Seduction in Death (22 page)

She glanced back at Roarke. "Woman who runs her own public relations firm with that scope, she'd probably need a pretty slick image. Polished, sophisticated."

"It follows."

"Woman has a kid, then after a little scandal in the workplace heads off here and there establishing herself an international company."

"The payoff from McNamara and company must have been considerable."

Eve nodded. "But why'd she go through with the pregnancy? Why have the kid?"

"Perhaps she wanted a child."

"What for? Look at his schooling. She started him full-time at three. All private facilities. Boarding schools. And you can bet your ass someone else was doing the baby thing for the first three years. She didn't found that company while she was changing diapers and carting a kid around."

"Some parents have been known to," Roarke pointed out.

"Beats me how. But if she was into the mother thing, she wouldn't have shipped him off when he was still sucking his thumb."

"I tend to agree with you, though our experience in this particular area's limited. If I were to speculate, I'd wonder if the payoff wasn't linked to her going through with the pregnancy."

"Buy her off, buy the kid," Eve surmised. "It's a continuation of the project in a way. Long-term results. I'm going to have a really fascinating talk with McNamara tomorrow. Look at Morano's educational scope. Very heavy on the computer tech studies. It fits. He's our compu-geek. I need the image from the security discs, Moniqua Cline's file."

Behind her, Roarke did the transfer and display, split screen.

"You got a morph program on there?"

"Yes. I know what you want -- one minute." Anticipating her, Roarke sat again, went to work. He started with the hair, copying the killer's bronze mane onto Kevin's unobtrusive brown. He altered the shape of the face, defining cheekbones, lengthening the jaw. Then deepened the skin tone to a sun-washed bronze.

"Magic," Eve noted as the two images mirrored each other. "Won't hold up in court. Lawyers'll tear morph ID to shreds. Even with Moniqua testifying about the name, they can wiggle. She was seriously drugged at the time and so on. But it's him. The eyes are the same. He changed the color, but he couldn't change what's in them. Because what's in them is nothing. Nothing at all. Copy and save imagery. Morano, Kevin, data back on the screen. Who are you, Kevin?"

Morano, Kevin, DOB 4 april, 2037. Hair brown. Eyes blue. Height five foot eleven inches. Weight one hundred fifty. Current residences: New York City, London, England. Employment: Freelance Computer Programmer. Education: Eastbridge Early Childhood Preparatory. Mansville Preparatory. Advanced Education: Harvard Technology. Graduated, summa cum laude, 2058. No siblings. Marital status: single. No criminal record.

"He's twenty-two," she stated. "He's only twenty-two. And so is McNamara's grandson, who also went to Eastbridge, Mansville Prep, then on to Harvard Medical. Graduated summa cum laude in 2058. No siblings," she added. "But I bet under the skin, Kevin is his brother. Give me his data, with image."

"Dallas?" Mavis peeked in the doorway. "We're set in here."

"Hold it." Eve held up a hand as Lucias's data rolled on-screen. "Nearly the same height and weight, too. Give me the image from Grace Lutz's -- "

"I'm ahead of you," Roarke told her.

"He's better at it," she said as the images ran side by side. "Better at hiding what's behind his eyes. Morph him. It doesn't show on him the same way. He's smarter, more controlled, more sure of himself. He'd be the dominant."

When Trina came to the door. Mavis shushed her. "She's working. Frigid to watch."

"I can turn Kevin. Oh yeah, I scoop him up tomorrow, lock him into Interview, squeeze his balls till they turn purple. He'll roll on his buddy."

She paced back, studied the faces, considered. "Maybe I can fast-talk my way into a search and seize tonight, take them both, take them by surprise. But if they don't have the lab on premises, if they don't do any of their work in-house, they could get rid of a lot of evidence before I track it down."

"You have DNA from two of the victims," Roarke reminded her.

"Can't force them to give DNA samples unless I charge them, can't charge them with what I've got. If I slide under and get prints or DNA without authorization, I lose them in court. I'm not losing them. We wait till tomorrow," she decided. "Then we close them down."

"Isn't she the ult?" Mavis asked Trina.

"Yeah, and she'd better get her ultimate butt in the chair."

Eve turned, and the eyes that had been flat and cool showed hints of fear. "This is just, you know, practice. And it's all temporary. You don't do anything permanent to me."

