The shop was all pink and gold, like the inside of a seashell. Music, the quiet, deep sort that made her think of churches, hummed in the rarified air.
The flowers were fresh, the carpet thick, the guard at the door discreetly armed.
Because he gave her jacket and boots a sneer of disdain, she badged him. It gave her a petty pull of satisfaction to see the sneer vanish.
She breezed by him, her battered boots silent on the shell-pink carpet. A quick scan showed her a woman wrapped in miles of mink seated on a thickly padded chaise, debating over diamonds or rubies; a tall man with silvered hair with a topcoat folded neatly over his arm, perusing gold wrist units; two more guards; and a giggling blonde being treated to a shopping spree by a pouchy man old enough to be her grandfather. He obviously had more money than sense.
She tagged the security cameras, little pinhole lenses tucked in the carved molding that framed a coffered ceiling. A fluid spiral of stairs arched to the right. Or if madam was too weary from carting around pounds of gold and stones, she was welcome to use the shining brass elevator.
Only the weight of the diamond between her breasts prevented Eve from a sneer of her own. It was faintly embarrassing to know that Roarke could buy everything in the place, and the building it was housed in.
She approached a beveled glass counter where bracelets studded with colored gems were artfully draped, and sized up the clerk behind the counter. He didn't appear particularly thrilled to see her. He was as polished as his wares, but his mouth was pinched, his eyes bored, and his voice, when he spoke, dripped with sarcasm.
"May I help you, madam?"
"Yeah, I need the manager."
He sniffed, inclining his head so that the lights gleamed on his gilt hair. "Is there a problem?"
"That depends on how quickly you get me the manager."
Now his mouth drew in as if something not quite fresh had landed on his tongue. "One moment. And please, don't touch the display case. It's just been cleaned."
Little bastard, Eve thought mildly. She managed to put half a dozen fingerprints on the sparkling glass by the time he came back with a slim, attractive brunette.
"Good afternoon. I'm Ms. Kates, the manager. May I help you?"
"Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD." Because the woman's smile was a great deal warmer than her clerk's, Eve held her badge at counter level and blocked it from the clientele with her back. "My aide called in earlier regarding a necklace."
"Yes, I spoke with her. Shall we talk in my office?"
"Fine." She glanced around as Peabody and McNab came in. Saying nothing, she signaled them to follow.
"I remember the necklace distinctly," Kates began as she led them into a small, feminine office. She gestured toward two high-backed chairs before taking a seat behind a desk. "My husband designed it, on commission. I haven't been able to reach him, I'm sorry, but I believe I can give you any information you need."
"You have the paperwork on it?"
"I do. I looked up the disc and printed out a hard copy for you." Efficiently, she opened a file, checked the contents, then passed it to Eve. "The necklace was done in fourteen-carat gold, interlinked chain, choker length, with four stylized birds. A charming piece."
It hadn't looked so charming, Eve mused, wrapped around Holloway's bruised neck.
"Nicholas Claus." she murmured, reading the customer's name. She supposed he'd thought of it as irony. "Did you get ID?"
"It wasn't necessary. The customer paid in cash, a twenty percent deposit on order, the remainder on completion."
Kates folded her hands. "I recognize you, Lieutenant. Am I to assume this necklace is part of a murder investigation?"
"You can assume that. This Claus, he came in personally?"
"Yes, three times that I recall." Kates lifted her folded hands, tapped her fingers against her mouth, then lowered them again. "I spoke to him myself on his first visit. About average height, I suppose, perhaps a little taller. Slender, but not thin. Graceful," she said after a moment's thought. "Very well presented. Dark hair, rather long, with silver streaks. I remember him as very elegant, very polite, and very specific about his needs."
"Give me his voice."
"His voice?" Kates blinked a moment. "I… Cultured, I'd say. Faintly accented. European, I suppose. Quiet. I'm sure I'd recognize it again. I remember taking a call from him and knowing who it was the minute he spoke."
"He called in?"
"Once or twice, I think, to check on the progress of the necklace."
"I'm going to need your security discs, and your 'link logs."
"I'll get them for you." She got immediately to her feet. "It may take a little time."
"McNab, give Ms. Kates a hand with that."
"Sir."
"He had to know we'd check," Eve said to Peabody when they were alone. "He left the necklace at the scene, a one of a kind he commissioned himself. He had to know we'd track it here."
"Maybe he didn't think we'd move this fast, or that Kates would have such a good memory."
"No." Dissatisfied, Eve rose. "He knew. This is just where he wants us to be. It's another show. He played a role here, and he doesn't look like the man we're going to see on those discs any more than he looks like Santa Claus."
She paced to the door, back again. "Different props, different costume, different stage, but it's just his show. He covered his ass, Peabody, but he's not as smart as he thinks he is. The voice prints from the 'link logs are going to nail him."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Jesus, Dallas." Feeney shrugged the shoulder she was leaning over. "Stop breathing down my neck."
"Sorry." She leaned back one stingy inch. "How long does it take to program the print into this thing?"
"Twice as long as it would if you weren't nagging on me."
"Okay, okay." She backed off, stalked to the window of the conference room. "It's sleeting," she said more to herself than him. "Traffic's going to be ugly later."
"Traffic's always ugly this time of year. Too many damn tourists. I tried to do a little shopping last night. Wife wants this sweater thing. People are like wolves on a dead deer out there. I'm not going back."
"Video shopping's easier."
"Yeah, but the fucking circuits are jammed. Everybody and his cousin's on trying to scoop up bargains. I don't come up with a dozen pretty boxes under the tree for her, I'm bunking in the den till spring."
"A dozen?" Mildly horrified, she swung back around. "You have to buy her more than one?"
"Man, Dallas, are you green in the marriage area." He snorted, working manually on the programming. "One present don't mean dick. Quantity, pal. Think quantity."
"Great, terrific. I'm sunk."
"You got a couple of days left. And here we are."
Her shopping dilemma cleared from her mind as she rushed back. "Run it."
"I'm getting to it. Here's our man on the 'link."
Is Mr. or Mrs. Kates available?
"I cut out the other voices. That's your pauses," Feeney explained.
Good morning, Ms. Kates. This is Nicholas Claus. I wondered how the work on my necklace is progressing.
"I can run the rest, but that's enough for a match."
"The accent's vague," Eve mused. "He doesn't put a lot on it. That's smart. You got Rudy in there?"
"Coming up. This is from the interview tape. Just him."
We advise all our clients to meet their matches in a public place. Any who agreed to meet him privately subsequent to that were making their own decision.
"Now we got prints. This baby computes everything: pitch, inflection, cadence, tonal quality. Don't matter a damn if you disguise your voice. It's as reliable as fingerprints and DNA. You can't fake it. Shift to Subject A, graft style, on screen and on audio."
Working…
Eve listened to the 'link call, watched the lines of color skim and jump along the screen. "Split the screen," she told him, "put the interview blurb up under that one."