Reunion in Death

*** CHAPTER 4 ***

Though it was after one in the morning when she got home, Eve wasn't surprised to find Roarke in his office. It was rare for him to sleep more than five hours a night. Rarer still for him not to wait up until she was home.

The work fueled him, she knew. More than the obscene amounts of money he made every time he wheeled a deal, it was the deal itself the planning, the strategizing, the negotiating, that engaged his interests and energies.

He bought because things were there to be bought. Though she often thought of the companies, the real estate, the factories, the hotels he acquired as his toys, she knew he was a man who took his toys very, very seriously.

He'd broadened her focus considerably since they'd been together. Travel, culture, society. Somehow he managed to carve out time for everything and more. The money was nothing to him, she thought, unless it was enjoyed.

The man who ruled a business empire with a scope beyond reason sat at a desk at one-fifteen in the morning with a brandy at his elbow, a fat, purring cat on his lap, and his sleeves rolled up while he worked at his computer like any lowly office drone.

And, she thought, he was enjoying it.

«Are you in the middle of something or are you playing?»

He glanced up. «A bit of both. Save data and file,» he ordered the computer, then sat back. «The media's already got your homicide. I was sorry to hear about Walter Pettibone.»

«You knew him?»

«Not well. But enough to appreciate his business sense and to know he was a pleasant sort of man.»

«Yeah, everybody loved good old Walt.»

«The media report said he'd collapsed at his home during a party to celebrate his sixtieth birthday; one we were invited to,» he added. «But as I wasn't sure precisely when we'd be back or what mood we'd be in, I declined. Murder wasn't mentioned, just that the police were investigating.»

«Media vultures wouldn't have the official ME's report yet. I just got it myself. It's homicide. Somebody slipped some cyanide in his drink. What do you know about the ex-wife?»

«Not a great deal. I believe they were married for a number of years, divorced without any scandal. He married some pretty young thing sometime after. There was some head shaking over that, but the gossip died down quickly enough. Walter wasn't the sort of man who made a target for gossip. Just not enough juice.»

Eve sat, stretched out her legs. When she reached down to pet Galahad, the cat growled low in his throat. With a feline glare for Eve, he flicked his tail, leaped down, and stalked away.

«He's annoyed we didn't take him on vacation.» Roarke smothered a grin as Eve scowled after the cat. «He and I have made up, but it appears he's still holding a grudge where you're concerned.»

«Little prick.»

«Name calling is no way to mend fences. Try fresh tuna. It works wonders.»

«I'm not bribing a damn cat.» She lifted her voice, certain the party in question was still within earshot. «He doesn't want me touching him, fine and dandy. He wants to be pissed off because …» She trailed off as she heard herself. «Jesus. Where was I? Pettibone. Juice. Well, he had enough juice for somebody to want him dead. And the way it's shaping up, to pay for a pro.»

«A professional hit on Walter Pettibone?» Roarke lifted a brow. «That doesn't feel like a good fit.»

«Woman gets a job at the caterers just about the time the current Mrs. Pettibone is planning the big surprise party. The same woman works the Pettibone affair, and brings the birthday boy the fatal glass of champagne. Hands it to him personally, wishes him happy birthday. Hangs back, but stays in the room while he makes his mushy toast, and drinks. When he's spazzing on the floor, she walks out of the apartment and poof! Vanishes.»

She frowned a little as Roarke rose, poured her a glass of wine, then sat on the arm of her chair.

«Thanks. I had sweepers go over her place a place she rented two days before she took the catering job, and one she moved out of this morning. One, according to her neighbors, she spent little time in. No prints, no trace evidence. Not a fucking stray hair. She sanitized it. I went by there myself. Little one-room place, low rent, low security. But she had police locks installed to keep the riffraff out.»

«Are you looking at what is her name? Muffy? Twinkie?»

