She preferred getting the job done and moving on while the day was young. She was sure Henry himself would applaud the efficiency.
The idea tickled her so much she chuckled as she poisoned his coffee.
"Could've worked out this way nine years ago, Henry," she murmured as she stirred in the cyanide. "But you didn't draw the short straw." She patted her short, dark hair. "Sort of a pity, really. I think you'd have enjoyed being married to me. For the short-term."
She carried the thick, practical mug back into his office. His computer was already blathering about some legal precedent. Outside the glass wall a traffic copter whisked by as the morning commute heated up. Julianna set the coffee by his elbow, stepped back.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Mouton?"
Obviously lost in thought, he picked up the coffee, sipped absently while he stared out at the traffic, listened to his notes.
"No, I've everything I need, Miss ..."
"Drake," she said pleasantly, her gaze ice-cold as she watched him sip again. "Janet Drake."
"Yes, well, good luck on your first day, Miss Drake. Just leave the door open when you go out."
"Yes, sir."
She stepped outside the office, and waited. She heard him begin to choke, that shocked, desperate attempt to draw air. Her face held a terrible beauty when she stepped back in to watch him die.
She liked to watch, when the opportunity presented itself.
His face was beet red, his eyes bulging. He'd knocked what was left of the coffee on the floor as he thrashed, and the brown seeped in to stain the stone gray carpet.
He stared at her, the pain and fear alive in the room as he died.
"Go down the wrong pipe?" she said cheerfully, and strolled over as he fell to the floor. "There's been a little change in routine today, Henry." She angled her head, her expression fascinated as his body convulsed. "You get to die."
It was, Julianna thought, the most incredible sensation to witness death come, and know it marched in at the direction of your own hand.
It was a wonder to her more people didn't try it.
When it was finished, she blew him a sassy kiss, and sauntering out, closed the door behind her. A pity it was too early for the shops to be open, she thought as she picked up her handbag and strolled to the elevator. She felt like a nice splurge.
* * *
Crouched over the body of Henry Mouton, Eve felt anger, frustration, and guilt. None of those emotions would help, so she did her best to clamp down on them.
"This is her work," Eve stated. "How the hell does she just walk in, through building security, and get this guy to drink poisoned coffee? Blending. She blends. Who do I need to be, and that's who I'll be. She had to know he'd be here, alone. This wasn't a lucky shot. And I'm off chasing fucking sheep."
"Lieutenant. Mouton is sheep in French." Peabody held out her PPC. "I looked it up."
"Great, fine. Loopy comes through. A lot of good it did him." Annoyed with herself, she straightened up. "Have him tagged and bagged and turned over to the ME. I need building security discs, the witness who found him, ah ... office manager. Data on next-of-kin."
"Yes, sir. Dallas?" Peabody hesitated, then spoke her mind. "You couldn't have stopped this."
"Sure I could have. Turn the right key in the right lock. But I didn't, so we go from here."
When Peabody moved out, Eve took out her notebook and began to plug in data.
"Excuse me. Lieutenant Dallas?"
She glanced back, saw the smartly dressed woman with jet-black hair in perfectly styled waves. "I have to ask you to keep clear of this room."
"Yes, I understand. They told me you were in charge. I'm Olivia Fitch, one of Henry's partners. And his second wife." When her gaze wandered to the body, her lips trembled. But she pressed them together, and her voice stayed steady. "I was hoping you could tell me ... something. Anything."
"Is there somewhere we can talk, Ms. Fitch?"