!”

As Mavis announced the first names for services, women shrieked. And Eve polished off the first Bellini.

Louise put another in her hand, tapped her own glass to it. “When I was a girl,” she began, “I dreamed about getting married, and all that went around it. For a long time, after I grew up, I put those dreams aside. For the work, and because no one measured up to what I had dreamed as a girl. Now, with Charles and what we have, with all this, and what I have right this minute, it’s so much more than I ever dreamed.”

“You look stupid with happy, Louise.”

“I am. I am stupid with happy. I know this is a bad time for you—and celebrating when Morris is going through so much—”

“We’re not thinking about that now. So, how long before somebody gets drunk and falls in the pool?”

“Oh, no more than an hour.”

It was an hour, almost to the minute, but nobody fell in. Mavis stripped off her boots, pulled her dress over her head and dived in, bare-ass naked. The gesture met with enthusiasm, so much so that dresses flew, shoes soared. Women, in a variety of sizes and shapes, joined her.

“My eyes,” Eve moaned. “There aren’t enough Bellinis in the world to save my eyes.”

They swam naked, and when someone ordered music, they danced. They chattered like magpies and drank like fish. They reclined in the salon with their faces and bodies coated with strangely colored goo. They gathered in corners for intense discussions.

“It hits every note.”

Eve glanced over at Nadine. “Does it?”

“Look at Peabody shaking it with Louise. And Mira over there chatting with Reo and—whoever that is, some friend of Louise’s from the hospital. They’re chatting like sisters while they get facials. I get caught up with work. You know how it is. And I forget to just hang with women. Just be with others of my species without any agenda. Then there’s something like this, so completely female, and I like it. A lot. It hits the notes.”

“I didn’t see you jump naked in the pool.”

“I haven’t had enough to drink yet. But the night’s young.” Nadine gave her slow, feline smile. “Wanna dance, cutie?”

Eve laughed. “No, but thanks. Two things, then we’ll get another drink. I might have a break on the Coltraine case, and I’ll give you a heads up when it cracks open. Don’t ask, not here. Second, I read the book. Your Icove book. You got it. I already knew the ending, but you pulled it off so I wanted to see how you played it out.”

“It’s been killing me not to ask you.” Nadine closed her eyes, drank again. “Thanks. Serious and sincere thanks, Dallas.”

“I didn’t write it.” Eve looked at her glass. “I’m empty.”

“Let’s go fix that.”

It got stranger. The I-have-to-watch-my-figure food disappeared to be replaced by the gooey. Little frosted cakes, cookies, tarts gleaming with sugar, pastries oozing cream. Because she hoped to hear from Callendar, Eve switched to coffee. Nadine, having enough to drink, executed an impressive naked jackknife from the diving board. Several pairs of breasts bobbed in the swirling water of the corner jets. Eve worked hard to block out the fact that a pair of them belonged to Mira.

It just wasn’t right.

“We’re going to begin the open-the-gifts round,” Peabody told her.

“Good, that should—What are you wearing?”

“My party pajamas.” Peabody looked down at her bright yellow sleep tank and pants. The pants were covered with colorful drawings of shoes. “Cute.”

“Why would anyone wear shoes on their pants? Shoes go on your feet.”

“I like shoes. I love my pjs.” Smiling sloppily, Peabody hugged herself and swayed. “They’re fun.”

“Peabody, you’re completed wasted.”

“I know. I had a gazillion belamies, belly buttons, biminis, whatever. And I ate much, too. So if I throw up, none of it counts! Didja know McNab called me from Vegas? He won a hundreds dollar.”

Fuck it, Eve thought. A party was a party. “A hundreds dollar?”

“Uh-huh. He said if he wins a hundreds more, he’s going to buy me a present. Oops! Presents! Time to open presents!”

Eve stayed out of the way as it seemed opening presents involved some ritual, and a change of venue from the pool house to the lounge beyond it. Following Peabody’s lead, many of the guests also required a wardrobe change.

Mavis came in wearing a polka-dot tank and striped pants, and carrying the baby, who wore matching sleepwear.

Women flocked to them like cooing doves.

“She’s hungry,” Mavis explained. “Plus she didn’t want to miss the whole party.” So saying, Mavis sat, plopped out a breast. Bella latched on enthusiastically.

Women sat or sprawled everywhere while Louise began the ritual of removing ribbons, bows, and paper. There were coos and ooohs, bawdy laughter at the gag gifts of sex toys. And the conversation around the openings turned to weddings, men, and sex.

Men, Eve thought, didn’t have a clue what women said about them when they weren’t around. Comparison studies, polls—discussions of length, thickness, duration, positions, quirks, preferences.

Mavis switched Bella to her other breast. “Leonardo can go all night. He’s a—”

“Huggy bear,” Eve said, and made Mavis giggle.

“Yeah, but that bear’s got stamina.”

“What’s the record?” somebody asked her.

“Six in one night. Of course that was before Bellaloca here,” she said through the round of applause. “We gotta squeeze in the hump and bump when and where we can these days. But the bear knows how to spring to attention.”

“We hit five one night.” Peabody waved her fresh glass. “And four is standard for special occasions. But mostly it’s one—a nice long one, with maybe a short recap. McNab’s more a puppy. Likes to play and play, then he’s gotta curl up and sleep.”

“I dated a guy once who was all buildup and no payoff. Huge cock,” Nadine added, using her hands to demonstrate—to the hilarity of women. “And he’d dock, and deflate. Like a turtle pulling back in the shell. He’s The Turtle.”