«Bambi. Comes off like she's got the mental capacity of broccoli, but we'll run her. She seems sincerely a dink, but she's now a really rich, widowed dink. Maybe the ex-wife bided her time,» Eve mused. «Played nice while she worked things out. You're married to a guy thirty years, you've got a serious investment. Gonna irritate you when he trades you in.»

«I'll keep that in mind.»

«Me, I don't hire hits.» She looked up at his mouthwatering face. «I'd give you the basic courtesy of killing you myself.»

«Thank you, darling.» He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. «It's comforting to know you'd take a personal interest in such a matter.»

«I'll check out the first Mrs. Pettibone in the morning. If she did the hiring, she'd be my best link to this Julie Dockport.»

«Interesting. A professional killer who selects the name of a prison as her surname.»

She paused with the wineglass at her lips. «What?»

«Dockport Rehabilitation Center. I believe I had an acquaintance who spent some time in that particular facility,» he replied as he toyed with the ends of her hair. «I think it's in Illinois, or perhaps Indiana. One of those Midwest places.»

«Wait a minute, wait a minute.» She pushed to her feet. «Dockport. Poison. Wait, wait.» She pressed her fingers to her temples, drilled them for the data.

«Julie. No, not Julie. Julianna. Julianna Dunne. Eight, nine years back. Right after I got my gold shield. Poisoned her husband. Big charity fundraiser at the Met. I worked the case. She was slippery, she was slick. She'd done it before. Twice before. Once in East Washington, again in Chicago. That's how we got her, the one in Chicago. I worked with the CPSD. She'd marry a rich guy, then she'd off him, take the money, and go reinvent herself for the next target.»

«You sent her up?»

Distracted, she shook her head and continued to pace. «I was part of it. I couldn't break her in Interview, never got a confession out of her, but we got enough for an indictment, enough for a conviction. A lot of it weighed on the psych tests. She came up whacked. Seriously whacked. Hated men. And the jury didn't like her. She was too fucking smug, too cold. They added up three dead husbands and close to a half a billion dollars and gave her ten to twenty. It was the best we could do, and we got lucky at that.»

«Three murders, and she gets ten to twenty?»

It was coming back, in a steady stream now. «East Washington couldn't pin her. What we had there went to pattern. Lawyers pleaded the other counts down and with mostly circumstantial, we had to swallow it. She got reduced for diminished capacity. Childhood trauma, blah blah. She used most of the first husband's money, the only scratch she could legally use, to wrangle that deal and pay for the trial and the appeals. Pissed her off. They held the trial in Chicago, and I was there for the verdict. I made sure I was there. Afterward, she asked to speak to me.»

She leaned back on his desk, and though she looked at him Roarke knew she was ten years back, and looking at Julianna Dunne. «She said she knew I was the one responsible for her arrest, her conviction. The other cops … wait a minute,» she muttered as she pushed back in time to hear Julianna's voice.

«The other cops were just men, and she'd never lost a battle to a man. She respected me, woman to woman, and understood I felt I was just doing my job. Then again, so was she. She was certain I'd come to see that eventually. We'd talk again, when I did.»

«What did you respond?»

«That if it had been my call, she'd've gone down for all three murders and would never see the light of day again. That if I was responsible for putting her where she was going, good for me, but if I'd been the judge, she'd be serving three consecutive life terms. I hoped she'd come to see that eventually, because we had nothing to talk about.»

«Clear, concise, and to the point, even with your shiny new gold badge.»

«Yeah, I guess. She didn't like it, not one bit, but laughed and said she was sure the next time we got together I'd see things more clearly. And that was that. The caterer's going to transmit her employment records in the morning. I don't want to wait that long. Can you get into them, pull up her ID photo and data?»

«Who's the caterer?»

«Mr. Markie.»

«Excellent choice.» He rose and walked behind the desk.

«Can I use this other unit here?»

«Be my guest.» He sat down and got to work.

