Holiday in Death (7 page)

“So do I.” When the communicator beeped, Piper jolted. “Excuse me.” Eve turned her back to them and slipped it out of her pocket. “Dallas.”

“We tagged the makeup used on Hawley.” Dickie scowled out of the screen. “Brand name’s Natural Perfection. High-dollar shit, like I figured.”

“Nice work, Dickie.”

“Yeah, it cost me overtime, and I got Christmas shopping to do. Prelim indicates the stuff on Greenbalm was the same brand. You gotta buy this crap through salons or an enhancement center. Can’t get it in regular stores, even high-end ones, or off screen.”

“Good, that’ll make it easier to trace. Who manufactures?”

His scowl transformed into a wide, wicked grin. “Renaissance Beauty and Health, a division of Kenbar, which is an arm of Roarke Industries. Don’t you know what your old man’s up to, Dallas?”

“Hell” was all Eve said, and she cut the transmission before she turned around. “Any of the salons in this building sell Natural Perfection products?”

“Yes.” Piper leaned against Rudy in a way that made Eve’s stomach roll over. “That line is showcased in All Things Beautiful on the tenth level.”

“Are you connected with the salon?”

“It’s a separate business, but we maintain relationships with all the salons and shops in the building.” Rudy moved to the console, opened a compartment, and selected a glossy, fold-out brochure and attached disc. “Packages including salon work and gift certificates are available with consults here,” he said as he offered Eve the material.

“All Things Beautiful,” he continued, “is the most exclusive salon in the building. They also offer packages which include a consult with us in their Diamond Day plan.”

“Handy.”

“It’s good business” was Rudy’s response.

“Warrant approved, Lieutenant.” Peabody tucked her own communicator away again. “Processing transmission now.”

“Feed all that data to McNab,” Eve ordered Peabody when they were in the tube again.

“All of it?”

Eve didn’t spare much sympathy despite Peabody’s wide, shocked eyes. “All. Start with the matches on Greenbalm, then give him personnel. Go from there into client list, go back one year. I have a feeling our man is living pretty much in the present.”

“That’s going to take twenty or thirty minutes.”

“Then find yourself a quiet spot and get started. I get off here. Meet me in the salon when you’ve finished uploading data.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And buck up, Peabody. Pouting’s not attractive.”

“I’m not pouting,” Peabody said with some dignity. “I’m gritting. As in my teeth.” She sniffed audibly as the tube whooshed shut again.

The salon level smelled of forests and meadows. The sound system piped in soft, tinkling music of lyres and flutes. Underfoot was a carpet the color and consistency of crushed rose petals. The walls were dull silver and drenched with the slowly streaming flow of water that fed into a narrow canal that circled the entire floor. Palm-sized swans in pastel hues glided over its surface.

There were six salons in all, each with glass-fronted archways arbored with exotic vines. Eve recognized the reproduction of the Immortal blossom that had been trained to spiral up a thin, gilded curve that haloed the entrance of All Things Beautiful.

Figures, she thought. That particular bloom had caused her quite a bit of trouble once upon a time.

The doors parted fluidly as she approached. Inside, the lobby area was wide and sumptuous, with deep, cushioned scoop chairs in pale greens. Each was fitted with its own mini-screen and communication system. Statuary and sculpture ran to bronze nudes.

Small serving droids scooted here and there, carrying refreshments, reading material, VR goggles, and whatever else clients ordered for their amusement while they were beautified.

Two of the chairs were occupied by women who chatted absently and sipped something that looked like seafoam while they waited for their treatments. Both wore plush shell-pink robes with the salon’s name discreetly etched on the lapel.

“May I help you, madam?” The woman behind a U-shaped console gave Eve’s battered jeans, scarred boots, and untidy hair a slow, measuring study out of glittering silver eyes. The eyes matched the S-shaped streaks snaking through her wedge of triangular magenta hair. “I assume you’re looking for our Complete Woman package?”

Eve smiled pleasantly. “Is that a dig?”

The woman blinked with a flurry of silver lashes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind, sister. I want to talk about your Natural Perfection line.”

