Holiday in Death (18 page)

“What you doing here, white girl?” Crack, all six and a half feet of him, grinned at her. His face was dark and homely, his scalp recently shaved and oiled to a mirror gleam. He sported a vest of peacock feathers, leathers so snug she wondered his balls weren’t bruised, and shin-breaking boots in cherry red.

“Got a meet,” she told him and did a quick scan of the club. It was mostly empty, but for the six dancers practicing a routine on stage and a scatter of customers who — being what they were — marked her as a cop in the time it takes to pick a tourist’s pocket in Times Square.

She imagined several ounces of illegals would shortly be swimming into New York’s sewer system.

“You bringing more cops into my place?” He glanced over as two skinny dealers made a beeline for the Johns. “Somebody’s business gonna suffer tonight.”

“I’m not here for a bust. I got press coming. Got a privacy room we can use?”

“You got Nadine coming down? Now, she be fine. You use room three, honeypot. I look out for you awhile.”

“Appreciate it.” She glanced over her shoulder as the door opened, letting in sunlight, Nadine, and a camera operator. “It won’t take long.”

Eve pointed toward the room and strode over and in without waiting for Nadine’s assent.

“You frequent such interesting places, Dallas.” Wrinkling her nose, Nadine stared at the stained walls and rumpled bed — the only piece of furniture the room could boast.

“You liked the place well enough, as I recall. Enough to strip down to your undies and dance on stage.”

“I was impaired at the time,” Nadine said with some dignity when her operator snickered. “Shut up, Mike.”

“You got five minutes.” Eve sat on the side of the bed. “You can either hit me with questions or I’ll give you a straight statement. I’m not going to give you more than what we’ll release at the press conference, but you’ll have it on a good twenty minutes before anyone else. I’m also giving you the go-ahead to use data already discussed.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Eve said quietly, “we’re friends.”

“Step outside a minute, Mike.” Nadine waited until he’d finished grumbling and had closed the door behind him. “I don’t want any pity favors.”

“That’s not what this is. You kept the deal, holding information until I cleared it. I’m keeping my end. That’s professional. I trust you to report the truth. That’s professional. I like you, even when you’re irritating. That’s personal. Now, do you want the one-on-one or not?”

Nadine’s smile bloomed slowly. “Yeah, I want it. I like you, Dallas, and you’re always irritating.”

“Give me a quick rundown of your take on Rudy and Piper.”

“Charming, absolutely. They can spout their company line like champs. Every button I pushed, they came back with the perfect reaction. Well programmed.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“Oh, he is. No question. He’s a little over-protective of her for a brother, if you ask me. And it’s mildly creepy the way they dress alike down to their lip dye. But it’s probably a twin thing.”

“Did you interview any of the staff?”

“Sure, picked a few consultants at random. They’ve got a very slick operation going there.”

“Gossip about the owners?”

“Nothing but praise. I couldn’t elbow out one spiteful sentence.” She cocked a brow. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“I’m looking for a killer,” Eve said flatly. “Let’s get this going.”

“Fine.” Nadine reached back, rapping her knuckles on the door to signal Mike. “Straight statement with follow-up questions.”

“One or the other.”

“Don’t be so pissy. Start with the statement.” Nadine glanced at the bed, calculating the varied body fluids that might have been spent there, and opted to stand.

An hour later, Eve listened to Chief of Police and Security Tibble run nearly the identical statement she’d given Nadine. He had a more impressive style, she mused, shivering a bit in the cold, as he’d chosen to give the statement on the steps of the Tower, where his offices spanned the top of the building.

Air traffic had been rerouted for the thirty-minute event so that only a scatter of sky-cams and traffic choppers disturbed the sky overhead.

Eve was certain he already knew she’d gone on-air with the data. He could slap her down for it. But as she had not been officially barred from preceding him with a statement, it would be a waste of time.

Eve knew Tibble rarely wasted anything.

She respected him, and respected him more when he managed to give a complete statement while withholding vital pieces of evidence they would need for trial.

As questions began to bullet out of the crowd of reporters, he held up both hands. “I’ll turn questions over to the primary investigating officer, Lieutenant Eve Dallas.”

