Seduction in Death (26 page)

"Blanket? I didn't clear that," Eve began.

"This sure is a surprise." Peabody gave what Eve recognized as an uneasy laugh. "I wasn't expecting a picnic."

"What's life without some surprise?"

She saw Roarke's face and the amused look on it as he spread a blanket on the ground.

Several feet away, Kevin mirrored the move.

"Such a pretty spot," Roarke continued, then lowered his voice as he sat. "We can enjoy the view without getting in anyone's way."

"I want no interference from any location. No one, repeat no one, moves in without my signal."

"Naturally. Champagne, sweetheart?"

"Peabody, you take one sip and you're busted to Traffic."

Even as she spoke, she watched Kevin. He opened the basket, removed three pink roses, and laid them on the blanket. He lifted wineglasses, held them to the sunlight to watch them sparkle. He opened a bottle of white. Poured a glass.

"Okay, okay, add the chaser, you son of a bitch."

But instead he raised the glass in a kind of self-toast and sipped.

Then he turned his wrist, checked the time. Taking out his pocket-link, he made a call.

"Up your audio, Peabody," Eve ordered. "Let's see if we can get an ear on him."

She heard birds, conversations, giggles, a child's war hoop. Before she could demand it, Feeney was filtering.

Kevin's voice came clearly. "Couldn't be better. Ten people in the immediate area, so that's a point for public venue. I suspect we'll have to pass some park police on the way out, bonus points there." He paused, laughed. A very young, very happy sound. "Yes, having her do that to me in broad daylight in a public park would certainly shoot me into the lead. I'll let you know.''

He tucked the 'link away, then sat a moment, breathing deep, admiring the view.

"Just a game," Eve murmured. "It's going to be a pleasure taking these bastards down."

He continued his preparations, moving a bit faster now, taking out a cold pack, opening it to a presentation of caviar. He set out toast points and the accompaniments. Foie gras, cold lobster, fresh berries.

"Gotta admit, the guy knows how to set out a spread."

"Shut up, McNab," Eve muttered.

He sampled a berry, then another. As he nibbled, she saw his eyes change. There, she thought. There it was. The coolness, the calculation. It remained steady as he poured the second glass of wine.

He watched and watched carefully as he opened the black bag. He reached in, brought his hand out again with the palm facing his body. And casually, he held his hand over the second glass, tipped.

She saw, in Roarke's recorder, a thin trickle of liquid.

"Bingo. He's ready for her. I'm coming in. Take third stage positions. Report any possible sightings of alternate target."

She moved to the rear doors. "I'm under."

"Take him down, kid," Feeney said and kept his eyes glued to the screens.

She stepped out into the sun and warmth. When she caught herself striding, she did her best to saunter. She was barely into the park when a lunch-hour jogger trotted up to her.

"Hey, beautiful. How about a little run?"

"How about you back off before I knock you on your pudgy ass?"

"That's my cop," Roarke said softly in her ear as she kept walking.

She spotted Baxter under a stringy tangle of dirt-colored hair, a torn T-shirt, and drooping trousers that were both smeared with what looked like egg substitute and ketchup.

Most park patrons were giving him a wide berth. As she neared him, she caught the whiff of old sweat and stale brew mixed with urine.

The man really got into character, she thought.

When she passed him she got a wheezy wolf whistle.

"Bite me."

"I dream of it," he said behind his hand. "Night and day."

In the five minutes it took her to move through the park, she was approached with propositions four times.

"You might want to take the I'll-kick-your-ass-then-eat-it look off your face, Lieutenant," McNab suggested. "Most guys'd be a little put off by it."

"I've never been," Roarke commented. "Caviar?" he said to Peabody.

"Well... I guess."

Eve fixed what she hoped was a pleasant expression on her face, and thought about the nice little chat she'd be having with her personnel, including her expert consultant, civilian.

Then the view opened; she saw Kevin. Everything else was set aside.

He saw her as well. A slow, boyish smile crossed his face, just a little shy at the edges. He got to his feet, hesitated, then walked to her.

"Make my dreams come true and tell me you're Stefanie."

"I'm Stefanie. And you're..."

"Wordsworth." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. "You're even lovelier than I imagined. Than I hoped."

"And you're everything I thought you'd be." She left her hand in his. Dating had never been one of her strong suits, but she'd planned carefully how she would behave, what she would say. "I hope I'm not late."

"Not at all. I was early. I wanted..." He gestured toward the picnic. "I wanted everything to be perfect."

"Oh. It looks wonderful. You've gone to so much trouble."

