Innocent in Death (17 page)

“He was unaccounted for during a period of time when the victim was absent from the classroom, and as classes were in session, his entering same would not have been witnessed.”

“He was not alone during that period, and should it become necessary, we will provide you with the name of the individual he was with. As I have not reached this individual and discussed this, I prefer, as does my client, not to divulge the name at this time. We are confident, however, that she’ll corroborate Mr. Williams’s statement.”

“You had plenty of time and plenty of opportunity to get in and out of that classroom,” Eve said to Williams. “And you had plenty of motive.”

“I—”

“Reed.” All Straffo did was say the name, and Williams stopped speaking. “All you have, Lieutenant, is a questionable search and seizure, which has netted you nothing that connects my client to this murder.”

“There’s nothing questionable about the search and seizure. And your client’s abhorrent habits caused the victim to nudge your client into a corner. He has stated, on record, that the victim learned of his habits and called him on it.”

“The situation was discussed between them, after which they continued their friendly working relationship.” Straffo closed his own file, one he hadn’t so much as glanced at during the interview. “If that’s all you’ve got, I’ve requested that my motion to overturn the warrant be fast-tracked. I’d like my client moved to an appropriate holding area until his release.”

“Your kid goes to that school. Your kid was one of the ones who found Foster. Did you see the crime-scene photos? You’re going to sit there and defend the man suspected of causing that?”

Straffo’s face went harder still, his voice colder. “Not that I have to rationalize the fact that everyone is entitled to a defense, but I’ve known Mr. Williams for more than three years. I believe him to be innocent.”

“He had Whore and Rabbit in his nightstand. He’s known to fuck around in the school, when your daughter is there.”

“Allegedly.”

“Allegedly, my ass. Is that the kind of person you want teaching your child?”

“This is an inappropriate conversation, Lieutenant. This interview is at an end.” He rose, closed his briefcase. “I’d like my client taken to holding until the motion is ruled on.”

She looked Straffo in the eye. “Peabody, take this sack of shit to holding. You know, Straffo, sometimes you get just what you deserve.”

The motion was tossed out. Eve went to court and watched Straffo and Reo battle it out. The warrant held, the search and seizure held, and so did the arrest for possession and distribution.

It was Straffo who won the battle of bail or remand.

Outside the courtroom, Reo gave a shrug. “He wasn’t going to get me on that motion, I wasn’t going to get him on remand. I figure this was a draw. Get me enough for a murder indictment, Dallas, and I’ll have that disgusting humpback in a cell.”

“Working on it.”

“Straffo’s going to want to deal on the illegals and my boss is going to agree with him.” Reo shot up a hand, anticipating Eve’s argument. “It works how it works, Dallas, and we both know it. So unless you can prove that he slipped that crap to someone without their knowledge or consent, he’s going to get a fine, mandatory counseling, and probation.”

“What about his teaching certificate? Revocation.”

“You really want to shut him down?”

Eve thought about Laina Sanchez crying in the kitchen. “Yeah, I really want to shut him down.”

Reo nodded. “I’ll look into it. You know, you’d better get moving. You’re on air in a couple hours.”

“Shit.”

As Eve headed reluctantly for Channel 75’s studio, Roarke was clearing his desk so he could do the same. He hoped his being there would make it better for Eve, not worse.

He didn’t know, couldn’t tell how it would be, and that stymied him. She wasn’t a predictable woman, he thought, but he knew her. Her moods, the rhythm of them, her gestures, her tones.

Now she’d blurred on him.

He wanted it all back in focus. Needed it to be. But he’d be damned if he’d blur his own image to pacify some absurd and imaginary offense she was clinging to.

She’d warned him, questioned him—interrogated more like, he thought with a spurt of heat. Doubted him and made him feel guilty when he’d done nothing to feel guilty about.

He thought of Magdelana’s hand on his leg, and the invitation she’d offered. Well, he’d shut that straight down, hadn’t he? Straight down and straight off.

Under any other circumstances, he might have told Eve about that sort of move, so they could joke about it. But it was perfectly obvious that this was the sort of information he’d best keep to himself.

