In Death 12.5 - Interlude in Death (9 page)

“Ladies’ tea,” she grumbled on the way out. “I don’t know why Angelo can’t just haul the woman in to her cop shop and deal.”

“Don’t forget your rubber hose and mini-stunner.”

She smirked over her shoulder as she stepped onto the elevator. “Bite me.”

“Already did.”

T
he tea was already under way when Eve walked in. Women in flowy dresses, and some—Jesus—in hats, milled about and gathered under arbors of pink roses or spilled out onto a terrace where a harpist plucked strings and sang in a quavery voice that instantly irritated Eve’s nerves.

Tiny crustless sandwiches and pink frosted cakes were arranged on clear glass platters. Shining silver pots steamed with tea that smelled, to Eve, entirely too much like the roses.

At such times she wondered how women weren’t mortified to be women.

She tracked down Peabody first and was more than slightly amazed to see her stalwart aide decked out in a swirly flowered dress and a broad-brimmed straw hat with trailing ribbons.

“Jeez, Peabody, you look like a—what is it—milkmaid or something.”

“Thanks, Dallas. Great shoes.”

“Shut up. Run down Mira. I want her take on Skinner’s wife. The two of you hang close while Angelo and I talk to her.”

“Mrs. Skinner’s out on the terrace. Angelo just walked in. Wow, she’s got some great DNA.”

Eve glanced back, nodded to Angelo. The chief had chosen to wear cool white, but rather than flowing, the dress clung to every curve.

“On the terrace,” Eve told her. “How do you want to play it?”

“Subtly, Lieutenant. Subtle’s my style.”

Eve lifted her brows. “I don’t think so.”

“Interview style,” Darcia said and breezed onto the terrace. She stopped, poured tea, then strolled to the table where Belle was holding court. “Lovely party, Mrs. Skinner. I know we all want to thank you for hosting this event. Such a nice break from the seminars and panels.”

“It’s important to remember that we’re women, not just wives, mothers, career professionals.”

“Absolutely. I wonder if Lieutenant Dallas and I might have a private word with you? We won’t take up much of your time.”

She laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the women seated at the table. Subtle, Eve thought. And effective, as the woman rose to give Darcia her chair.

“I must tell you how much I enjoyed the commander’s keynote this morning,” Darcia began. “So inspiring. It must be very difficult for him, and you, to deal with the convention after your tragic loss.”

“Douglas and I both believe strongly in fulfilling our duties and responsibilities, whatever our personal troubles. Poor Reggie.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s horrible. Even being a cop’s wife for half a century…you never get used to the shock of violent death.”

“How well did you know Weeks?” Eve asked.

“Loss and shock and sorrow aren’t connected only to personal knowledge, Lieutenant.” Belle’s voice went cool. “But I knew him quite well, actually. Douglas and I believe in forming strong and caring relationships with our employees.”

Likes Angelo, Eve thought. Hates me. Okay, then. “I guess being full of shock and sorrow is the reason you eavesdropped from your bedroom instead of coming out when we notified Commander Skinner that one of his security team had been murdered.”

Belle’s face went very blank and still. “I don’t know what you’re intimating.”

“I’m not intimating, I’m saying it straight out. You were in the spare room—not the master with the commander. I know you were awake, because your light was on. You heard us relay the information, but despite this close, personal relationship, you didn’t come out to express your shock and loss. Why is that, Mrs. Skinner?”

“Dallas, I’m sure Mrs. Skinner has her reasons.” Darcia put a light sting of censure in her voice, then turned a sympathetic smile to Belle. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Skinner. The lieutenant is, quite naturally, on edge just now.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize, Chief Angelo. I understand, and sympathize—to an extent—Lieutenant Dallas’s desire to defend and protect her husband.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Eve tossed back. “How far would you go? How many close, personal relationships are you willing to sacrifice? Or didn’t you have one with Zita Vinter?”

“Zita?” Belle’s shoulders jerked, as if from a blow. “What does Zita have to do with any of this?”

“You knew her?”

“She’s our godchild, of course I…Knew?” Every ounce of color drained out of the lovely face so that the expertly applied enhancements stood out like paint on a doll. “What’s happened?”

“She’s dead,” Eve said flatly. “Murdered early this morning, a few hours after Weeks.”