"I've looked forward to this for a long time." He led her to the blanket. She passed within a foot of Roarke. "Caviar!" she said as she sat. "You certainly know how to throw a picnic."

She leaned over, turned the bottle of wine around so she could see the label. The same he'd used with Bryna Bankhead. "My favorite." She made her lips curve. "It's as if you could read my mind."

"I've felt that way, ever since we first corresponded. Getting to know you online, I felt as if I knew you. Had always known you. Was somehow meant to."

"This guy is good," McNab breathed in her ear.

"I felt the connection, too," Eve said, using Stefanie's words to her as a guide. "The letters, the poetry we shared. All the fabulous stories about your travels."

"I think... it's fate. 'It is he that saith not Kismet.'"

Oh, shit, Eve thought. Mind scrambling, she opened her mouth. And Roarke whispered the rest of the quote in her ear. " 'It is he who knows not fate,'" she repeated. "What do you think fate has in store for us, Wordsworth?"

"Who can say? But I can't wait to find out."

Give me the damn wine, you worthless, murdering bastard. But instead, he handed her the roses.

"They're lovely." She made herself sniff them.

"Somehow I knew they'd suit you best. Pink rosebuds. Soft, warm. Romantic." He lifted his own glass, toyed with the stem. "I've looked forward to giving them to you, to having this time with you. Shall we have a toast?"

"Yes." She continued to look into his eyes, while she willed him to pick up the glass, to put it into her hand. Trying for flirtatious, she brushed the rosebuds against her cheek.

And he picked up the glass. He put it into her hand.

"To fateful beginnings."

"And even better," she said, "to destined endings." She brought the glass to her lips, saw his gaze greedily follow it. And the shadow of irritation smoke over them as she lowered it again without drinking.

"Oh, just one second." She let out a quick laugh, set the wine aside, and opened her purse. "There's just one thing I want to do first."

With her free hand, she took his, then pulling out the restraints, snapped them on. "Kevin Morano, you're under arrest -- "

"What? What the hell is this?" When he tried to yank away she had the pleasure of knocking him flat, rolling him, and with her knee in the small of his back, securing the restraints.

"For the murder of Bryna Bankhead, the attempted murder of Moniqua Cline, and accessory in the murder of Grace Lutz."

"What the hell are you talking about? What are you doing?" When he tried to buck she simply held her weapon to his head. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Lieutenant Eve Dallas. Remember it. I'm your goddamn fate. My name is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve," she repeated because her gorge wanted to rise into her throat. "And I've stopped you."

So what? a voice whispered in her ear. Her father's voice. Another's coming. Another always is.

For an instant, just an instant, her finger twitched on her weapon. Tempted.

She heard the voices behind and above her -- the alarmed buzzing of civilians, the clipped orders from her team. And she felt Roarke there, just there at her side.

Rising, she dragged Kevin up. "Looks like this wasn't such a fucking picnic after all. You have the right to remain silent," she began.

She escorted him to transport herself. She needed to. He wasn't remaining silent. Instead he babbled about mistaken identity, miscarriages of justice, and his influential family.

He wasn't yet babbling for his lawyer, but he would. Eve was sure of it. She'd be lucky to have fifteen minutes in Interview with him before his terror and shock settled back into calculation.

"I've got to go in, get started on him right away."

"Eve -- "

She shook her head at Roarke. "I'm all right. I'm okay." But she wasn't. There were drums banging inside her skull. In defense she dragged off the wig, scooped her hand through her hair. "I've got to get this crap off me. They should be finished booking him by the time I get back to normal."

"Trina's going to meet you at Central, give you a hand with it."

"Good. I guess. I'll see you at home."

"I'm coming in with you."

"There's no point -- "

"In discussing it," he finished. Nor in telling her he was going to administer the next round of meds Summerset had given him. "Why don't I drive you? We'll get there faster."

It took forty minutes to get back into her own skin. Eve could only think Roarke had said something to Trina. The woman didn't utter a single complaint about dismantling her masterpiece so soon, nor did she launch into a lecture on face and body maintenance.

When Eve was blissfully rinsing her face in cold water, Trina shuffled her feet. "I helped do something really important, right?"

Face dripping, Eve turned her head. "Yeah, you did. We couldn't have brought this down today without you."

"Gives me a rush." She blushed. "Guess you get that a lot. You going to go squeeze his balls now?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go squeeze his balls."

"Give them an extra twist for me." She opened the door, surprised at seeing Roarke walk into the bathroom. Trina tapped the sign on the door. "You definitely ain't no woman, sweet buns." With a wink, she headed out.