And bloody hell if
that
didn’t make him feel guilty.

Bugger it. He was going to demand trust, he thought as he rose to stand at his wide window. That was nonnegotiable. Almost everything else was, he admitted, and slid a hand into his pocket to finger the gray button he carried with him.

Hers. As she’d been his, somehow, from the first time he’d seen her. Nothing and no one had ever struck him as she had, standing in that truly deplorable gray suit with her cop’s eyes on him. Nothing and no one had ever held him as she did, and always would.

So anything else was negotiable. He could give and give more, and always find he had just another well to dip from. Because she continued to fill him, over and over again.

He could bear the anger between them, he realized. Tempers were part of what they were. But he wasn’t entirely sure he could bear this rift. So they’d have to find a way to span it.

As he turned, his desk ’link beeped. Interoffice, he noted.

“Yes, Caro.”

“I’m sorry, I know you’re due to leave in a few moments. But there’s a Ms. Percell here to see you. She says it’s personal. I’m sorry, but she talked her way up through security. I have her in the waiting area.”

He considered having Caro dismiss her. If anyone could shake Magdelana off, it would be Caro. And that seemed unfair to all involved. Using one woman to shield him from another woman because of yetanother woman’s ridiculously suspicious mind.

Damned if he was going to be led around by the nose that way, even by the woman he loved.

“It’s all right. You can send her in. I’ll need my transpo in ten minutes.”

“All right then. Oh, tell your wife we’ll be watching her.”

“I think I’ll wait until it’s done to mention it. She’s annoyed by the whole business. Thank you, Caro.”

He scooped a hand through his hair, glanced around his office. A long way from what once had been, he thought. In every possible way.

Time to find a way, he supposed, to make it crystal clear to the women currently squeezing him from both sides that there was no going back to what had been and no desire at all to take the trip.

She came in, a golden fur tossed over her arm, her hair sexy and tumbled, her face glowing with energy. And yes, she reminded him of what once had been. There was no way to avoid it.

“Look at you! Look at this!” After tossing her coat over a chair, Magdelana turned a circle.

Roarke met Caro’s eyes, nodded, and she backed quietly out of the room. Closed the doors.

“The den of the global mogul, both sleek and plush, tasteful and absolutely male. Well, it’s all you, isn’t it?” She moved toward him, both hands extended.

He took them, briefly. There was no way to avoid that either, without making them both look like idiots. “How are you, Maggie?”

“Right now? How I am is incredibly impressed.” She glanced at the desk. “What exactly do you do here?”

“Quite a bit of what needs to be done, with a healthy portion of what I choose. What can I do for you?”

“Offer me a drink.” She sat on the arm of one of his chairs, crossed her long legs. Tossed her long hair. “I’ve been shopping, and I’m worn to the bone.”

“Sorry. You caught me on my way out.”

“Oh.” Her lips pouted. “Business, I suppose. You always were one for business. I could never understand that you actually liked to work. Still…” She uncrossed her legs to rise, then wandered toward his window where New York spread and speared. “Lovely benefits.” She looked back at him, over her shoulder. “I suppose I always pictured you in Europe, though, carving your way through the Old World.”

“New York suits me.”

“Apparently, it does. I wanted to thank you. I’ve had some meetings already with the money people you suggested. It’s early to say, but I think this is going to work out very nicely. I’d never have known where to start without your help.”

“I think you’d have found your way well enough. You’ve been busy,” he added. “Shopping, taking meetings, visiting my wife at Central.”

Wincing, Magdelana turned around, stood framed by the energy and towers of the city. “She told you. I was afraid of that. I don’t know what I was thinking—well, yes, I do. I was just so curious about her, and wanted to get to know her a little. It didn’t go well.”

“Didn’t it?”

“I bungled it, no question. She disliked me before I walked in the door, and when I’d calmed down and licked my wounds, I understood that perfectly. Here, I was…” Smiling easily, she spread her arms. “…a former inamorata of her husband’s, sauntering in, offering to buy her a drink, all smiles and friendly overtures. She must have wanted to slap me.”