“Yes, of course. It’s the very best cosmetic and enhancement line money can buy. I’ll be happy to arrange for a consultant to speak with you. Would you care to make an appointment?”

“Yeah.” Eve slapped her badge on the console. “Now would be good.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can see that. Get me whoever runs this place.”

“Excuse me a moment.” The woman shifted on her high stool and spoke softly into her ‘link. “Simon, could you come up front please?”

With her thumbs in her front pockets, Eve rocked back on her heels and studied the elegant bottles and tubes in the revolving display behind the console. “What’s all that?”

“Personalized scents. We feed your personality and physical traits into a program and create a scent that is uniquely you. The container is your choice. Each is one of a kind and, once selected, will never be made again.”

“Interesting.”

“They make thoughtful gifts,” she arched a razor-thin brow, “but are quite exclusive and expensive.”

“Really?” Irritated by the sarcasm, Eve sent her a tawny, slitted stare. “I want one.”

“Naturally the purchase must be prepaid before programming.”

Seriously riled, Eve imagined grabbing a handful of that stiff, streaked hair and rapping the perfect, sneering face firmly against the console. She took one step forward as hurried footsteps sounded on the floor behind her.

“Yvette, what seems to be the problem? I’m swamped back there.”

“She’s the problem,” Yvette said with a thin smile, and Eve turned and got a full blast of the magnificent Simon.

The eyes caught her first. They were a pale, almost translucent blue framed by thick dark lashes and thin ebony brows that each peaked to a ruler-sharp point in the middle. His hair was a brilliant ruby red, swept high off his forehead and temples and styled to tumble in a snowfall of springy curls to the middle of his back.

His skin had the dull gold sheen indicating mixed-race heritage or complexion dyes. His mouth was painted a deep bronze, and riding along his prominent left cheekbone was a white unicorn with gold horn and hooves.

He swept back the electric-blue cape draped over his shoulders. Beneath he wore a skinsuit of chartreuse and silver stripes with a deeply scooped neckline. A tangle of gold chains gleamed against his impressive chest. He angled his head, sending the long gold dangles in his ears dancing as he set one hand on one slim hip and studied Eve.

“And what can I do for you, dear heart?”

“I want — “

“Wait, wait!” He threw up both hands, palms out, revealing a chain of hearts and flowers tattooed there. “I know that face.” With a dramatic toss of his head, he circled Eve and gave her a whiff of his scent.

Plums, she thought. The guy smelled like plums.

“Faces,” he continued while Eve’s eyes narrowed, “are, after all, my art, my business, my stock and trade. I’ve seen yours. Oh yes indeed, I have.”

Abruptly, he grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “Look, pal — “

“Roarke’s wife!” He squealed it, then planted a loud, juicy kiss on her mouth, leaping back before she could follow through with the urge to punch him. “That’s who you are! Darling,” he crooned, turning with his hands crossed over his heart to the receptionist. “Roarke’s wife is in our humble salon.”

“Roarke’s wife?” Yvette went bright red, then lost all color. “Oh,” she muttered and looked ill.

“Sit, you must sit and tell me everything you desire.” He scooped an arm around Eve’s shoulders and began to nudge her toward a chair. “Yvette, be a lamb and cancel all my consultations. Dear lady, I am yours. Where shall we begin?”

“You can begin by stepping back, ace.” She shrugged off his arm, and with some regret pulled out her badge instead of her weapon. “I’m here on police business.”

“Oh my, oh my goodness.” Simon patted his hands to his cheeks. “How could I have forgotten? Roarke’s wife is one of New York’s finest. Forgive me, dear heart.”

“The name is Dallas, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Of course.” Then he smiled sweetly. “Forgive me, Lieutenant. My enthusiasm… I tend to emote. Seeing you here, I lost my head, if you will. You see, you’re on our top ten wish list, along with Madam President and Slinky LeMar — the video Queen,” he added when Eve’s eyes remained narrowed. “It’s excellent company.”

