Memory in Death (In Death 22)

Eve blew out a breath, settled herself. If Trudy had suffered in silence, there was a reason for it.

“Dallas?”

“Yeah.”

“No link.” Peabody stood at the bathroom door. “More cash in a security pack. More jewelry in pouches tucked into her clothes. Couple of transmissions, in and out, between her and either her son or her daughter-in-law. In-hotel trans. Bottle of blockers on the night table by the bed.”

“Yeah, I saw that. Let’s check the kitchen, see if we can determine the last time she got food.”

“Nobody breaks in, kills someone, for a ‘link.”

“Depends what’s on the ‘link, doesn’t it?” Eve moved to the Auto-Chef, hit replay.

“Chicken soup, just after eight last night. Chinese wrap about midnight. A lot of coffee on and off until seven p.m.” She opened the frig-gie. “Wine, good stuff—about a glass and a half left in the bottle. Milk, juice—both opened—and a quart, half gone, of chocolate frozen non-dairy dessert product.”

She glanced at the sink and counter. “Yet there’s not a bowl, glass, spoon unwashed.”

“She was tidy?”

“She was lazy, but maybe she was bored enough to clean up after herself.”

She heard Crime Scene arrive, took another minute. “Door’s locked from the inside.” Two clicks, she thought, when the maid had used her master. “Killer exited from the window. Possibly entered through same. Tourist hives like this one don’t go for soundproofing. Makes you wonder why she didn’t scream the place down.”

She stepped out, saw not only the sweepers, but Morris, the Chief Medical Examiner.

She remembered he’d worn a suit to the party, a kind of muted blue overlaid with a faint sheen. His long, dark hair had been intricately braided and he’d knocked back a few. Enough that he’d gotten up on stage with the band at one point and wailed away on the sax.

His talents, she’d discovered, weren’t limited to deciphering the dead.

Now he was in casual pants and a sweatshirt, and his hair was scooped back in a long, shiny tail. His eyes, slanted and oddly sexy, skimmed down the hallway and found her.

“Have you ever considered, just for the hell of it, taking a Sunday off?”

“Thought I was.” She drew him aside. “I’m sorry to call you in, especially since I know you were up late.”

“Very. In fact, I’d just gotten home when you tagged me. I have been to bed,” he added with his slow smile. “Just not my own.”

“Oh. Well. Here’s the thing. I knew her.”

“I’m sorry.” He sobered. “Dallas, I’m very sorry.”

“I said I knew her, not that I liked her. In fact, it’s the opposite. I need you to verify time of death. I want to be sure your gauge matches mine. And I want to know, as close as you can get it, when she obtained the other injuries you’re going to find.”

“Of course. Can I ask—”

“Lieutenant, sorry to interrupt.” Bilkey stepped beside her. “Vic’s son’s getting antsy.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in five.”

“No problem. Nothing on the canvass so far. Just fyi, two rooms this floor had check-outs this morning. Got you the data on that. Room next to the scene was a no-show. Contacted the desk last night about eighteen hundred to cancel. Got the name in case you need it. You want I should get the lobby security discs?”

“Do that. Good work, Bilkey.”

“All in a day’s.”

She turned back to Morris. “I don’t want to get into it here and now. Just want to emphasize your confirmation of my time of death. I’ve got next of kin down the hall, and I have to deal with them. I’ll fill you in on whatever’s salient once you’ve filed your report. I’d appreciate if you’d handle all of it personally.”

“Then I will.”