While he did, Eve ordered up the data on Julianna Dunne. She skimmed the text that popped up on the wall screen, listened with half an ear to the background information as she studied the most recent ID photo.

At the time of the photo she'd still worn her hair long. Long and delicately blonde to go with her classic face and features. Wide blue eyes, thickly lashed, framed by slimly arched brown brows shades deeper than her hair. Her mouth was soft, a bit top heavy, her nose straight and perfect. Despite nearly a decade in prison, her skin looked smooth and creamy.

She looked, Eve realized, like one of those glamour girls in the old videos Roarke enjoyed so much.

released from dockport rehabilitation center, seventeen february, 2059. served eight years, seven months. sentence reduced for good behavior. subject met rehabilitation requirements. fulfilled mandatory sixty-day checks, signed off eighteen april by parole officer/rehabilitation counselor otto shultz, chicago, with no restrictions. current residence, 29 third avenue, apartment 605, new york city, new york.

«Not anymore,» Eve commented.

«Your data, Lieutenant,» Roarke said as he ordered it onto the next wall screen.

She studied Julianna's side-by-side images. «She cut her hair, went red, changed her eye color. Didn't bother with much else. That jibes with her old pattern. Logged her correct, if temporary address. Julianna dots her i's and crosses her t's. What does she have to do with Walter Pettibone?»

«Do you think she went pro?»

«She likes money,» Eve mused. «It, I don't know, feeds some need. The same need killing men feeds. But it doesn't fit her old pattern. Point is, she's back, and she killed Pettibone. I have to update the all-points.»

«Have you considered she came here, killed here, because of you?»

Eve blew out a breath. «Maybe. That would mean I made a hell of an impression on her all those years ago.»

«You tend to make an impression.»

Since she couldn't think of a response, she pulled out her communicator and ordered the new all-points bulletin on Julianna Dunne.

«If she follows her old pattern, she's already out of the city. But we scooped her up once, we'll scoop her up again. I'll need to bring Feeney in on this. We were partners when Julianna went down.»

«As I'm fond of him, I hope you don't intend to do that until morning.»

«Yeah.» She glanced at her wrist unit. «Nothing else to be done tonight.»

«I don't know.» He walked around the desk again, slid his arms around her. «I can think of one thing.»

«You usually do.»

«Why don't we go to bed, and I'll get you naked. Then we'll see if you think of it, too.»

«I guess that's reasonable.» She started out with him. «I didn't ask: Did the rest of the deal go okay with the Peabodys?»

«Mmm. Fine.»

«Figured. You play with strangers better than I do. Listen, I hear they're going to stay in this camper thing they travel in, and that's not a good idea. I thought since you have hotels and stuff you could get them a deal on a room.»

«That's not going to be necessary.»

«Well yeah, because if they bunk in that thing on the street or in some lot, a beat cop's going to cite them, maybe pull them in. They won't flop at Peabody's because her place is pretty tight. You've got to have an empty hotel room or apartment somewhere they can use.»

«I imagine I do, yes, but…» At the door to their bedroom, he pulled her inside, toward the bed. «Eve.»

She began to get a bad feeling. «What?»

«Do you love me?»

A very bad feeling. «Maybe.»

He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her soft and deep. «Just say yes.»

«I'm not saying yes until I know why you're asking the question.»

«Perhaps I'm insecure, and needy, and want reassurance.»

«My ass.»

«Yes, I want your ass as well, but first there's the matter of your great and generous and unconditional love for me.»

She let him release her weapon harness, noticed he put it well out of reach before turning back and loosening the buttons of her shirt. «Who said anything about unconditional? I don't remember signing that clause in the deal.»

«What is it about your body that's a constant fascination to me?» He feathered his fingers lightly over her breasts. «It's all so firm and soft all at once.»

«You're stalling. And you never stall.» She grabbed his wrists before he could finish the job of distracting her. «You did something. What did you …» Realization struck, and her jaw dropped nearly to her toes. «Oh my God.»