"Right. Strip off the shirt. You need bigger tits."

"Oh God."

While Eve was getting a temporary breast enhancement, Peabody was winding down with a bowl of frozen non-dairy dessert some marketing whiz had named Iced Delight. Drenched in chocolate-substitute syrup, it wasn't half bad. Or so Peabody decided as she scraped the bottom of the bowl.

She washed the bowl so that it wouldn't be sitting there in the morning to remind her she had absolutely no willpower. When she heard the knock on her door she was about to turn off the entertainment screen and head to bed.

If it was one of her neighbors again, with a complaint about noise from another apartment, she was telling them to call a cop. She was off duty, damn it, and needed the six hours' sleep she had coming.

A peek in the security screen made her gasp in surprise. She unlocked the door, pulled it open, and stared at McNab. His lip was swollen, his right eye boasted an impressive shiner. And he was wet.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I had an incident," he snapped. "I want to come in."

"I tried to reach you. You've got your 'links on message only."

"I was busy. I was off duty. Goddamn it."

"Okay, okay." She stepped back before he could plow into her. "We're on at oh six hundred. We caught a break earlier tonight. We've got an op going tomorrow. Dallas -- "

"I don't want to hear about it now, okay? I can hear about the damn op tomorrow."

"Suit yourself." A bit miffed, she shut the door. "Your boots are squeaking."

"What, I don't have ears? I can't hear them squeaking?"

"What crawled up your ass and nested?" She sniffed the air. "You reek. What've you been drinking?"

"Whatever I want. Would you get off my back?"

"Look, you're the one who came to my door bunged up, wet, and smelling like the floor of a bar. I was on my way to bed. I've got to get some sleep."

"Fine, go to bed. I don't know why I came here anyway." He stalked to the door, pulled it open. Slammed it shut again. "I went by Monroe's. We got into it."

"What do you mean you..." she stammered. "You had a fight with Charles? Are you crazy?"

"Maybe you don't think we've got anything going on, but you're wrong. That's it, you're wrong. And I see him pushing Dr. Blonde in your face, it pisses me off. Best thing could happen to you, in my opinion, but I didn't like the way he tossed you over."

"Tossed me over," she repeated, dumbfounded.

"You break up with somebody, you do it square. He's going to apologize."

"He's going to apologize?"

"What are you, an echo?"

She had to sit. "Charles blackened your eye and split your lip?"

"He got in a couple of shots." Not to mention the gut punch that had him heaving up the homemade brew in the gutter like a common brew head. "His face isn't so perfect tonight either."

"Why are you all wet?"

"Dishy Dimatto was with him. She dumped a bucket of water on us." He shoved his hands in his damp pockets and stomped around the room on his squeaky boots. "I'd've taken him if she hadn't broken it up. He shouldn't have treated you that way."

Peabody opened her mouth to explain she hadn't been mistreated, then wisely closed it again. Her mother hadn't raised a foolish daughter. "It doesn't matter." She cast her eyes down in a sorrowful droop to hide the unholy gleam in them.

McNab and Charles, fighting over her. It was too mag for words.

"Hell it doesn't. If it helps any, I think he was really sorry."

"He's a nice guy, McNab. Not the kind that hurts anyone on purpose."

"Doesn't change the sting." He kneeled down in front of her. "Look, I want us to get back together."

"We got together pretty good last night."

"I don't mean just in the sheets. I want us to pick up the way we were going. But different."

Wary now, she eased back. "Different how?"

"Exclusive this time. And we can, you know, go out to some fancy places. He's not the only one who can get slicked up and take you to... wherever. I don't want to go out with anyone else, and I don't want you going out with anyone else either."

Her throat tickled, but she was afraid to swallow. "So, what, you're asking me to go steady?"

His face went hot, his teeth bared, and he shoved to his feet. "Never mind. Put it down to too much to drink." He swung toward the door again, nearly got there.

"Yes." She got up. She wished her knees weren't knocking, but she got up.

He turned back, slowly. "Yes what?"

"I could give it a try. See where it goes."

He took a step back. "Exclusive?"

"Yeah."

And another. "Like a couple."

"Okay."

When she smiled, he leaned in and kissed her. "Oh, shit!" then jolted back when pain exploded in his lip. He blotted at it with the back of his hand, saw fresh blood. "Got anything for this?"