“I banged this guy once.” Trina chomped down on an éclair, swallowed the pale gold pastry that nearly matched the color of her hair. “Not bad. We got together a couple times, then he says maybe I want to take it up a few notches. I figure toys, iced. But he wants a threesome. Gotta be open, right?” She chased the pastry with a pink Bellini. “But it turns out the third party was his fricking sister. He’s The Snake,” she said to the chorus of disgust.

“Dennis can still manage two.”

“I can’t hear this.” Eve clamped her hands over her ears. “My head will explode.”

“What? I have grandchildren so I don’t have sex?” Mira asked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. That’s the point.”

Mira poked a finger at Eve’s arm. “You have such a charming streak of prude. As I was saying, Dennis, given the right stimulation, can still go for two. When you’ve been married as long as we have, there are often stretches where warmth, comfort, the life rhythm stand in for sex. I wish that for you, Louise. The warmth and the comfort of a long life together, with the two rounds to surprise you both. Dennis is The Owl. Wise and quiet.”

“What’s Charles?” Nadine demanded. “The suave licensed companion turned sexual therapist. The sex has to be amazing.”

“Isn’t it just?” Louise gave a slow, satisfied smile that put a glow in her gray eyes. “He’s The Leopard. Elegant, graceful, strong—and believe me, he can travel across the mesa. And back again.”

“Leopards, puppies, owls—even snakes are sexy,” Nadine complained. “I get a limp turtle. Your turn,” she said to Eve, then wagged a finger when Eve shook her head. “Then I’ll project. Panther. Sleek, mysterious, coiled, with an elegance and purpose of movement.”

“Okay.”

“Not fair! Okay, what’s the record? How many times?”

“If you can count them, he didn’t drop you out.”

Nadine groaned, shuddered, grinned. “Bitch.”

Amid the laughter, Louise opened the next gift. Eve sipped her coffee. “Wolf,” she murmured, without thinking.

“Yes.” Beside her, Mira patted her hand. “They mate for life.”

When the last present was sighed over, Trina got to her feet. “Okay, girls, back to your stations. Next round of treatments.” She turned, bared her teeth at Eve. “I pulled you.”

“No. I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are. Everybody plays. Somebody get this woman a drink. The hair. It’s mine.”

She could handle a haircut. Probably. Particularly since there was no escape. “I don’t want a body treatment,” Eve began. “I don’t want a face treatment. I don’t want—”

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. Sit.” Someone passed Trina a Bellini, which she pushed into Eve’s hand. “I saved you for last, first round anyway. We’re here for the duration if anybody wants to go again. It’s nice what you’re doing here.”

Eve narrowed her eyes suspiciously as Trina arranged her torture tools. “What am I doing here?”

“Having everybody here like this. Louise is okay. Real okay. Got a solid base. Me, I don’t have a lot of no-fucking-ways, but I couldn’t’ve fallen for an LC and stuck. Not the big fall, you know? But she did, because he was the guy. And now she’s got the whole piñata and all the candy inside. It’s nice to have everybody here to get a bang out of it.”

Just as Eve relaxed, as she considered there might be some skinny patch of common ground here, Trina turned, and her eyes went to slits. “Now what the fuck have you done to my hair? Hacked at it didn’t you? Just couldn’t let it alone or call me in to deal?”

“I didn’t—I only. It’s my hair.”

“Not once I put the scissors to it, sister. You’re lucky I’m a genius, and a humanitarian. I’ll fix it, and I won’t shave it bald down the center to make my point.”

Trina grabbed a bottle and began to spray a mist on Eve’s hair while she worked it with her fingers. “Plus you need a facial and an eye boost. You got some fatigue.”

“It’s not fatigue, it’s alcohol. I’ve been drinking.”

“I say you got fatigue, you got fatigue. I know about Morris’s lady. Sick about it because that’s one prime man—on all counts. You’re going to get the bastard, but you’re not going to do it with hacked-up hair and tired skin. I got standards.”

“You want the hair? Take the hair, but leave the rest of me alone. I’ve got—”

Her ’link beeped. Eve struggled to get her hand under the miles of cape, into the pocket of her dress. Trina just nipped in, pulled it out. “She’s busy,” she snapped even as Eve cursed her.

“Unrecognized voice print. Transmission for Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

“Give me that, goddamn it.” Eve grabbed, shoved. “Dallas.”

“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Report to 509 Pearl Street. Officers on-scene. Body on second floor visually identified as Sandy, Rod, subject of your APB.”

“Is the scene secured?”

“Affirmative.”

“I’m on my way.”

Before Eve finished the statement, Trina had the cape whipped away and the chair back in an upright position. “Should I find Peabody?”

“No, she can stay here. I can handle it. If anyone asks, just say I went to bed.”

“You got it.”

Eve slipped out of the room, started to make a dash.

“Hey, hey!” Spotting her, Peabody set off in staggering pursuit.

“You can’t run away. We’re going to start the vids. You—you’ve got something,” she said when she managed to focus.

“I’ve got it. Go on back. Go handle . . . whatever the hell it is down there.”

“No, sir. I’m with you. I’ve got some Sober-Up with me. I can be level pretty quick. It’s about Coltraine, so I’m with you.”

“All right, but make it quick. I’ve got to go change. And so, by all that’s holy, do you.”

As Eve called for the elevator, Mira hurried over. “What’s wrong?”

“DB ID’d as Sandy. I’ve got to go. She’s got to sober up if she wants in.”

“I want in.”

“Go change,” Mira ordered, and put an arm around Peabody’s waist. “I’ll take care of it. She’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Ten minutes,” Eve snapped. She jumped on the elevator, thinking there was no way in hell her partner would be clean and sober in ten.

And, she thought as she rode up, no matter how hard she’d pushed that day, she’d never had a chance of taking Rod Sandy alive.