"She's right, you definitely ain't no woman. Even at Central, we have certain standards of behavior, and guys don't come into the women's toilet facilities."

"I thought you'd prefer a little privacy for this." He took a packet, pills, and the dreaded pressure syringe out of the small bag he carried.

"What?" She backed up. "Stay away from me, you sadist."

"Eve, you need your next dose."

"I do not."

"Tell me -- look at me -- tell me you don't have a massive headache, in addition to body aches, and that your own sweet buns aren't starting to drag. Lying to me," he continued before she could speak, "is just going to piss me off enough so I gain twisted pleasure in forcing the meds on you. Which we both know from experience I can do."

She gauged the distance to the door. She'd never make it. "I don't want the shot."

"Well, that's a pity, as you're getting it. Don't put us through another round like this morning. Be a brave little soldier now, and roll up your sleeve."

"I hate you."

"Yes, I know. We've added a bit of flavoring to the liquid packet. Raspberry."

"Gee. My mouth's just watering."

CHAPTER TWENTY

She was rolling up her other sleeve as she walked toward Interview Room A. Apparently, it wasn't just her car that was having an electronic rebellion. Climate control was on the fritz in this section, and the air was hot, stuffy, and violently scented with bad coffee.

Peabody was waiting outside the door, perspiring lightly in full uniform.

"He whining for a lawyer yet?"

"Not yet. Sticking to the mistaken identity story."

"Beautiful. He's going to be an idiot."

"Sir, in my opinion, he thinks we're the idiots."

"Better and better. Come on, let's do this." Eve pushed open the door. Kevin sat at the single table at one of the two chairs. He was sweating as well, and not so delicately. He looked over as Eve came in, and his lips trembled.

"Thank God. I was afraid I'd just been left here and forgotten. There's been some horrible mistake, ma'am. I was having a picnic with a woman I met online, a woman I knew only as Stefanie. Suddenly, she went crazy. She said she was the police, and then I was brought here."

He spread his hand, a gesture of reason and puzzlement. "I don't know what's going on."

"I'll just bring you up to speed." She drew out a chair, straddled it. "But calling me crazy isn't going to endear you to me, Kevin."

He stared. "I'm sorry? I don't even know you."

"Now, Kevin, what a thing to say after you gave me those pretty flowers and quoted poetry to me. Men, Peabody, what are you going to do?"

"Can't live with them, can't beat them with a stick."

Kevin's eyes darted from one face to the other. "You? It was you in the park? I don't understand."

"I told you to remember my name. Engage recorder," she said. "Interview with suspect Kevin Morano, regarding charges of murder in the first in the case of Bryna Bankhead, accessory to murder in the case of Grace Lutz, attempted murder in the cases of Moniqua Cline and Stefanie Finch. Additional charges of sexual assault, rape, illegals possession, administering illegals to persons without consent, also filed. Interview conducted by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Also present, Peabody, Officer Delia. Mr. Morano has been informed of his rights. Isn't that so, Kevin?"

"I don't -- "

"Did you receive the Revised Miranda warning, Kevin?"

"Yes, but -- "

"Do you understand your rights and obligations as contained in that warning?"

"Of course, but -- "

She made a mildly impatient sound, held up a finger. "Don't be in such a hurry." She stared at him, went silent. When he licked his lips, opened them, she wagged a finger at him again. And watched a single line of sweat drip down his temple. "Hot in here," she said conversationally. "They're working on the climate control. Must be pretty miserable under that wig and face putty. You want to ditch them?"

"I don't know what you -- "

She merely reached over, gave the wig a quick jerk, then tossed it to Peabody. "I bet that feels cooler."

"It's not a crime to wear hair alternatives." He raked unsteady fingers through his short-cropped hair.

"You wore a different one the night you killed Bryna Bankhead. Another still the night you tried to kill Moniqua Cline."

He looked Eve dead in the eyes. "I don't know those women."

"No, you didn't know them. They were nothing to you. Just toys. Did it amuse you to seduce them with poetry and flowers, with candlelight and wine, Kevin? Did it make you feel sexy? Manly? Maybe you can't get it up unless the woman's drugged and helpless. You can't get a boner unless it's rape."

"That's ridiculous." A ripple of anger passed over his face. "Insulting."

"Well, pardon the hell out of me. But when a guy has to rape a woman to get off, it tells me he can't do the job otherwise."

His chin lifted a fraction. "I have never raped a woman in my life."

