Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“She lets the killer in,” he prompted. “Late-night visit.”

“Yeah. Late. And she doesn’t bother to put on a robe. She had one in the closet, but she doesn’t bother with it and entertains her killer while wearing her nightgown.”

“Indicating a certain level of intimacy. A lover?”

“Maybe. Can’t dismiss it. She kept herself in tune. Face and body work. I can’t remember any guys,” Eve murmured, trying to look back into the past again. “It was only about six months I was there, but I don’t remember any guys coming around, or her going out with any.”

“From then to now would indicate a very long dry spell.”

“Can’t rule out a booty call,” Eve continued, “but I went over the list of her possessions, everything she had in that room: no sex toys, no sexy underwear, no condoms or any shields against STDs. Still, could be a long-term relationship—I’m not finding indications, but could be. Not a partner, though. Not on equal terms.”

“No?”

“She had to be in charge. She had to give the orders. She liked telling people what to do and liked watching them do it. Look at her pathology—take her employment record. Scores of jobs over the years, none lasting long. She didn’t take orders, she gave them.”

“So, in her mind, fostering was perfect.” Roarke nodded. “She’s the boss, she’s in charge. Total authority.”

“She’d think,” Eve agreed. “She was cruising toward sixty, and no marriages on record. Only one official cohab. No, she wasn’t a team player. Partnership wouldn’t work for her. So maybe she tagged this individual on her ‘link. Get over here, we need to talk. She’s had some wine, some meds. Probably just enough to be floaty and full of herself.”

“Another reason she might not have taken as much care as she might have otherwise.”

Eve nodded. “She’s relaxed, medicated. And she’s figuring on squeezing you for the two million. She’s cracked her own face for it. Yeah, she’s full of herself. But how’s she going to squeeze you when she’s holed up in a hotel room?”

“I’ve considered that already. You were off your rhythm,” he reminded her when she frowned at him. “Documented the injuries, I imagine, with a shaky, perhaps teary, account of the attack. An attack which would implicate either or both of us as the assailant, or—if she were more clever—which had the unknown assailant warn her that either or both of us would see she got worse unless she did what she was told.”

He topped off the wine in Eve’s glass. “There would be a statement that this record was made to protect herself, in the event of her untimely death. Or further injury. In which case the record would be sent to the media, and the authorities. This documentation would be sent to me, as she’d trust me to decipher the subtext: Pay, or this goes public.”

“Yeah, well.” She took another slice of pizza. “Did all this considering tell you where that record might be?”

“With her killer, no doubt.”

“Yeah, no doubt. So why wasn’t it brought up along with the numbered account during Zana’s abduction? Why haven’t you received a copy of the documentation?”

“The killer may have assumed the record would do the talking. And may have been foolish enough to trust it to regular mail.”

“See.” She shook the slice at him, then bit in. “Smart, sloppy, smart, sloppy. And that doesn’t work for me. There’s no sloppy here. It’s all smart—smart enough to try to look sloppy. Crime of passion, covering it up, little mistakes. Bigger ones. But I think… I’m starting to wonder if some of those mistakes are purposeful.”

She looked back at the board. “Maybe I’m just circling.”

“No, keep going. I like it.”

“She was a difficult woman. Even her son said so. And yeah,” she added, reading Roar

ke’s expression, “I haven’t eliminated him as a suspect. I’ll come back to why he’s not higher on my list. So you’re doing grunt work for a difficult woman. You’re going to get a cut, but no way you’re getting half. Maybe she tells you she’s going for a million, and you can have ten percent for your trouble. That’s not bad for grunt work. Maybe that’s the play, and she gives you the record to deliver or send.”

“Sure of herself to do that,” he commented.

“Yeah, and sure of her grunt. But it also takes her a step back if anything goes wrong. It all fits her profile.”

“But her grunt isn’t as obedient as she assumed,” Roarke continued. “Instead of being a good doggy and delivering, you take a look at it first. And start thinking this is worth more.”

Here was her rhythm, Eve realized. Batting it back and forth with him, seeing the steps, the pieces, the possibilities.

“Yeah. Maybe you come back, tell her you want a bigger cut. Maybe you point out they could squeeze for more than a measly million.”

“That would piss her off.”

“Wouldn’t it.” Eve smiled at him. “And she’s loose. Been drinking, taking meds. Could be her tongue got away from her and it comes out she was going for two. Oops.”