“She rarely slaps. A good bare-knuckled punch is more her style.”

“I’m so sorry. I was completely wrong. And she was so…harsh, it put my back up. I don’t know how to make amends for it. Did I cause you trouble at home?”

“I told you that you wouldn’t like her.”

“And you were right, as usual. It’s odd, isn’t it, when you cared for us both. In any case, I am sorry. I suppose, in a way, I was looking for contacts, connections. Friends. I’d hoped she and I would get along. After all, what we had, you and I, is ancient history.”

The invitation came back into her eyes, and her voice went soft, alluring. “Isn’t it, Roarke?”

“It is.”

“Well. Oh, well. I suppose she might be thinking history repeats, and I admit I was hoping it would. I don’t suppose I should apologize to her?”

“It wouldn’t be necessary. Or wise. I wish you well, Maggie, of course, but if you’re looking for contacts, connections, and friendships through me, I’ll have to disappoint you. It annoys my wife.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows shot up, and her lips trembled into a faint smirk before she controlled it. “If you were anyone else I’d have to say she’s certainly tamed you.”

“Rather than rise to that, or sink to it, I’ll just say she makes me happy. I’m on my way out, Maggie.”

“Yes, so you said. I’ll just apologize again for causing trouble, thank you again for helping me on a business level.” Her voice trembled, just a little. “I shouldn’t keep you.”

She walked over to pick up her coat. “If you’re really on your way out, maybe I could walk down with you.”

“Of course.” When she held out her coat, he helped her into it, then retrieved his own. “Do you have a car, or do you need one?”

“I have one, thanks. Roarke…” She shook her head. “I guess I just want to say, again, that I’m sorry. And admit, just here, before we go down and that’s the end, that I can’t help being sorry it’s never going to be me again.”

She squeezed his hand, stepped away.

He used his office ’link, told his admin he was leaving for the day and escorting Ms. Percell out of the building. Then he moved to the side of the room, pressed a mechanism concealed in the molding with his thumb. The wall opened into his private elevator.

“Handy.” Magdelana laughed, as a woman does when she’s fighting to be careless. “Gadgets, they were one of your things. I’ve heard your home here is spectacular.”

“We’re very comfortable there. Ground floor,” he ordered, and the elevator slid smoothly down.

“I’m sure you are. Your wife must enjoy the…comfort.”

“Actually, it’s taken some adjusting for her.” The warmth shifted over his face. “And sometimes yet, it embarrasses her a little.”

“I’ve heard of an embarrassment of riches, but can’t imagine being embarrassed by them.”

“Money doesn’t mean to her what it does to either of us.”

“Really?” She looked up at him, liquid eyes. “And what does it mean to us?”

“Freedom, of course, and power and that comfort. But under it all”—he looked down at her, smiled a little—“it’s the game, isn’t it?”

She smiled back, her face mirroring regret. “We always understood each other.”

“That we didn’t, no.” He stepped out, automatically taking her arm to lead her across the marble expanse of the lobby with its moving maps, its busy shops, its banks of live flowers.

Outside his limo, then hers, slid smoothly to the curb. When he walked her to her car, she turned. The dampness in her eyes shone now in the sunlight. “Maybe we didn’t understand each other. Maybe that’s true. But there were good times for us, weren’t there? There were good times.”

“There were.”

She lifted her hands to his cheeks. He curled his fingers gently around her wrists so they stood a moment in the cold and the wind. “Good-bye, Maggie.”

“Good-bye, Roarke.” Tears glimmered on her lashes as she slipped into the warmth of the limo.

He watched it pull away, a sleek white whip through the ocean of traffic.

Then he got into his own car to go to his wife.

11

EVE WAS DRAGGED THROUGH THE STATION BY A peppy little assistant named Mercy. Eve decided she had none as she bounced along the corridors, whipping Eve through checkpoints and keeping up a rapid-fire monologue as she all but skipped along in zippy black skids.

“Everyone’s positively juiced to extreme about tonight’s premiere. Nadine’s about the biggest thing in media right now, and the station’s totally gone that she opted to stay with us and do this show. And having you as the first guest is beyond mag. I mean, the two of you are, like, so extremely scorching.”