"Sure." She wanted to pet and cuddle him like a puppy. "Let me get the first-aid kit."

When she came back in with it, the bulletin announcement on-screen caught her attention.

The nude body of a man floating in the East River was discovered tonight by dock workers. Though police officials have not released cause of death, the victim has been identified as Dr. Theodore McNamara.

"Holy hell." Peabody dropped the kit with a clatter and raced to her 'link.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The body had been transported to the morgue and the crime scene cordoned off by the time Eve arrived. Warehouses streamed in a messy ribbon of brick and concrete along the choppy slice between access road and river.

And all had the washed-out, false glare from the police lights.

The media jammed around the barricades and sensors like Saturday night hopefuls vying to gain admission to an exclusive club. And there was just as much chatter from them in the form of shouted questions, demands, and pleas.

Uniformed officers stood in as bouncers. Most were smart enough to ignore the pleas, promises, and bribes for information. But, Eve knew, there would be one who'd weaken and spring the first leak in the data dam.

Accepting it as the natural relationship between cops and media, she hooked her badge on her jacket and started muscling her way through.

"Dallas, hey, Dallas!" Nadine Furst nipped her elbow. "What's the deal? Why were you called in? What's your connection to Theodore McNamara?"

"I'm a cop. He's dead."

"Come on, Dallas." Even in the harsh light, Nadine managed to look vivid and camera-ready. "They don't trot you out for every murder in the city."

She flashed an angry look at Nadine. "Nobody trots me out. Now step back, Nadine, you're in my way."

"All right, okay. But the word is it looks like a robbery/murder. Is that your take?"

"I don't know anything yet. Now friend or not, you move or I bust you for obstruction."

Nadine shifted aside. "Something's up," she whispered to her camera operator. "Something big. Pay attention. I'm going to call my contact at the morgue, see what I can wheedle out. Watch Dallas," she added. "If she's here, she's the center."

Eve pushed her way through reporters and gawkers. She caught a whiff of the river now, a sour smear on the air. The crime scene team was at work, the fluorescent yellow initials on the backs of their jackets searing through the hard white lights. The beam of the powerful portables spilled out onto the pitch-black surface of the river so that it gleamed like oil.

Outdoor, night-time murder, Eve thought, was black and white.

She signalled to a uniform. "Who's primary?"

"Detective Renfrew. Short guy, dark hair, brown suit and tie," she added with just a hint of a sneer in her voice. "That's him. Standing with his hands on his hips looking at the water like the perp's going to swim by doing the backstroke."

Eve studied his back. "Okay. Draw me a picture here."

"Couple of dock hands spotted the floater. Said they were taking their union-sanctioned break, and you have to figure they were using the river for a toilet. Called it in at twenty-two thirty. Nine-eleven caller IDed himself as Deke Jones. Body hadn't been in long or else the fish weren't very interested. Severe head and facial wounds. No clothes, no jewelry, no nothing. IDed him by his prints. Took him off in the dead wagon about fifteen minutes ago."

"This your patrol area... Officer Lewis?"

"Yes, sir. My partner and I responded to the nine-eleven. We were on-scene within three minutes. Dock workers were gathered around like a dirt clod, but nobody'd touched the body. And, Lieutenant? I mentioned this to the detective, but he didn't seem interested. There's a report of a car fire about a half mile from here. Late model lux sedan, no passengers. The way this current runs, it could be the dumping point."

"Okay, thanks. Renfrew's going to give me grief, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir." Lewis agreed. "He surely is."

Eve wasn't feeling patient, she wasn't feeling diplomatic, but she told herself she'd have to be both.

Renfrew turned at her approach. His gaze skimmed over her face, dipped briefly down to her badge.

"No one called Cop Central into this." His shoulders went up and back, like a boxer bracing for the first round.

She had a good inch on him in height, and watched as he flexed his body forward on his toes to compensate.

Oh yeah, she thought, noting his combative stance, he was going to give her grief. "I didn't get the tag from Central. I'm not looking to trespass on your turf, Detective Renfrew. Your victim's connected to one of my cases. I think we might be able to help each other out."

"I don't need your help, and I'm not interested in getting the fast shuffle from Central on my case."

"Okay, you can help me out."