«I don't know how it happened, precisely. I really can't say how it came to be that Peabody's parents are even now tucked away in a guest room on the third floor. East wing.»

«Here? They're going to stay here? You asked them to stay here? With us?»

«I'm not sure.»

«What do you mean you're not sure? Did you ask them or not?»

«There's no point in getting into a snit.» One must, he knew very well, switch to offense when defense was running thin. «You're the one who asked them to dinner, after all.»

«To dinner,» she hissed, as if they might hear her in the east wing. «A meal doesn't come with sleeping privileges. Roarke, they're Peabody's. What the hell are we going to do with them?»

«I don't know that either.» Humor danced back in his eyes, and he sat and laughed. «I'm no easy mark. You know that. And I swear to you even now I'm not sure how she managed it, though manage it, she did, I'm showing them around after dinner as Phoebe wanted a bit of a tour. She's saying how nice it must be to have so many lovely rooms, and how comfortable and homey it all is despite all the size and space of it. And we're in the east wing, and she's wandering around one of the guest rooms and going to the window and saying what a wonderful view of the gardens. And look here, Sam, isn't this a beautiful view and so on. She misses her flowers, she tells me. And I say something about her being welcome to roam the garden here if she likes.»

«How did you get from walking around the gardens to sleeping in the guest room?»

«She looked at me.»

«And?»

«She looked at me,» he repeated with a kind of baffled fascination, «and from there it's difficult to explain. She was saying how comforting it was to her and Sam to know their Delia had such good friends, generous souls and something of the like. And how much it meant to them to have this time to get to know those friends. Before I knew it I was arranging for their things to be fetched, and she was kissing me good night.»

«Peabody said she has the power.»

«I'm here to tell you, the woman has something. It's not that I mind. It's a big house, and I like both of them quite a lot. But, for Christ's sake, I usually know what I'm going to say before it comes spurting out of my mouth.»

Amused now, she straddled him where he sat, hooked her arms behind his neck. «She put the whammy on you. I'm kind of sorry I missed it.»

There, you see? You do love me.»

«Probably.»

She was grinning when she let him roll her into bed.

In the morning, Eve did a thirty-minute workout in the gym, and finished it off with laps in the pool. When she had the time, it was a routine that invariably cleared her mind and got her blood moving. By the time she pushed off for the tenth lap, she'd outlined her next steps in the Pettibone case.

Tracking Julianna Dunne was priority, and that meant digging through the old files, taking a hard look at patterns, associates, routines, and habits. It meant, in all probability, a trip to Dockport, to interview any inmates or guards Julianna had formed a relationship with.

Though if memory served, Julianna was very skilled at keeping herself to herself.

Next priority was motive. Who'd wanted Pettibone dead? Who'd benefited? His wife, his children. Possibly a business competitor.

A woman who looked like Bambi would have had other men in her life. That bore looking into. A former lover, jealousy. Or a long-term plan to hook the rich old guy, soak him, then eliminate him.

Then there was the ex-wife, who might have gained revenge and satisfaction in paying him back for dumping her.

Could be Pettibone wasn't the saint people were making him out to be. He might have known Julianna. He might have been one of her potential targets a decade ago, someone she'd seduced into an affair. Or she could have researched him while she was in prison, then played with him after her release.

That angle was high on her list, but it was too early to dismiss any possibility.

To know the killer, know the victim, she thought. This time she knew the killer, but to find the motive, she had to learn more about Pettibone. And reacquaint herself with Julianna Dunne.

At the end of twenty laps, feeling loose and limber, she slicked her hair back and stood in the shallows. As she started to hoist herself out, she caught a movement among the jungle of plants. Her head snapped up; her body braced.

«Well, if that's what the bad guys see before you arrest them, it's a wonder they don't fall to their knees begging for mercy.»