Mercy had pink hair tailed up in little butterfly pins, with what seemed to be their tiny progeny flying out of the arch of her left eyebrow.

It was disconcerting.

“You need to meet the producer and the director and the exec tech, then we’re going to head straight to makeup and wardrobe. I can get you anything you want. I’m totally yours for the show—coffee, tea, water—we got flat and fizzy—soft drinks. Nadine says you go for coffee. We’re going to pop in on the director, real quick.”

“I don’t want to—”

But she was almost shoved into an office, had her hand pumped, before she was corralled into another office, with another hand pump.

The air was vibrating so fast it made her head ache.

Then, with Mercy still yapping like a Pomeranian on Zeus, Eve was dragged into makeup where the brightly lit mirrors gleamed over the long, long counter crowded with a dizzying array of pots and tubes and brushes and strange instruments that looked like some wicked tools designed for torture.

Worse—worse than the idea she was pressured by the brass and by friendship to appear on screen, worse than the yapping in her ear, worse than the knowledge that some or all of those instruments and pots and tubes would be used on her—was the woman who stood behind a high-backed black chair grinning a toothy grin.

“Oh, Mother of God.”

“You two know each other, right?” Mercy babbled on. “Trina, I’m going to leave Lieutenant Dallas in your magic hands, go get her coffee. Nadine stocked some special for her. Anything you want?”

Trina, her hair a black-and-white fountain on top of her head, her eyes an unearthly green, whipped a bright blue cape from a hook. “Water’d be good. Flat.”

“Be right back!”

“You look like dog shit, Dallas,” Trina commented.

“This is a recurring nightmare. I’m just going to punch myself in the face until I wake up.”

“You’ve got enough bruising under your eyes, you look like you’ve already been decked a few times today. I’ll fix it.”

“Why are you here? Why is it you?”

“First, because I’m the best and Nadine knows it. She can get the best. Second, because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have worked on Nadine at your place.”

Trina snapped the cape like a matador at a bull. “Appreciate it.”

“So, somehow, I brought this on myself.”

“You’re lucky it’s me. Because I’m the best, and because I know you, and I can—thousands couldn’t—make you look like yourself.”

“I already look like myself.”

“No, you look like dog shit. But you’re under there, and I know how to find you. Plus, I gotta pump it up for the cameras, but I won’t make you look like an LC on the prowl.”

In her life there were few who struck an active chord of fear in Eve. Trina was one of them. As if she knew it, Trina smiled again, tapped the back of the chair.

“Sit. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Remember, I’m armed.” But she sat. What choice did she have?

“So how come you don’t look like you just got back from vacation? Mavis said you and Roarke took a few days at the beach.” She scooped her fingers through Eve’s hair, frowned, let the hair shift through. “Need a little trim.”

“God. Oh, God.”

Trina simply put the cape over Eve. “And how come you haven’t been over to see Mavis and that sweet baby since you got back?”

One thing about the cape, Eve noted, she could wring her hands if she felt the need. And no one could see. “I haven’t had time.”

“Your best and oldest friend just had a kid.” Trina lowered her head so her face was pressed to Eve’s, so those green eyes pinned Eve’s in the mirror. “You know I had to sit on her to keep her from coming tonight. It’s too cold to take that baby out. You gotta make time.”

“All right. Okay.”

“Belle’s the most beautiful thing that ever drew breath, I swear.” Straightening again, Trina pressed her thumbs on some point at the back of Eve’s neck, moved down her shoulders. “You’re a mess of knots, as usual.”

Eve just closed her eyes. She heard Mercy come back in—yap, yap, yap—then go away again. She heard the little snips and buzzes as Trina did whatever the hell she did with hair. She jolted when the chair eased back.

“You gotta relax, okay? You don’t look good, I don’t look good.”

“I obsess about that all the time.” And Eve closed her eyes again. It was one night, she reminded herself, and she’d get through it. Small change in the big scheme.