“Right. I need your client list for the Natural Perfection line.”

“Our client list.” He laid a hand on his heart again, and sat. He touched the video screen and had the menu popping on. “A sparkling lemon. Please, Lieutenant, allow me to offer you some refreshment.”

“I’m fine.” But because he looked chastised and didn’t appear to be planning on grabbing her again, she sat across from him. “I need the list, Simon.”

“Is it permissible to ask why?”

“I’m investigating a homicide.”

“A murder.” He whispered it, leaned closer. “I know it’s dreadful, but I find that terribly exciting. I’m an avid fan of mystery and detective videos.” He offered that sweet smile again, and despite herself Eve softened.

“This is a little different than a video, Simon.”

“I know, I know. It’s horrid of me. Ghoulish. But I can’t imagine how a line of cosmetics and enhancements figure into a…” His eyes went wide and bright. “Poison? Was it poison? Someone added poison to the lip dyes. The victim prepared herself for a glorious night on the town — perhaps she used Radical Red, or no, no, Bombshell Bronze, then — “

“Get a grip on yourself, Simon.”

His lashes fluttered, his color went bright, then he chuckled warmly. “I should be spanked.” Without glancing over, he scooped a tall, slim glass of pale yellow liquid from the serving droid that zipped to his chair. “Of course, we’ll cooperate, Lieutenant, in any way we can. I should warn you that our client list is quite extensive. If you could give me specific products, we could whittle it down considerably.”

“Give me the whole shot for now, then I’ll see what I can do.”

“At your command.” He rose, bowed, then waltzed behind the console. “Yvette, give dear Lieutenant Dallas some samples while I perform this little task for her. There’s a lamb.”

“I don’t need any samples.” Eve smiled thinly at Yvette. “But I want the scent we were talking about.”

“Absolutely.” The receptionist nearly knelt at Eve’s feet. “Would this be for yourself?”

“No, it’s a gift.”

“And a very thoughtful one.” Yvette took a personal palm computer out of her pocket. “Male or female?”

“Female.”

“Could you give me three of her strongest personality traits? As in bold or shy or romantic.”

“Intelligent,” Eve said, thinking of Dr. Mira. “Compassionate. Thorough.”

“Very good. Now something of the physical?”

“Medium height, slender, brown hair, blue eyes, light complexion.”

“That’s very nice,” Yvette said. For a police report, she thought in disgust. “What color brown is her hair? How does she wear it?”

Eve hissed between her teeth. This Christmas shopping was tough stuff. Doing her best, she focused and described the city’s top profiler and shrink.

By the time Peabody walked in, she was choosing the bottle and waiting for Simon to generate hard copy and disc.

“You shopped again.”

“No, I bought again.”

“Should we have this delivered to your home or office, Lieutenant?”

“Home.”

“Would you like it gift wrapped?”

“Hell. Yeah, yeah, wrap it up. Simon, how about that data?”

“Just coming, Lieutenant dear.” He looked up, beamed at her. “I’m so happy we could help you in that matter.” He slipped the papers and disc into a gold foil shopping bag. “I added some samples. I think you’ll find them perfect. Naturally.” He chuckled at his own joke as he passed the bag to Eve. “And I hope you’ll keep me informed. Please come back, any time, any time at all. I’d love to work on you.”

CHAPTER SIX

An ocean of humanity swamped Fifth Avenue. People swarmed on the sidewalks, the people glides, clogged the intersections and crowded at display windows, all in a flurry to get into stores and buy.

Some, already burdened like pack mules with shopping bags, elbowed and shoved their way through the waves of pedestrians to fight the hopeless fight for a cab.

Overhead advertising blimps encouraged the masses toward a shopping frenzy with competing announcements of sales and products no consumer could live without.

“They’re all insane,” Eve decided as she watched a mini-stampede toward a maxibus heading downtown. “Every one of them.”

“You bought something twenty minutes ago.”

“In a civilized and dignified manner.”

Peabody shrugged. “I like crowds at Christmastime.”

“Then I’m about to make you very happy. We’re getting out.”