Phoebe stepped forward, holding a towel. «I'm sorry,» she added. «I know you didn't hear me come in. I got caught up watching you. You swim like a fish, in the best sense of the term.»

Because she was also naked as a fish, Eve took the towel, quickly wrapped herself in it. «Thanks.»

«Roarke said you'd be down here. I brought you some coffee.» She took an oversized mug off the table. «And one of Sam's amazing croissants. I wanted to take a moment to thank you for your hospitality.»

«No problem. You, ah, settle in okay?»

«It would be hard to do otherwise here. Do you have a minute, or are you in a rush?»

«Well, I-«

«The croissant's fresh.» She held out the plate, close enough that the fragrance of it hypnotized. «Sam managed to charm Summerset into letting him use the kitchen.»

«I can take a minute.» Because putting on a robe would mean taking off the towel first, she sat as she was. And because Phoebe was watching her, she broke off a corner of the croissant.

«It's great.» And immediately broke off another piece. «Seriously great.»

«Sam's a brilliant cook. Eve can I call you Eve? I know most don't.»

Maybe it was that steady look, or the tone of voice or a combination of both, but Eve found herself wanting to squirm in her chair. «Sure, okay.»

«I make you uncomfortable. I wish I didn't.»

«No, you …» She did squirm. «I'm just not good with people.»

«I don't think that's true. You've been good with Delia. Exceptionally good. And don't tell me it's just the job, because I know it's not.» Phoebe picked up a mug of tea, watching Eve as she drank. «There's been a change in her this past year. She's grown, as a person. Dee always seemed to know what she wanted to do, to be, but since working for you she's found her place. She's more confident, sadder in some ways, I think because of the things she's seen and had to do. But stronger for them. Her letters and calls are full of you. I wonder if you know how much it means to her that you made her a part of who you are.»

«Listen, Mrs. Peabody … Phoebe,» she corrected. «I don't– I haven't-« She blew out a breath. «I'm going to say something about Peabody, and I don't want it getting back to her.»

Phoebe's lips curved at the corners. «All right. What you tell me stays between us.»

«She's got a good eye and a quick brain. Most cops do, or they don't last long. She remembers things, so you don't have to waste time going over the same ground with her. She knows what it means to serve and protect, what it really means. That makes a difference in what kind of cop you turn out to be. I went a long time working solo. I liked it that way. There wasn't anybody I wanted with me after my old partner transferred to EDD.»

«Captain Feeney.»

«Yeah, when Feeney got his bars and went into EDD, I worked alone. Then I come across Peabody, all spit and polish and sneaky sarcasm. I wasn't going to take on a uniform. I never intended to be anybody's trainer. But… she has a spark. I don't know how else to say it. You don't see that kind of thing every day on the job. She wanted Homicide, and I figure the dead need all the spark they can get. She'd have gotten there without me. I just gave her a boost.»

«Thank you. I worry about her. She's a grown woman, but she's my little girl. She always will be. That's motherhood. But I'll worry less after what you've told me. I don't suppose you'd tell me what you think of Ian McNab.»

Something like panic tickled Eve's throat. «He's a good cop.»

Phoebe tipped back her head and laughed until the rich, rollicking sound of it filled the room. «How did I know you'd say that? Don't worry, Eve, I like him very much, more so since he's so goofily in love with my little girl.»

«Goofy covers it,» Eve muttered.

«Now, I know you need to get to work, but I have a gift for you.»

«You gave us a gift already.»

«That was from my man and me to you and your man. This is from me to you.» She bent to pick up a box she'd set on the floor, then put it in Eve's lap. «Gifts shouldn't unnerve you. They're just tokens, of appreciation or affection. In this case both. I brought it with me before I was completely sure we'd come all the way to New York. Before I was completely sure I'd give it to you. I had to meet you first. Please, open it.»

With no way out, Eve took off the lid. Inside was a statue of a woman, perhaps eight inches high, carved from some nearly transparent crystal. Her head was tipped back so that her hair rained down almost to her feet. Her eyes were closed, her mouth bowed up in a quiet smile. She held her arms out to her sides, palms up.

