"You'll want your field kit," Roarke said.
"Yeah."
"And here." He handed her a handkerchief so she could cover her mouth and nose. "Best I can do for now."
"Thanks." She used it, staying at the doorway until he could return with her sealant, recording the scene. She pulled her communicator out of her pocket, and called it in.
* * *
She'd had sex with him first. Perhaps they'd been lovers before, but Eve thought not. Julianna had simply used her most effective method to distract a man, and then had killed him with the very poison he'd procured for her.
It was logical, clean, cold. It was Julianna.
They would find her on the building's security discs. Once at least before Pettibone's murder when she'd bought her initial supply. She'd been a redhead then, Eve mused.
Then once again, a brunette, coming back to tie off the loose end.
Very likely, they would find transmissions on the victim's 'link from her, to her. But she wouldn't be foolish enough to have taken them at home, or on a personal 'link. They would follow it up, of course, but find the chats were made on public 'links.
He'd been dead four days. Four very nasty days. She'd strolled in, fresh from one kill, and topped herself off with another.
The body was gone now, but the air would reek of its decomposition for quite some time. Even after crews came in to clean the air, it would be there, a thin, evil underlayer.
"Lieutenant." Peabody came up behind her. "I have the security discs."
Absently, Eve took them. "I'll have copies in the file. I'll take a look at them tonight, but I don't imagine there will be any surprises.
"She came up the day after she killed Pettibone. Sporting her new hairdo, feeling fine and frisky. He let her in. Maybe they could do more business. She told him about the kill. Who better to share it with than the man who'd sold her the weapon, a man who'd be dead before she left the apartment? It would've amused her to tell him. Then she seduced him."
She stepped toward the bedroom. The linens had been stripped away, sent to the lab, but her scope had found traces of semen. "Easy enough. I'm so wired up, so energized. All those years in prison, those lonely years. I need someone to touch me. You're the only one I can be with, the only one who knows what I'm feeling right now."
"He should've known," Peabody murmured. "Of all people, he should've known."
"Her eyes would be shining, all those lies in them. He's old enough to be her grandfather, and there she is. Young and beautiful, with that tight, smooth body. He likes them young. Younger even than she, but she's here. She lets him do whatever he wants to her, take all the time he needs. It doesn't matter to her. He's already dead. Her mind's on the next, even as she groans and writhes and pretends to get off. Afterwards, she'll natter him. It was wonderful. Amazing. She knows what to say, how to say it to make him feel like the fuck king of the world. She'd have researched him, too."
She turned back into the living area. "She knows he likes brandy. She poisoned the bottle while he was in the shower, or taking a piss. Doesn't take long. Doesn't matter if he drinks it now, or later, but she'd rather now so she can watch. Cozy up to him on the couch, tell him all about what and who she's doing next. Can she have some wine? Can she stay awhile? It's so good to have someone to talk to, to be with.
"He pours the wine, he pours the brandy. It's his wine, his brandy. He's not worried. She probably drinks first, while she chats, just bubbling over with energy and enthusiasm. He'd smile at her while he drinks, caught up in her, sated from the sex, wondering if he'll be able to get it up for a second round. When he feels the poison in him, it's too late. He's shocked, horrified. Not him. It can't be. But he'd see it on her face then. She'd let him see it. That cold pleasure. Tidy herself up, secure the apartment. Run into the neighbor and have a friendly conversation. Uncle Eli's going out of town for several weeks, isn't that nice?"
"And she walks away," Peabody finished.
"And she walks away. Seal it up, Peabody. I'll go in, file the report. Then I'm going home."
CHAPTER TWELVE
If the appeal of the suburbs baffled steadfast urbanite Eve Dallas, the appeal of the great flat stretches of Texas was foreign as a moonscape. Texas had cities, great, sprawling, crowded cities.
So why did anyone actually choose to live on the pancake grass of the prairie where you could see for miles, where you were surrounded by an endless spread of space?
Even so, there were towns, of course, with buildings that blocked that uneasy view, and straight-arrow roads that spilled into pretzel-curved freeways leading to and from civilization.
She could certainly understand people driving toward those towns and cities and buildings. But she'd never comprehend what pushed them to drive out into the nothingness.
"What do they get from this?" she asked Roarke as they zoomed down one of those roads. "There's nothing here but grass and fences and four-legged animals. Really big four-legged animals," she added as they traveled past a herd of horses with cautious suspicion.
"Yippee-ky-yay."
She shifted that suspicious stare to Roarke only briefly. She preferred to keep close watch on the animals. Just in case.