“Here?”

“It’s as close as we’re going to get in a vehicle.” Eve nosed her car through the stream of people and inched it toward the curb at Fifth and Fifty-first. “The jeweler’s just a few blocks down. We’ll make better time on foot.”

Peabody shoe-horned her way out, and caught up with Eve’s long strides on the corner. The wind rushed down the street like a river through a canyon and turned the tip of her nose pink before they’d managed a block.

“I hate this shit,” Eve muttered. “Half these people don’t even live here. They come in from all over hell and back to clog the streets every damn December.”

“And drop a nice ton of money in our economy.”

“Cause delays, petty crime, traffic accidents. You try to get uptown at six o’clock some night. It’s ugly.” Scowling, she walked through the roasting meat-scented steam of a corner glide-cart.

A shout had her flicking her glance to the left in time to see a scuffle. She lifted a brow in mild interest as a street thief on airskates toppled a pair of women, snatched what bags he could reach, snagged both purses, and skimmed away through the crowd.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.” Eve noted his grin of triumph as he weaved through the crowds of people, gaining speed as they leaped out of his path.

He ducked, swiveled, dodged, then veered around toward Eve’s right. Their eyes met for one brief second, his bright with excitement, hers flat and level. She pivoted and took him out with one short-armed, back-fisted punch. Had there been less of a crowd, she thought he would have sailed nicely for ten feet or so. Instead he barreled back into a group of people, upended with his skates still humming and facing the sky.

Blood gushed out of his nose. His eyes rolled back white.

“See if you can get a beat cop in here to take care of this jerk.” Eve flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulder, then absently put one booted foot on the thief’s midriff as he began to moan and squirm. “You know what, Peabody? I feel a lot better now.”

Later, Eve thought busting the thief had been the high point of her day. She didn’t learn squat from the jeweler. Neither he nor his sour-faced clerk remembered anything about the customer who’d paid cash for the partridge pin. It was Christmas, the jeweler had complained, even while his clerk rang up sales with the speed and precision of an accounting droid. How was he supposed to remember one transaction?

Eve suggested he think harder, and contact her when his memory cleared. Then ended up buying a copper ear chain for Mavis’s lover, Leonardo — much to Peabody’s disgust.

“You catch some transpo, go back to the house, and work with McNab.”

“Why don’t you just punch me in the face with a bare fist?”

“Handle it, Peabody. I’m going into Central. I’ll need to give Whitney an update, and I want to see Mira, start her working on a profile.”

“Maybe you’ll pick up a few more Christmas presents on the way.”

Eve stopped by her car. “Was that sarcasm?”

“I don’t think so. It was too direct for sarcasm.”

“Find me a match on those lists, Peabody, or we start interviewing lonely hearts.”

Eve left Peabody elbowing her way toward Sixth to catch a maxibus uptown. She engaged her ‘link as she headed in the opposite direction, and set up the two meetings.

She scanned the incoming, listened to Nadine’s harried voice, and decided to give the reporter a break. “Stop whining, Nadine.”

“Dallas, Christ, where have you been?”

“Keeping the city safe for you and yours.”

“Look, there’s just enough time to plug something into my noon report. Give me a line here.”

“I just busted a mugger on Fifth.”

“Don’t be droll, I’m up against the wall. What’s the connection between the two murders?”

“Which two murders? We got a lot of bodies this time of year. Christmas brings out that wacky holiday spirit.”

Nadine snarled audibly. “Hawley and Greenbalm. Come on, Dallas. Two women strangled. I’ve got that much. You’re primary on both. I hear there was sexual molestation. Will you confirm?”

“The department will not confirm or deny at this time.”

“Rape and sodomy.”

“No comment.”

“Damn it, why the hardball?”

“I don’t have any breathing room right now. I’m trying to stop a killer, Nadine, and I just can’t be too worried about the ratings for Channel 75.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“I guess we are, and because of that when I’ve got something to give, you’ll get it.”

Nadine’s eyes brightened. “First, exclusive?”

“Don’t keep tying up my ‘link.”