"I bet you believe that. They wanted it, didn't they? Once you slipped a little Whore into their wine, they were practically begging you for it. But you only did it to loosen them up." Eve rose, walked around the table. "Just priming the pump. Guy like you doesn't have to rape women. You're young, handsome, rich, sophisticated. Educated."

She leaned over from behind him, put her mouth close to his ear. "But it's boring, isn't it? Guy's entitled to a little extra zip. And women? Hell, they're all whores under the skin. Like your mother, for instance."

He cringed away from her. "What are you talking about? My mother is a highly regarded and highly successful businesswoman."

"Who got knocked up in a lab. Did she even know your father, I wonder? Did it matter to her once she was revved to go? How much did they pay her to drop the suit and complete the pregnancy? She ever tell you?"

"You have no right to speak to me this way." His voice was thick with tears.

"Were you looking for Mommy in those women, Kevin? Did you want to fuck her, punish her, or both?"

"That's disgusting."

"There, I knew we'd hit a point of agreement. In the end she sold herself, didn't she? No difference, really, between her and those other women. And all you did was bring out their true natures. They were cruising for it on the web. Got what they asked for. And then some. Is that what you and Lucias figured?"

He jerked, and his breath hitched. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to listen to any more of this. I want to see your superior."

"Whose idea was it to kill them? It was his, wasn't it? You're not a violent man, are you? Bryna, that was an accident, wasn't it? Just bad luck. That might help you out some, Kevin. Might help you out a little with Bryna being accidental. But you'll have to work with me on that."

"I told you. I don't know any Bryna."

She whirled until her face was pushed into his. "Your pants are on fire, asshole. Look at me. We've got you cold. All the goodies in your little black bag, the illegal substance you slipped into the wine. We had you under surveillance, fully recorded from the time you stepped into the park. Heard you talking to your pal about the points you were going to rack up. And you're real photogenic, Kevin. I bet the jury thinks so, too, when they see the disc of you slipping the illegal into the wine. I bet they'll be so goddamn impressed they'll give you, oh, I'd say three life sentences -- no possibility of parole -- on an off planet penal colony. A nice concrete cage to call your own."

She hammered it at him while he stared at her with horror creeping over his face. "Three squares a day. Oh not the squares you're used to," she added, fingering the material of his shirt. "But they'll keep you alive. A long, long time. And you know what happens to rapists in prison? Especially pretty ones. They'll all try you out, then they'll fight over you and try you out some more. They'll fuck you half to death, Kevin. And the more you beg them to stop, the more you plead, the harder they'll ram into you."

She straightened, stared into the two-way glass, into the nightmare that lived in her own eyes. That, crawled in her own belly.

"If you're lucky," she said, "somebody named Big Willy will make you his bitch and keep the others off you. Feeling lucky, Kevin?"

"This is harassment. This is intimidation."

"This is reality," she snapped. "This is fate, this is destiny. This is your goddamn kismet, pal. You trolled for women in online chats. Poetry chats. That's where you found Bryna Bankhead. You developed a relationship with her while using the name Dante. And working with your friend and fellow creep, Lucias Dunwood, you arranged to meet her."

She paused, let it sink in. "You sent her flowers, pink roses, at work. You spent some time watching her on her day off. You used a unit in the cyber-joint across the street. We got you nailed there. You know, we've got a whole frigging division of cyber-geeks on the payroll, Kev. I'll tell you a little secret."

She eased in again, dropped her voice to a conspirator's whisper. "You're not as good as you think you are. Not there, not at the joint on Fifth either. You left prints."

She watched his lips tremble like a child about to cry. "Anyway," she said, "back to Bryna Bankhead. You met her at the Rainbow Room. Coming back to you yet, Kevin? She was a pretty woman. You had drinks. Or you did, and she had Whore you mixed with her wine. When she was primed with it, you went back to her place. Gave her a little more, just in case."

She slapped her hands on the table, leaned in. "You turned on music, you lit the candles, you tossed fucking pink rose petals on the bed. And you raped her. To give it all a little more kick, you fed her some Wild Rabbit. Her system couldn't take it, and she died. Died right there in the bed of roses. Scared you, didn't it? Pissed you off. What the hell did she mean by dying and messing up your plans? You threw her off the terrace, threw her out on the street like she was garbage."

"No."

"Did you watch her fall, Kevin? I don't think so. You were done with her. Had to cover your ass, didn't you? Run home to Lucias and ask him what to do."

She straightened, turned away, strolled over and got herself a cup of water. "He runs you, doesn't he? You haven't got the spine to run yourself."