“Dead?
Dead?
” Belle got shakily to her feet, upending her teacup as she floundered for balance. “I can’t—I can’t talk to you now.”

“Want to go after her?” Darcia asked when Belle rushed from the terrace.

“No. Let’s give her time to stew. She’s scared now. Over what she knows and what she doesn’t know.” She looked back at Darcia. “We had a pretty good rhythm going there.”

“I thought so. But I imagine playing the insensitive, argumentative cop comes naturally to you.”

“Just like breathing. Let’s blow this tea party and go get a drink.” Eve signaled to Peabody and Mira. “Just us girls.”

I
n the bar, in a wide, plush booth, Eve brooded over a fizzy water. She’d have preferred the good, hard kick of a Zombie, but she wanted a clear head more than the jolt.

“You’ve got a smooth, sympathetic style,” she said to Darcia. “I think she’ll talk to you if you stay in that channel.”

“So do I.”

“Dr. Mira here, she’s got the same deal. You’d be able to double-team her.” Eve glanced toward Mira, who was sipping white wine.

“She was shocked and shaken,” Mira began. “First, she’ll verify the information about the death of her godchild. When she does, grief will tangle with the shock.”

“So, she’ll be even more vulnerable to the right questions presented in the right style.”

“You’re a cold one, Dallas,” Darcia said. “I like that about you. I’d be very agreeable to interviewing Belle Skinner with Dr. Mira, if that suits the doctor.”

“I’m happy to help. I imagine you intend to talk to Skinner again, Eve.”

“With the chief’s permission.”

“Don’t start being polite now,” Darcia told her. “You’ll ruin your image. He won’t want to talk to you,” she went on. “Whatever his feelings toward you were before, my impression is—after his keynote—he’s wrapped you and Roarke together. He hates you both.”

“He brought us up at his keynote?”

“Not by name, but by intimation. His inspiring, rather cheerleader-type speech took a turn at the midway point. He went into a tangent on cops who go bad, who forget their primary duties in favor of personal comforts and gains. Gestures, body language…” Darcia shrugged. “It was clear he was talking about this place—luxury palaces built on blood and greed, I believe he said—and you. Bedfellows of the wicked. He got very worked up about it, almost evangelical. While there were some who appeared enthusiastic and supportive of that particular line of thought, it seemed to me the bulk of the attendees were uncomfortable—embarrassed or angry.”

“He wants to use his keynote to take slaps at me and Roarke, it doesn’t worry me.” But Eve noticed Peabody staring down into her glass. “Peabody?”

“I think he’s sick.” She spoke quietly, finally lifted her gaze. “Physically, mentally. I don’t think he’s real stable. It was hard to watch it happen this morning. He started out sort of, well, eloquent, then it just deteriorated into this rant. I’ve admired him all my life. It was hard to watch,” she repeated. “A lot of the cops who were there stiffened up. You could almost feel layers of respect peeling away. He talked about the murder some, how a young, promising man had become a victim of petty and soulless revenge. How a killer could hide behind a badge instead of being brought to justice by one.”

“Pretty pointed,” Eve decided.

“A lot of the terrestrial cops walked out then.”

“So he’s probably a little shaky now himself. I’ll take him,” Eve said. “Peabody, you track down Feeney, see what other details you can dig out on the two victims and anyone else on-site who’s connected with the bust in Atlanta. That fly with you, Chief Angelo?”

Darcia polished off her wine. “It does.”

E
ve detoured back to the suite first. She wanted a few more details before questioning Skinner again. She never doubted Roarke had already found them.

He was on the ’link when she got there, talking to his head of hotel security. Restless, Eve wandered out onto the terrace and let her mind shuffle the facts, the evidence, the lines of possibilities.

Two dead. Both victims’ fathers martyred cops. And those connected to Roarke’s father and to Skinner. Murdered in a world of Roarke’s making, on a site filled with police officials. It was so neat, it was almost poetic.

A setup from the beginning? It wasn’t a crime of impulse but something craftily, coldly planned. Weeks and Vinter had both been sacrifices, pawns placed and disgarded for the greater game. A chess game, all right, she decided. Black king against white, and her gut told her Skinner wouldn’t be satisfied with a checkmate.

He wanted blood.