He turned, then bent down to her ear. “Five minutes, and don’t give them any more than they already have. Next time, Dallas, wear a goddamn coat.”

She huddled in her jacket and stepped forward.

“Do you have any suspects?”

Eve didn’t sigh, but she wanted to. She hated facing the media. “We’re questioning several individuals in connection with these cases.”

“Were the victims sexually assaulted?”

“The cases are being handled as sexual homicides.”

“How are they connected? Did the victims know each other?”

“I’m not free to discuss that area of the investigation at this time.” She held up a hand to cut off the vicious barrage. “We are, however, treating the cases as connected. As Chief Tibble stated, the investigation, thus far, points to one killer.”

“Santa Claus is coming to town,” some comedian called out, and set off a wave of laughter in the crowd.

“Yeah, make a joke of it.” Temper warmed her blood and made her forget her hands were freezing. “That’s easy enough when you haven’t seen what he leaves behind. When you haven’t had to tell mothers and partners that the person they loved is dead.”

The crowd fell quiet enough that she heard the swish of copter blades overhead. “I imagine the person responsible for this misery, for these deaths, will get a big charge out of being played up in the media. Go ahead and give him what he wants. Make the murder of four people small and foolish, and turn him into a star. But inside Cop Central we know what he is. He’s pathetic, even more pathetic than you. I’ve got nothing more to say.”

She turned, ignoring the shouts, and all but bumped into Tibble.

“Inside one moment, Lieutenant.” He took her arm, steering her quickly through guards and through the reinforced doors. “Well done,” he said briefly. “And now that we’re done with that annoying spectacle, I have to play politics with the mayor. Go do your job, Dallas, and get me this son of a bitch.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And find some gloves, for Christ’s sake,” he added as he stalked away.

Eve jammed one hand in her pocket to warm it, and took out her communicator with the other. She tried Mira first, and was told the doctor was still in testing. She put in the next call to Peabody.

“Anything pop on the necklace?”

“We got a possible. Baubles and Bangles on Fifth. Their jeweler designed and made the necklace. This was a one of a kind — commissioned. They’re checking records now, but the clerk said she thought she remembered the customer coming in personally to pick it up. They’ve got security cameras.”

“Meet me there. I’m on my way.”

“Lieutenant?”

She glanced over and into the hollow eyes of Jerry Vandoren. “Jerry, what are you doing here?”

“I heard about the press conference. I wanted…” He lifted his hands, then helplessly let them fall. “I wanted to hear what you had to say. I listened. I want to thank you…”

He trailed off again, looking around as if he’d turned a corner and found himself on another planet.

“Jerry.” She took his arm, guiding him away before the reporters scented fresh meat and pounced on him. “You should go home.”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I dream about her every night. Marianna’s not dead when I dream about her.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Then I wake up, and she is. Everyone says I need grief counseling. I don’t want to be counseled out of my grief. Lieutenant Dallas. I don’t want to stop feeling what I feel for her.”

It was out of her element, she thought, this raw desperation that looked to her for an answer. But she couldn’t turn away from it. “She wouldn’t want you to go on hurting. She loved you too much for that.”

“But when I stop hurting, she’ll really be gone.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. “I wanted — just to say I appreciated what you said out there. That you weren’t going to let them turn this into a joke. I know you’ll stop him.” The plea swam in his eyes. “You will stop him, won’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m going to stop him. Come on.” Gently, she led him toward a side exit. “Let’s get you a cab. Where did you say your mother lived?”

“My mother?”

“Yeah. Go see your mother, Jerry. Go stay with her for a while.”

He blinked at the sunlight when they stepped outside. “It’s almost Christmas.”

“Yeah.” She signaled to a uniform leaning against his cruiser. A better bet, she decided, than a cab. “You go spend Christmas with your family, Jerry. Marianna would want you to.”

Eve had to put Jerry Vandoren and his grief out of her mind and focus on the next step. After fighting through traffic, she parked illegally in front of the jewelry store, switched her On Duty sign to active, then bulled her way through the crowd jamming the sidewalk.