"No one runs me. Not Lucias, not you, not anyone. I'm a man. My own man."

"Then it was your idea."

"No, it was -- I have nothing to say. I want my lawyer."

"Good." She eased a hip down on the table. "I was hoping you'd say that because once you bring the lawyers in, I don't have to work with you toward any sort of deal. I've got to tell you, Kevin, just the idea of making a deal with you was making me sick to my stomach. And I've got a really strong stomach, right, Peabody?"

"Titanium steel, sir."

"Yep, that's me." Eve gave her stomach a little pat. "But you managed to churn it. Now I'm all steady again picturing you spending the rest of your pitiful life in a cage, without your pretty suits, all snuggled up with Big Willy." She pushed off the table. "When I have Lucias sitting where you're sitting now, I'll get a little sick again, working with him. Because he's going to go for a deal and roll right over on you. What are the current odds on that in the pool, Peabody?"

"Three to five, on Dunwood, sir."

"I better place my bet. Let's get you that lawyer, Kevin. Break in Interview, due to suspect's request for representation." She turned for the door.

"Wait."

Her eyes, January ice, met Peabody's. "Something on your mind, Kevin?"

"I just wondered... strictly out of curiosity, what you mean by a deal."

"Sorry, I can't get into that as you've called for your lawyer."

"The lawyer can wait."

Gotcha, Eve thought, and turned back. "Record on. Continuation of Interview, same subjects. Please repeat that, Kevin, for the record."

"The lawyer can wait. I'd like to know what you mean by a deal."

"I'm going to need a nausea pill.",. She sighed, sat again. "Okay. You know what you've got to do, Kevin? You've got to come clean, tell me how it all happened. I need chapter and verse. And you're going to have to show me some good faith and some sincere remorse. You pull that off, and I'll go to bat for you. Recommend that you're given better facilities, separated from the general population of butt-fuckers."

"I don't understand? What sort of deal is that? You think I'm going to go to jail?"

"Oh, Kevin, Kevin." She sighed. "I know you're going over. What happens to you after you're there is up to you."

"I want immunity."

"And I want to sing show tunes on Broadway. Neither one of us have a chance in hell of realizing those precious dreams. We got your DNA, you stupid putz. You didn't suit up for your parties. We got your juice, your prints. And you know that little sample they took from you at Booking? They're running it right now. It's going to match, Kevin, we both know it's going to match what you left behind in Bryna and Moniqua. Once it does, once I have the DNA match in my hot little hand, play time's over. I'll put you down like a sick dog, and all the lawyers in all the land won't be able to help you."

"You have to give me something. A plea bargain, a way out. I have money -- "

Her hand whipped out, snatched his shirtfront. "Was that a bribe, Kevin? Am I adding bribing a cop to your list of credits?"

"No, no, I just... I need some help here." He tried to calm himself, to sound reasonable, cooperative. "I can't go to prison. I don't belong in prison. It was just a game. A contest. It was all Lucias's idea. It was an accident."

"A game, a contest, someone else's idea, an accident." She shook her head. "Is this multiple choice?"

"We were bored, that's all. We were bored and needed something to do! We were just having a little fun, a kind of re-enactment of his bastard grandfather's great experiment. Then it went wrong. It was an accident. She wasn't supposed to die."

"Who wasn't supposed to die, Kevin?"

"That first woman. Bryna. I didn't kill her. It just happened."

She leaned back now. "Tell me how it happened, Kevin. Tell me how it just happened."

An hour later, Eve stepped out of Interview. "A miserable, pusboil on the ass of humanity."

"Yes, sir, he is. You wrapped him up tight," Peabody added. "A platoon of lawyers won't be able to poke so much as a pinhole in that confession. He's gone."

"Yeah. The other boil won't break so easy. Alert the team, Peabody. Same personnel as the park. I'm getting a warrant for Dunwood. They deserve to be in on act two."

"You got it. Dallas?"

"What?"

"Do you really want to sing show tunes on Broadway?"

"Doesn't everyone?" She pulled out her communicator, prepared to request her warrant. It beeped in her hand. "Dallas."

"My office," Whitney ordered. "Now."

"Yes, sir. What is he, psychic? Round up the crew, Peabody. I want to move on Dunwood within the hour."

With the interview on her mind and the anticipation of getting her hands on Lucias hot in her blood, she walked into Whitney's office. She'd been prepared to give him her report orally. Her plans changed when she saw Renfrew and another man in Whitney's office.

Face impassive, Whitney remained behind his desk. "Lieutenant, Captain Hayes. I believe you and Detective Renfrew have already met."