She turned as Roarke stepped out. “In the end, destroying you won’t be enough. He’s setting you up, step by step, for execution. A lot of weapons on this site. He keeps the pressure on, piles up the circumstantial so there’s enough appearance that you might have ordered these hits. All he needs is one soldier willing to take the fall. I’m betting Hayes for that one. Skinner doesn’t have much time to pull it off.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Roarke agreed. “I got into his medical records. A year ago he was diagnosed with a rare disorder. It’s complicated, but the best I can interpret, it sort of nibbles away at the brain.”

“Treatment?”

“Yes, there are some procedures. He’s had two—quietly, at a private facility in Zurich. It slowed the process, but in his case…He’s had complications. A strain on the heart and lungs. Another attempt at correction would kill him. He was given a year. He has, perhaps, three months of that left. And of that three months, two at the outside where he’ll continue to be mobile and lucid. He’s made arrangements for self-termination.”

“That’s rough.” Eve slipped her hands into her pockets. There was more—she could see it in Roarke’s eyes. Something about the way he watched her now. “It plays into the rest. This one event’s been stuck in his gut for decades. He wants to clear his books before he checks out. Whatever’s eating at his brain has probably made him more unstable, more fanatic and less worried about the niceties. He needs to see you go down before he does. What else? What is it?”

“I went down several more layers in his case file on the bust. His follow-ups, his notes. He believed he’d tracked my father before he’d slipped out of the country again. Skinner used some connections. It was believed that my father headed west and spent a few days among some nefarious associates. In Texas. In Dallas, Eve.”

Her stomach clenched, and her heart tripped for several beats. “It’s a big place. It doesn’t mean…”

“The timing’s right.” He walked to her, ran his hands up and down her arms as if to warm them. “Your father and mine, petty criminals searching for the big score. You were found in that Dallas alley only a few days after Skinner lost my father’s trail again.”

“You’re saying they knew each other, your father and mine.”

“I’m saying the circle’s too tidy to ignore. I nearly didn’t tell you,” he added, resting his forehead on hers.

“Give me a minute.” She stepped away from him, leaned out on the rail, stared out over the resort. But she was seeing that cold, dirty room, and herself huddled in the corner like an animal. Blood on her hands.

“He had a deal going,” she said quietly. “Some deal or other, I think. He wasn’t drinking as much—and it was worse for me when he wasn’t good and drunk when he came back. And he had some money. Well.” She took a deep breath. “Well. It plays out. Do you know what I think?”

“Tell me.”

“I think sometimes fate cuts you a break. Like it says, okay, you’ve had enough of that crap, so it’s time you fell into something nice. See what you make out of it.” She turned back to him then. “We’re making something out of it. Whatever they were to us, or to each other, it’s what we are now that counts.”

“Darling Eve. I adore you.”

“Then you’ll do me a favor. Keep yourself scarce for the next couple of hours. I don’t want to give Skinner any opportunities. I need to talk to him, and he won’t talk if you’re with me.”

“Agreed, with one condition. You go wired.” He took a small jeweled pin from his pocket, attached it to her lapel. “I’ll monitor from here.”

“It’s illegal to record without all parties’ knowledge and permission unless you have proper authorization.”

“Is it really?” He kissed her. “That’s what you get for bedding down with bad companions.”

“Heard about that, did you?”

“Just as I heard that a large portion of your fellow cops walked out of the speech. Your reputation stands, Lieutenant. I imagine your seminar tomorrow will be packed.”

“My…Shit! I forgot. I’m not thinking about it,” she muttered on the way out. “Not thinking about it.”

S
he slipped into the conference room where Skinner was leading a seminar on tactics. It was some relief to realize she’d missed the lecture and had come in during the question-and-answer period. There were a lot of long looks in her direction as she walked down the side of the room and found a seat halfway from the back.

She scoped out the setup. Skinner on stage at the podium, Hayes standing to his back and his right, at attention. Two other personal security types on his other side.

Excessive, she thought, and obviously so. The message was that the location, the situation, posed personal jeopardy for Skinner; but he was taking precautions and doing his job.

Very neat.

She raised her hand, and was ignored. Five questions passed until she simply got to her feet and addressed him. And as she rose, she noted Hayes slide a hand inside his jacket.