"You're on my crime scene, and that makes one too many badges around here. I've got work to do."

"Detective, I need to know what you've got at this point."

"You think you can pull rank on me?" He rocked higher on his toes, jabbed a finger at her. "Waltz in here and take over a high-profile murder so you can get your face splashed all over the screen again? Forget it. I'm primary here."

Eve imagined grabbing the finger he had in her face, bending it back until the bone snapped. But she kept her voice level. "I'm not interested in screen time, in pulling rank, or in taking over your case, Renfrew. I'm interested in finding out why a man I had scheduled for formal interview tomorrow ends up dead in the river. I'm asking you to reach out with some courtesy and cooperation."

"Courtesy and cooperation. Fuck that. How much courtesy and cooperation did you show when you tore into the One-twenty-eight a couple months ago? I don't reach out to cops who turn on cops."

"Sounds like you've got issues, Renfrew. The One-two-eight was a mess, and a cop was killing cops."

He snorted through his nose. "So you say."

"So I say. And right now someone's killing women who think they're going out for a pleasant evening. Your case links to mine, so we can stand here and piss on each other or we can share information that could close both cases quickly,"

"This is my crime scene." He jabbed a finger at her again. "I say who comes on it and who doesn't. And I want you out. Remove yourself or I'll have you removed."

Eve stuck her hands in her pockets before she could give in to the urge and punch him. "Have me removed, Renfrew." She dug out her recorder, watched his face go red and tight as she fixed it to her jacket. "Officially and on record have me removed from a crime scene that is potentially linked to an ongoing homicide investigation of which I am primary. Have me removed after I've asked you for the cooperation and courtesy to exchange information that may aid in both investigations."

She stared him down, waited five humming seconds. Around them, crime scene techs had stopped their work to watch. "Have me removed," she said again, "but before you take that step, you'd better think carefully about how such an action will look on the official record, how it's going to play in the media who are standing at the edges of your scene, and how you're going to justify such an act to your superiors."

"Turn that goddamn recorder off."

"It stays on. We're past doing this the easy way. I'm identified as Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and request from you, Renfrew..." She dropped her gaze to his badge. "... Detective Matthew, a report on your investigation into the death of Theodore McNamara as this same individual was a potential witness, a potential suspect in a series of homicides of which I am primary investigator."

"You can read my report when I file it. That's all I'm required to give you, Lieutenant. I've got nothing to say to you at this time."

When he stalked off, Eve hissed out a breath. She turned to one of the crime scene techs. "What have you got?"

"We've got nothing here. Body got tangled in some lines, otherwise it would've kept on keeping on. Renfrew, he's a dick. He should have a unit looking up-current for the dump site."

"Time of death?"

"Seventeen-forty."

"Thanks."

"Me, I'm loaded with cooperation and courtesy."

She spotted Peabody and headed over. "With me." She walked away from the crowd, passed through the barricade at its thinnest point. "I want you to check on an automotive torching, late model luxury vehicle. About a half mile from here. Find out who it's registered to."

"Yes, sir."

Eve pulled out her own 'link, then saw McNab. "What happened to you?"

"A slight altercation." He touched fingers gingerly to his bruised eye.

"Peabody, did you pop McNab?"

"No, sir."

"Since you're here and aren't in the middle of an altercation with my aide, you check on the torching. Peabody, cozy up with some of the uniforms, first on-scene was Lewis and her partner. See what else you can get from them. Steer clear of the primary. That's Detective Renfrew, the flaming asshole."

"Did you pop the flaming asshole, sir?"

"No, but it was a close call." She turned away and used her 'link.

When the ME answered, his voice was slurred with sleep.

"Gee, Morris, did I wake you up?"

"What is this, you never sleep so no one else is allowed to? What the hell time is it?"

"Time to do a friend a favor." When he sat up, shifted, Eve winced. "Man, either block video or watch the sheets, will you?"

"Despite male propaganda, I can officially attest that one man's balls are pretty much the same as another's." But he twitched the sheets back up to his waist. "But when you fantasize about me later, and you will, make it good. Now, what do you need?"

"You've got a victim checking into the morgue. McNamara, Theodore."

"Dr. Theodore McNamara?"

"That's the one."

Morris whistled. "Since I'm talking to you, I have to assume the famous doctor didn't buy it from natural causes."