«She's the goddess,» Phoebe explained. «Carved in alabaster. She represents the strength, courage, the wisdom, the compassion that is uniquely female.»

«She's terrific.» Holding it up, Eve watched the light streaming through the windows shimmer on the carved figure. «She looks old, in a good way,» she added quickly and made Phoebe laugh again.

«Yes, she is old, in a good way. She was my great-great grandmother's. It's been passed down, from female to female until it came to me. And now you.»

«She's beautiful. Really. But I can't take her. This is something you need to keep in your family.»

Phoebe reached over, laid a hand over Eve's so that they both held the statue. «I am keeping it in my family.»

Her office at Central was too small for a meeting where more than two people were involved. Her call in to book a conference room resulted in a short, bitter argument and no satisfaction.

With her options narrowed, she realigned and scheduled the briefing in her home office.

«Problem, Lieutenant?» Roarke asked as he stepped from his office into hers.

«No conference rooms available until fourteen hundred? That's just bullshit.»

«So I heard you say, rather viciously, into the 'link. I've a meeting myself in midtown.» He crossed to her, skimmed his fingertip along the shallow dent in her chin. «Anything I can do for you before I leave?»

«I'm set.»

He laid his lips on hers, lingered over them. «I shouldn't be late.» He stepped back, then spotted the statue on her desk. «What's this?»

«Phoebe gave it to me.»

«Alabaster,» he said as he lifted it. «She's lovely. A goddess of some sort. She suits you.»

«Yeah, that's me. Goddess cop.» She stared at the cool, serene face of the statue, remembered being trapped in the cool, serene face of Phoebe Peabody. «She had me saying stuff. I think it's the eyes. If you want to keep your thoughts to yourself, never look directly into her eyes.»

He laughed and set the statue down again. «I imagine a number of people say exactly the same thing about you.»

She'd have given that some thought, but she had work to do. She called up files, slotted data on various screens, then dived back into Julianna Dunne.

She was well into a second page of fresh notes when Peabody and McNab came in. «Raid the AutoChef now,» she ordered without looking up. «I want you settled when Feeney gets here.»

«You got a new lead?» Peabody asked.

«I'll brief everyone at one time. I need more coffee here.»

«Yes, sir.» As Peabody reached for Eve's empty cup, she saw the statue. «She gave you the goddess.»

She looked up now, and to her terror, saw tears swim into Peabody's eyes. McNab must have seen them, too. He muttered, «Girl thing,» and hightailed it into the adjoining kitchen.

«Listen, Peabody, about that-«

«And you put it on your desk.»

«Yeah, well… I figure this is supposed to come to you, so-«

«No, sir.» Her voice was thick as she lifted those drenched eyes to Eve's. And smiled. «She gave it to you, and that means she trusts you. She accepts. You're family. And you put it there, right there on your desk, and that means you accept. It's a real moment for me,» she added and dug out a handkerchief. «I love you, Dallas.»

«Oh jeez. If you try to kiss me, I'll deck you.»

Peabody gave a watery laugh and blew her nose. «I wasn't sure you'd be speaking to me this morning. Dad called and said how they were staying here.»

«Your mother put the whammy on Roarke. That takes some doing.»

«Yeah, I had to figure. You're not pissed off?»

«Sam made croissants this morning. Your mother brought me one, with coffee.»

The grin lit Peabody's face. «So it's okay then.»

«Apparently.» Eve picked up her cup, pursed her lips as she looked inside. «But it seems I don't have coffee at the moment. How could that be?»

«I'll correct that oversight immediately, Lieutenant.» Peabody snatched the cup, then hesitated. «Um, Dallas? Blessings on you.»

«What?»

«Sorry, I can't help it. Free-Ager training. It's just… Thanks. That's all. Thanks.»