* * *
She went to work, happy, she realized, to be back at it. With a hot pot of coffee and reams of data. Whatever she found, or didn’t, this angle was going to mean interviewing sales clerks. Which meant the horror of going into retail establishments on the day after Christmas when everyone and their mothers would be in them exchanging gifts, looking for bargains, arguing about credit.
Trudy’d done pretty well for herself, Eve decided. Six pair of shoes in one spot. Jesus, what was it with people and shoes? Shipped all but two pairs home. Well, she was never going to wear them.
She cross-checked her inventory list, and came up with six pairs.
And here were three handbags from the same shop. Two sent home, one taken with customer. When she checked her list, she smiled.
“Yeah, I bet it was hard to resist a six-hundred-dollar purse. Six bills.” She shook her head. “Just to lug stuff around in, most of which no rational human being has a need to lug anywhere. Let’s see what else you helped yourself to.”
Before she could continue, Roarke beeped on the house ‘link.
“I’ve got this for you, Lieutenant.”
“What? Already? It’s only been about a half hour.”
“I believe it was mentioned before: I’m good.”
“On my way, and I seriously overpaid for this service.”
“Pay to play,” he said and clicked off.
She found him in the lab where he’d set up a group of units to handle individual commands. “This way,” he told her, “you can ask for any mix you want, or a combination. I’ve also got her voiceprint, in case you want to try to match it at some point.”
“Might be handy. Let’s just run it through as it was first. I haven’t taken the time to listen to it all the way through.”
Now she did, hearing the gaggle of voices. Her own, Baxter’s, Trueheart’s. Checks and rechecks. Zana’s, Bobby’s discussing where they might go. The rustling as they donned their outdoor gear.
I’m so glad we’re getting out. It’ll do us both good. Zana.
Hasn’t been much of a trip for you . Bobby.
Oh, now, honey, don’t worry about me. I just want you to try to put all this awful business aside for just a couple hours. We’ve got each other, remember. That’s what counts.
They went out with Zana chattering about Christmas trees.
She heard New York as they went outside. Horns, voices, air blimps, the unmistakable belching of a maxibus. It was all a backdrop for more chatter. The weather, the buildings, the traffic, the shops. Interspersed were Baxter and Trueheart, commenting on direction, making small talk.
Man, you see the rack on that one? God is a man, and he’s on my side. Baxter.
God might be a woman, sir, deliberately tempting you with what you can’t have. Trueheart.
“Not bad, kid,” Eve mumbled. “God, you could die of boredom listening to this crap. ‘Oooh, look at this, honey. Oh, my goodness,’ blah, blah, blah.”
“Do you want to move forward?” Roarke asked her.
“No. We’ll stick it out.”
She drank coffee, and stuck, through the incessant shopping for and purchasing of a table tree, the extra ornaments. The giggles when Bobby made her turn around and close her eyes while he bought her a pair of earrings. Then the cooing about not opening them until Christmas.
“This may make me sick.”
They discussed lunch. Should they do this, do that?
“Jesus, do something! Tourists,” she said. “They kill me.”
More giggles, she thought, more excitement over soy dogs. Over a tube of fake meat, Eve thought in disgust, then straightened in her chair.
“Wait, stop. Run that back. The bit she just said.”
“If we must, but rhapsodizing about the menu of a glide-cart is a bit much, even for me.”
“No listen, listen to what she says. How she says it.”
“What makes a soy dog taste so good when it’s cooked outside on a cart in New York? I swear you can’t get a real grilled dog anywhere on the planet outside of New York”
“Stop record. How does she know that?” Eve demanded. “She doesn’t say, ‘I bet there’s no place.’ Or, ‘I’ve never tasted a damn dog that tastes like…’ whatever. She makes a statement: ‘You can’t get.’” Nostalgic, knowing. Not the statement, not the tone of a woman having her first corner dog in Manhattan—which is what she said it was, what decided them on the cart. Oh, gee, I’ve never had one before, it’d be fun. Bitch is lying.“
“I won’t argue, but it could easily have been a slip of the tongue.”
“Could, but isn’t. Resume play.”
She listened, talk of hats, scarves, of just a little longer. Have to cross the street. Spilled coffee. Concern, just a hint of fear in his voice, the relief.
Now screams, shouts, horns, brakes. Sobbing.
Jesus, Jesus, somebody call an ambulance. Lady, don’t move him, don’t try to move him.
Now Baxter moving in, moving fast, identifying himself, dealing with the mess.
“Okay, what I want is just the two of them. No background noises, from the time they get the dogs until Baxter’s on-scene.”
Roarke set it up, hit play.
Conversation again, easy, breezy. Indulgent on his part, Eve thought. Then the little gasp, his immediate response. Irritation in her voice. Then the screams.
“His,” Eve ordered, from the coffee spill on.
She watched the graphic readout as well—breathing, volume, tone. “There, there, did you hear it?”
“Breath sucked in. Expected as he’s falling into the street.”
“A second before. An instant. Maybe a slip, sure, but maybe a push, too. Now hers. Same sequence.”
She leaned forward, and she saw it, heard it. “Deep breath in. Quick, fast. Just a second before the record shows his. Then that little hesitation before she squeaks his name, starts screaming.”
Eve’s gaze was flat and hard. “She helped him into the street. I’d bet on it. Opportunity. Of the moment again. Let’s go through the background voices, the noises, individually—that same sequence. See if anything else pops out.”
It was tedious, but she listened to every variant before she was satisfied.
“It’s building up,” she stated coldly. “Building for me. Can’t charge her. The PA’d laugh me out of his office, if I got this past Whitney. But I know what I know. Now it’s how to make it stick to her.”
“He loves her.”
“What?”
“He loves her,” Roarke repeated. “You can hear it in his voice. It’s going to level him, Eve. This on top of his mother. If you’re right, and I have to believe you are, it’s going to take him out at the knees.”
“I’m sorry. But better he take a shot than be duped every day by a murderer.”
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—think how this would hurt him. Not now, not yet.
“I didn’t get far on my checklist, but I’ve already found one handbag missing. I’ll get a full description of it, and anything else that doesn’t check, tomorrow. We’re going to find them in Zana’s possession. I’m bringing her into Interview. That’s where I’ll get her on this. Interview. I’ve got no proof, scattered piles of circumstantial. So it’s going to be me against her in the box, and that’s where I’ll turn it.”
He was studying her face as she spoke. “You have, on occasion, commented that I can be scary. So, Lieutenant, can you.”
She smiled, hard and thin. “You’re damn right.”
Chapter 20
SHE STARTED THE MORNING POKING, PRODDING, bitching, and bellowing at the lab. She thought about bribing, and had courtside Knicks tickets as backup. But fear brought her quicker results.
The minute it started to signal, Eve leapt toward her comp. “Computer, display incoming data on-screen, and produce hard copy.”
Acknowledged. Working…
She skimmed, then punched a fist into her palm. “Got you, bitch.”