Fingers and thumbs pressed gently along her jaw, over her temples, along the sides of her neck, her shoulders. The clever acupressure and draining fatigue combined to pull her into sleep.

She surfaced to a murmur of voices, to light brushing, almost a tickling over her face. And she scented him. Even before her head cleared enough for her to recognize the rhythm and tone of his voice, she scented Roarke.

“Just about done,” Trina was saying. “What she’s wearing’s fine—so I guess you picked it—but I’ll take a look at the other deal you brought in, in case it’s better. Wardrobe’s going to want to have a look anyway.”

“I’m not changing,” Eve muttered.

“And she’s back.” Trina eased the chair back up. Since it was facing away from the mirror now, all Eve saw was Roarke.

“Morning,” he said, and taking her hand, ran his thumb over the back of it. “You look rested.”

“Miracles performed daily,” Trina claimed. “Let’s just polish off the hair.” Something must have gotten through as Trina put down the tools of her trade. “You know, we’ll hit that right before we go on. I’ve got to check on a couple things anyway and Nadine’s due in for her touch-up. Green Room’s just across the hall, to the right. It’s nice.”

She took off the protective cape. “Want a look before you head out?”

Eve rose, glanced toward the mirror. As advertised, she looked like herself. Brighter, she supposed, with her eyes and her lips defined and smudged up with color, but she was recognizable. And the dog shit had been well and truly buried.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Trina snorted. “Nowyou look like you’ve been on vacation. Don’t spill anything on that jacket because I think they’re going to want to go with it.”

“I’ll see she behaves.” Taking Eve’s hand again, he walked with her across the hall into the Green Room that was actually pale peach.

There was a generous wall screen currently tuned to Channel 75’s programming, generous sofas and chairs in a calming sea green, and a generous tray of fruit, cheese, and crackers on a wide counter.

“I didn’t expect you to come.”

Roarke raised a brow. “Of course I came. It’s a big night.”

“And you brought the other gear in case I messed up what I already had on.”

“Just part of the service.”

“I figured you’d be pissed at me.”

“I imagined you’d be pissed at me.” This time when he took her hands, he brought them both to his lips. “Why don’t we cancel that out? I had a considerable brood on most of the day, and I’m tired of carrying it around.”

“I thought you told me the Irish like to brood.”

“Oh, we love it. We use it to write songs and stories. But I’ve had enough of that for the time being. And never enough of you.”

Her heart lightened. How had she managed to stand, she wondered, when it had been so heavy? “I love you.”

He drew her in, touched his lips to her brow, her cheeks, the shallow dent in her chin, then laid them warmly over hers. She pressed against him, her arms linked around his waist, as together they deepened the kiss.

“I’d offer you my office,” Nadine said as she leaned on the doorjamb, “but Dallas has already been in makeup.”

Eve kept her arms linked for a moment more before she stepped back. “You sicced Trina on me.”

“Igave you Trina,” Nadine corrected. “She’s damn good, which is why I hired her for the show. Plus, for tonight, I figured your point of view would be ‘better the devil you know.’”

“Got a point,” Eve decided.

“You look good, which is essential. Strong, alert, smart, attractive,” Nadine mused, walking a circle around Eve. “And all cop. We’ll leave the glamour for me.”

“You wear it so well,” Roarke commented. “You look radiant, Nadine, and polished as a jewel.”

“I do, don’t I?” Laughing, Nadine shook back her chic bob of streaky blond hair, did a styling turn in the electric blue suit with its pencil-thin skirt and waist-cinching jacket. The heels were black skyscrapers that set off the wink of a diamond ankle chain.

“I didn’t think I’d be nervous, but I am. There’s a lot riding on this first show. Dallas, I don’t want to prep you. I don’t want the interview to be stale or rehearsed, but I do want to go over a few points.”

“I’ll get out of your way, then,” Roarke began, but Nadine shook her head.

“No. You can run faster than I can in these shoes if she makes a break for it. Let’s just sit.”

“Something to drink, then.” Roarke gestured to the well-stocked counter. “Or eat.”

“After.” Nadine pressed a hand to her stomach as she sat on one of the sofas. “My system’s on full alert.”