"He's recently been plucked out of the East River, and it doesn't appear he'd decided to take a little swim."

"If you're calling to ask me to flag him priority, you're wasting a favor. High-profile name, high-profile treatment."

"That's not the favor. I'm not primary on this one, but McNamara's connected to my sexual homicides. I had a chat with him this afternoon, and had him booked for formal tomorrow. I need a head's-up on the autopsy. All the data from the body and from the primary's interaction with the pathologist assigned."

"Why doesn't the primary copy you?"

"He doesn't like me. I gotta tell you, my feelings are real hurt over it."

"Who's primary?"

"Renfrew, Detective Matthew."

"Ah." Morris plumped the pillows behind him, laid back. "Territorial little bastard, poor social skills, and a tendency to refuse to broaden his focus."

"In other words, a flaming asshole."

"In other words. I think I'll go in and take a look at the recently departed myself. I'll get back to you."

"Thanks, Morris. I owe you one."

"Yeah, I like that part."

"Morris? What's the tattoo?"

Grinning, Morris tapped a finger on the illustration just under his left nipple. "The Grim Reaper. An equal opportunity employer."

"You're a sick man, Morris." She clicked off. "A sick man."

She'd kept her back to the reporters as she talked, and her radar up. Most of them, with nothing to feed on, were slipping away to do quick live-remotes.

McNab jogged up to her.

"Walk and talk," she ordered. "I want to keep clear of the media. Once they make a connection, we lose whatever advantage we've got."

"It was McNamara's sedan. Good and torched. NYFD's saying there was a chemical accelerant. RD-52. It's a kind of flammable acid. You get a flash, fire burst, and it eats right through the metal while it burns. Really thorough. Witness saw the flash, went to take a look-see, and had the presence of mind to note down the vehicle ID before it evaporated. Five, ten more minutes, we'd have had nothing."

"Smart, but not smart enough. They should've blasted off the ID before they torched it. Little mistakes." She looked back toward the river. "Robbery, my ass. Who rolls a guy, even takes his clothes, then wastes a luxury sedan? What do you bet McNamara paid his killer a visit after I talked to him?"

"I'd put the bank on it."

"If Renfrew was less of a moron, we could wrap this up tonight." Staring into middle distance, she juggled possibilities. "Dunwood doesn't know Renfrew's a moron. Renfrew'll notify next of kin, but that's the wife. No reason for the grandson to come into play there. And no reason for me not to pay him a visit to express my sympathy for his loss and question him. Lucias Dunwood. Get his address. Let's shake him up."

"You got it."

They separated, and Eve made another call. This one to home. "Hi." She tried a smile when Roarke came on. "I guess they're still there, huh?"

As there was music blasting and the sound of half-drunken laughter rolling over it, Roarke just shrugged.

"Look, I'm sorry I dumped it on you. Maybe you should lock yourself in one of the rooms. They'll never find you in that place."

"I'm considering it. I take it you've called to let me know you'll be some time yet."

"I don't know how long. A lot going on. If I can't close it down tonight, I'm still going to need Mavis and Trina tomorrow. Maybe you should lock them in a room."

"Not to worry. I suspect they'll pass out soon enough."

"There's that. Hold on." She turned to McNab. "What?"

"Got an address, but it's bogus."

"What do you mean, bogus?"

"I mean the address listed for Lucias Dunwood is the Fun House, Times Square. I know because I spend a lot of time there. It's a big e-amusement center. No residences on premises."

"He likes to play games," she replied. "Give me some room here." She stepped away until she was out of earshot. "Listen -- "

"You'd like me to find Dunwood's actual address."

"McNamara would've had it. I'm not going to be able to access his files from here because the primary on this is playing big stud dog with the investigation."

"I see." Roarke was already moving away from the music.

"I could call Whitney and get clearance, but that's messy. Plus, it makes me feel like a tattletale or something."

"Mm-hmm."

"I could tag Feeney, and he'd wangle authorization through EDD, but I've already gotten one person out of bed tonight." She glanced back at McNab. "Maybe more."

"And I'm already up."

"Yeah. Technically... well, just skimming the technicalities, I'm authorized to access some data because he's a suspect. Whether this data includes his address files or personal data is debatable, but I'd have clearance for it in the morning anyway so..."