“A one-on-one, Dallas. Let me set it up. I can be at Cop Central by one.”

“No. I’ll let you know when and where, but I don’t have time for you today.” And time, Eve thought, was the biggest factor. No one she knew researched as fast or as deep as Nadine Furst. “You’re not seeing anybody in particular these days, are you, Nadine?”

“Seeing anyone — as in dating or sleeping with? No, not in particular.”

“Ever try one of those dating services?”

“Please.” Nadine’s eyelashes fluttered as she lifted her hand to examine her manicure. “I think I can find my own men.”

“Just a thought. I hear they’re popular.” Eve paused and watched Nadine’s eyes narrow and glitter. “You might want to give it a try.”

“Yeah, I might do that. Thanks. Gotta run. I’m on in five.”

“One thing. Do I have to buy you a Christmas present?”

Nadine’s brows went up, her lips curved in a wide smile. “Absolutely.”

“Damn, I was afraid of that.” Frowning, Eve broke transmission and steered into the garage at Cop Central.

On the way to Whitney’s office, she snagged an energy bar and a tube of Extra-Zing Coke from a vending machine. She wolfed down the bar, chugged the soft drink, and as a result stepped into Whitney’s office feeling slightly ill.

“Status, Lieutenant?”

“I have McNab from EDD working with my aide at my home office, Commander. We have the lists from Personally Yours for each victim. We’re hoping to get a match. We’re still working on the jewelry he left with the victims, and have the brand and projected source for the enhancements he used.”

He nodded. Whitney was a powerfully built man with a smooth, dark complexion and tired eyes. Through the window at his back, Eve could see the city — the constant flow of air traffic around the spears of buildings; people moving around offices behind other windows. She knew if you stepped up to that window, you could look down and see the street below. All the people rushing to or away. All the lives that needed protecting.

As always she thought she preferred her cramped office and limited view.

“Do you know how many tourists and out-of-state consumers come into the city in the weeks before Christmas?”

“No, sir.”

“The mayor gave me the estimated number this morning when he called to inform me the city couldn’t afford a serial killer scaring away holiday dollars.” His smile was thin and humorless. “He didn’t seem, at that point, to be overly concerned with residents of the city being raped and strangled, but with the distressing side effects such events could cause if the media plays the Santa killer angle.”

“The media isn’t aware of that angle at this time.”

“How long before it leaks?” Whitney leaned back, kept his eyes level and on Eve’s.

“Maybe a couple of days. Channel 75 has already been tipped that they’re sexual homicides, but their data is patchy at this point.”

“Let’s see if we can keep it that way. How long before he hits again?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.” No way to stop it, she thought, and saw by Whitney’s face he understood.

“The dating service is the only connection you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir. At this time. There’s no indication that the victims knew each other. They lived in different parts of the city, moved in widely different circles. They weren’t of a type, physically.”

She paused, waiting, but Whitney said nothing. “I’m going to consult with Mira,” Eve continued. “But in my opinion he’s already established a pattern and a goal. He wants twelve on or before the end of the year. That’s less than two weeks, so he has to move quickly.”

“So do you.”

“Yes, sir. The source of his victims has to be Personally Yours. We’ve tagged the cosmetics used on the victims. Sources of purchase for them in the city are fairly limited. We have the pins he left at both sites.” Then she exhaled. “He knew we could trace the cosmetics; he left the pins deliberately. He feels secure that his tracks are covered. If we don’t find a match within the next twenty-four hours, our best defense might be the media.”

“And tell them what? If you spot a fat man in a red suit, call a cop?” He pushed back from his desk. “Find a match, Lieutenant. I don’t want twelve bodies under my tree this Christmas.”

Eve pulled out her communicator as she left Whitney’s office. “McNab, make me happy.”

“I’m doing my best, Lieutenant.” He gestured with what appeared to be a slice of pineapple pizza. “I’ve pretty well eliminated the ex-husband of the first victim. He was at an arena ball match with three friends on the night of the murder. Peabody’s going to check on the three pals, but it looks solid. No transpo to New York was issued under his name. He hasn’t been to the east coast in over two years.”