Eve imagined it was the kind of place where Roarke might breeze in, have a glitter catch his eye, and drop a few hundred thousand.

The shop was all pink and gold, like the inside of a seashell. Music, the quiet, deep sort that made her think of churches, hummed in the rarified air.

The flowers were fresh, the carpet thick, the guard at the door discreetly armed.

Because he gave her jacket and boots a sneer of disdain, she badged him. It gave her a petty pull of satisfaction to see the sneer vanish.

She breezed by him, her battered boots silent on the shell-pink carpet. A quick scan showed her a woman wrapped in miles of mink seated on a thickly padded chaise, debating over diamonds or rubies; a tall man with silvered hair with a topcoat folded neatly over his arm, perusing gold wrist units; two more guards; and a giggling blonde being treated to a shopping spree by a pouchy man old enough to be her grandfather. He obviously had more money than sense.

She tagged the security cameras, little pinhole lenses tucked in the carved molding that framed a coffered ceiling. A fluid spiral of stairs arched to the right. Or if madam was too weary from carting around pounds of gold and stones, she was welcome to use the shining brass elevator.

Only the weight of the diamond between her breasts prevented Eve from a sneer of her own. It was faintly embarrassing to know that Roarke could buy everything in the place, and the building it was housed in.

She approached a beveled glass counter where bracelets studded with colored gems were artfully draped, and sized up the clerk behind the counter. He didn’t appear particularly thrilled to see her. He was as polished as his wares, but his mouth was pinched, his eyes bored, and his voice, when he spoke, dripped with sarcasm.

“May I help you, madam?”

“Yeah, I need the manager.”

He sniffed, inclining his head so that the lights gleamed on his gilt hair. “Is there a problem?”

“That depends on how quickly you get me the manager.”

Now his mouth drew in as if something not quite fresh had landed on his tongue. “One moment. And please, don’t touch the display case. It’s just been cleaned.”

Little bastard, Eve thought mildly. She managed to put half a dozen fingerprints on the sparkling glass by the time he came back with a slim, attractive brunette.

“Good afternoon. I’m Ms. Kates, the manager. May I help you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” Because the woman’s smile was a great deal warmer than her clerk’s, Eve held her badge at counter level and blocked it from the clientele with her back. “My aide called in earlier regarding a necklace.”

“Yes, I spoke with her. Shall we talk in my office?”

“Fine.” She glanced around as Peabody and McNab came in. Saying nothing, she signaled them to follow.

“I remember the necklace distinctly,” Kates began as she led them into a small, feminine office. She gestured toward two high-backed chairs before taking a seat behind a desk. “My husband designed it, on commission. I haven’t been able to reach him, I’m sorry, but I believe I can give you any information you need.”

“You have the paperwork on it?”

“I do. I looked up the disc and printed out a hard copy for you.” Efficiently, she opened a file, checked the contents, then passed it to Eve. “The necklace was done in fourteen-carat gold, interlinked chain, choker length, with four stylized birds. A charming piece.”

It hadn’t looked so charming, Eve mused, wrapped around Holloway’s bruised neck.

“Nicholas Claus.” she murmured, reading the customer’s name. She supposed he’d thought of it as irony. “Did you get ID?”

“It wasn’t necessary. The customer paid in cash, a twenty percent deposit on order, the remainder on completion.”

Kates folded her hands. “I recognize you, Lieutenant. Am I to assume this necklace is part of a murder investigation?”

“You can assume that. This Claus, he came in personally?”

“Yes, three times that I recall.” Kates lifted her folded hands, tapped her fingers against her mouth, then lowered them again. “I spoke to him myself on his first visit. About average height, I suppose, perhaps a little taller. Slender, but not thin. Graceful,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Very well presented. Dark hair, rather long, with silver streaks. I remember him as very elegant, very polite, and very specific about his needs.”

“Give me his voice.”

“His voice?” Kates blinked a moment. “I… Cultured, I’d say. Faintly accented. European, I suppose. Quiet. I’m sure I’d recognize it again. I remember taking a call from him and knowing who it was the minute he spoke.”

“He called in?”

“Once or twice, I think, to check on the progress of the necklace.”