“I’m good,” Eve said. “What’s to be nervous about? It’s what you do.”

“That’s what I tell myself, but I’ve never done exactly this before. And this was the big gold hoop. Now that I’ve got it in my hot little hand, I can’t afford to drop it. So…”

Nadine scooted to the edge of her chair as if she might be the one to make a run for it. “We’ll have to touch on the Icove case. That’s what got me the gig. But I’m not going to linger on that. I’m going to want to revisit that after the book and the vid hit. The baby-market business is still fresh, so we’ll discuss that. Speaking of babies, Belle was well named. God, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Eve squirmed. “Sure.”

“I’ve done an interview with Tandy, and with Mavis on that one, and we’ll air pieces of those during the spot. We’re going to talk about what you do, how you do it. How much will you be able to tell me about the Foster homicide?”

“The investigation’s ongoing.”

Nadine didn’t miss a beat, or the chance to smirk. “I’m going to need more than that—leads being pursued, avenues explored, the players, the scene, the victim. It’s calledNow for a reason. But we’ll keep that until we’re on. It’s a hard news show, but I will have to ask about Roarke.”

Nadine put up a hand before Eve could speak. “I can’t interview Roarke’s cop in a venue like this without asking about Roarke. Don’t worry, it’s not boxers or briefs, just an overview, we’ll say.”

She aimed an amused, inquiring glance at Roarke, who only laughed and shook his head.

“How you manage to balance the work with your life,” Nadine continued. “If marriage has changed how you do the work, or how you look at the job. We’ll get on and off. So…”

She checked her wrist unit. “I’ve got to get touched up. Trina will take a last look at you in a few minutes, then Mercy will bring you into the studio. And we’ll go from there. Dallas.” Nadine pressed a hand on hers. “Thanks.”

“You better hold that ’til after. You may not like my answers.”

“Thanks,” she said again, and rose. Then she turned to Roarke. “How about one right here, big guy?” She tapped a finger to her lips. “For luck.”

He stepped to her, kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Here’s to a thirty-percent share.”

“Your lips, God’s ears.”

In the end, it went okay, as far as Eve could tell. Though she couldn’t understand how anyone could be juiced about sitting in front of an image of the city, under hot lights, while robocams slithered around like snakes.

Theme music shimmered out, and she heard Nadine take three quiet breaths while some guy on the floor signaled with his fingers. Then Nadine aimed her eyes toward one of those robots.

“Good evening. I’m Nadine Furst, and this is
Now
.”

They did, as Nadine had said, touch on the Icove case from the previous fall. Yes, Eve believed the laws against human cloning were correct and just. No, she didn’t hold the clones themselves responsible for what the Icoves had done.

She watched the clips as the separate interviews with Tandy Applebee, her husband and their infant son, and Mavis, Leonardo, and Belle were run. Both women got teary as they spoke about their friendship, and how Eve had saved Tandy’s life, saved the baby—who they’d named Quentin Dallas Applebee—from being sold in the black market, and had broken the ring only hours before their babies had been born.

“How does that make you feel?” Nadine asked.

“Like I did my job.”

“Just that?”

Eve shifted. What the hell. “Sometimes it gets personal. It’s not supposed to, but it does. This was personal. Mavis and I go back, and she and my partner are tight. Mavis is the one who pushed me, pushed us, to look for Tandy. She deserves a lot of credit for that, for standing up for a friend. You could say, in this case, it was friendship that ultimately connected the cases, and cleared them both. The job’s not just about clearing a case, it’s about justice. I did my job.”

“A demanding, dangerous, high-powered job. You’re married to a man with a lot of demands on his time, who some might term dangerous, and who is certainly high-powered. How do you balance the work with your private life?”

“Maybe by knowing it’s not always going to balance, and being married to someone who gets that. A lot of cops…There can be friction in the personal area,” she amended, “because the job means you put in long hours, inconvenient hours that mess up schedules. You miss dinners or dates or whatever.”

“Which may seem minor,” Nadine said, “but in reality, those dinners, dates, and so on are part of what makes up a personal life.”