“One down,” Eve said as she hopped a glide. “Give me more.”

“None of the names on Hawley’s list match any on Greenbalm’s, but I’m checking finger- and voiceprints to make sure nobody tried to pull a fast one there.”

“Good thinking.”

“And two on Hawley’s list look clear so far. Need to follow up, but they’re alibied. I’m just going into Greenbalm’s now.”

“Run the names on the cosmetics first.” She dragged a hand through her hair as she stepped off the glide and squeezed into an elevator. “I should be back within two hours.”

She got off the elevator, crossed a small lobby area, and entered Mira’s offices. There was no one at the reception desk, and Mira’s door stood open. Poking her head in, Eve saw Mira reviewing a case file on video and nibbling on a thin sandwich.

It wasn’t often she caught Mira unaware, Eve mused. Mira was a woman who saw almost everything. Too much, Eve often thought, when it came to herself.

She wasn’t sure what had caused the bond to form between them. She respected Mira’s abilities — though they sometimes made her uncomfortable.

Mira was a small, cleanly built woman with soft sable hair waving elegantly around a cool, attractive face. She habitually wore slim suits in quiet colors. Eve supposed that Mira represented all she, Eve, thought a lady should be: self-contained, quietly elegant, well spoken.

Dealing with mental defectives, violent tendencies, and habitual perverts never seemed to ruffle Mira’s composure or her compassion. Her profiles of madmen and murderers were invaluable to the New York Police and Security Department.

Eve hesitated at the door just long enough for Mira to sense her. The psychiatrist turned her head, and her blue eyes warmed when they met Eve’s.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Your assistant isn’t at her station.”

“She’s at lunch. Come in, close the door. I was expecting you.”

Eve glanced at the sandwich. “I’m cutting into your break.”

“Cops and doctors. We take our breaks where we find them. Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thanks.” The energy bar wasn’t sitting well in her stomach, which made her wonder just how long it had been since the vending machine had been serviced.

Despite Eve’s refusal, Mira rose and ordered tea from the AutoChef. It was a ritual Eve had learned to live with. She’d sip the faintly floral-tasting brew, but she didn’t have to like it.

“I’ve reviewed the data you were able to transmit, and the copies of your case reports. I’ll have a complete and written profile for you tomorrow.”

“What can you give me today?”

“Probably little you haven’t gleaned for yourself.” Mira settled back in one of the blue scoop chairs similar to those in Simon’s salon.

Eve’s face, she noted, was a bit too pale, a bit too thin. Mira hadn’t seen her since Eve’s return to duty, and her doctor’s eye diagnosed that the return had been rushed.

But she kept that opinion to herself.

“The person you’re looking for is likely a male between the ages of thirty and fifty-five,” she began. “He’s controlled, calculating, and organized. He enjoys the spotlight and feels he deserves to be the focus of attention. He may have had some aspirations toward acting or a connection to the field.”

“He showed off for the camera, played to it.”

“Exactly.” Mira nodded, pleased. “He employed costumes and props, and not just, in my opinion, as tools and disguises. But for the flair of it, and the irony. I wonder if he sees his cruelty as irony.”

She took a breath, shifted her legs, and sipped at her tea. If she’d believed Eve would actually drink the cup she’d given her, Mira would have added some vitamins to it. “It’s possible. It’s a stage, a show. He enjoys that aspect very much. The preparation, the details. He’s a coward, but a careful one.”

“They’re all cowards,” Eve stated and had Mira tilting her head.

“Yes, you would see it that way, because to you the taking of a life is only justifiable in defense of another. For you murder is the ultimate cowardice. But in this case, I would say he recognizes his own fears. He drugs his victims quickly — not to save them pain but to prevent them from fighting, and perhaps overcoming him physically. He needs to set the stage. He puts them in bed, restrains them before cutting off their clothes. He doesn’t strip them in a rage, and he makes certain they’re bound before he goes to the next step. Now they’re helpless, now they’re his.”