Born In Death

“She must have dealt with some clients directly.”

“In the office, or in theirs – New York-based. Some travel, too, sure. But nothing out of the ordinary I’ve found. No last-minute appointments worked in, according to her assistant. No last-minute travel to meet with a client or their representatives. If you look at her office, on the surface, it’s straight business as usual. Taking the home units without making it look like a bungled burglary was a mistake.”

“I don’t know.” He considered it. “Simpler, as you said, to take the units than to stay there and fiddle with them. Especially since the killer had a second job to do. It could simply be confidence. Go ahead and look at her office files, I’ve taken care of that. Covered the tracks.”

“Nobody ever covers them all the way. Okay, okay, present company excepted,” she added when he lifted an eyebrow. “If he was as good as you, and as – let’s say – meticulous – he’d have found a better way to do Copperfield and Byson.”

“Such as?”

“Arrange a meet, take them out together outside their apartments. You make it look like a mugging or a thrill kill. Rape the woman, or him, or both. Send the investigators mixed signals. I figure I’m looking for someone focused on the task – eliminate the threat, remove the evidence. That’s straight-line thinking, leaving out the flourishes.”

“Perhaps the only way he could take lives was to block out all but the target. Reach the goal, don’t consider the enormity of the action to get there.”

“I don’t think so, or not completely. Yeah, okay, reaching the goal. But if he’d needed to distance himself emotionally from the action, he wouldn’t use strangulation. It’s intimate. And it was face-to-face.”

Narrowing her eyes, she brought the crime scenes, the bodies, back into her mind. “He experienced the killings. You don’t want an active part in it? You got the tape right there. You slap it over their mouths, over their nose, and you walk away. You don’t have to see them suffer and die. But he looked right into their eyes as they did.

“And this isn’t what I need you for,” she snapped. “I can get into his head. Or I can get a profile from Mira, talk it through with her. I need a numbers man. I need a business man. Big business, big risks, big benefits. I need you to look at the data, analyze it in a way I can’t.”

“And I will. But tonight I’d prefer the generalities. I can take a look at her client list, give you a take on what I know that might not show on records or bios.”

“Why tonight?”

He considered again. Easier to evade, but she’d been straight with him and deserved the same. “I’m going to have my lawyers draft a con tract of sorts which will prohibit me from using any of the data I may be privy to during the course of this investigation.”

“No.”

“It covers our respective asses. It will also prohibit you, or any member of the team, from revealing the name of the organization, corporation or company whose data I analyze. I can, quite easily, work with the figures only.”

Frustration nearly blew out of the top of her head. “This is a crock. Your word’s good enough.”

“For you, and thank you for it. But it’s simple enough to do, and it’s logical. It’s very likely I’m in competition, or certainly will be at some point, with some or all of the clients on your victims’ list. And at some point, while I can promise you I wouldn’t use the data you’ve put in my hands – ”

“I don’t want your damn promise!” she exploded.

Her fury over it was like a warm, comforting kiss. “Then none of that between us. But, let’s be practical. It could appear, or be argued that I have or will use it. It still could, come to that, but this shows good intent at least.”

“It’s insulting to you.”

“Not if I offer it – more, insist on it. Which is exactly what I’m doing.” He knew how to calculate the odds, he thought. How to manipulate them. And how to win. “I won’t look at any of the data unless you agree to this provision. We can argue about it if you like, but that’s my line. I’ll have it taken care of, then we’ll move forward.”

“Fine. Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” She had to fight back the urge to kick something again.

“It is. I’m happy to look at the client list.”

She moved to her desk, pulled out a hard copy from her file bag. “Look it over, think it over. I’ve got some runs to do meanwhile.”

And some sulking, he imagined. “I’ll be in my office, then.”

She did sulk, but she worked while she was at it.

She did probabilities and was satisfied that the computer agreed – at 93.4 percent – that someone inside the firm was co

She studied her notes, Peabody ’s reports, the lab’s, the ME’s, the crime-scene records. And put up a second murder board.

New lock on the door, she reminded herself. Kitchen knife in the bedroom. But Natalie hadn’t been afraid enough to bunk with her boyfriend, or hole up in a hotel. Not afraid enough to tell her sister not to come and stay with her.

“Knew the killer,” Eve said aloud. “Or the go-between. Nervous, excited, cautious, but not seriously afraid for her life. Knife in the bedroom. Girl thing.”

She paced in front of the board as she thought. Any serious attacker could probably have disarmed a woman of Copperfield’s build. But she’s alone, starts wigging just a little. Takes the knife like she could use it if she had to.

“Not a stupid woman, but seriously naive,” Eve added. “Go

When her ’link beeped, she turned, answered it absently. “ Dallas.”

“Hey, I know it’s late but I got this brainstorm.” Peabody ’s brows drew together on the display screen. “Are you still working?”

“Who did she tell?”

“Who, what?”

Obviously, Eve thought as she pulled her mind away from the murder board, Peabody wasn’t still working. “What brainstorm?”

“About the shower?”

“Oh, Christ on a plastic crutch.”

“Look, it’s the day after tomorrow.”

“No, it’s not. It’s on Saturday.”

“And tomorrow being Friday, Saturday follows. At least in my pretty little world.”

“Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“So anyway, I’ve got the theme going, and picked up some stuff on my way home. I thought if I came by there tomorrow night, stayed over, we could put it all together in the morning.”

“What does that mean, putting it all together?”

“Well, the decorations, and these flower things I ordered, and, well…stuff. Plus I got this idea about the rocker system you bought her and how we can use it as a focal point, but disguise it like a throne until – ”

“Please, in the name of God, don’t tell me any more.”

“So it chills with you if me and McNab bunk there tomorrow night?”

“Sure, bring the family, all your friends, strangers you find on the street. All are welcome here.”

“Uptown! Catch you in the morning.”

She clicked off, then sat on the edge of her desk staring at nothing in particular. Baby showers and double murders. Was she the only one who could see they didn’t mix? She wasn’t equipped for the first. It wasn’t in her makeup.

But she’d tried, hadn’t she? She’d called the caterer, and she’d let Mavis invite a horde of people – many of whom would be stranger than alien mutants. And still, it wasn’t enough.

“Why do I have to decorate?” she demanded when Roarke stepped to the doorway.

“You don’t. In fact, I sincerely wish you wouldn’t. I like our home as it is.”

“See? Me, too.” She threw out her arms. “Why does it have to get tricked out for a baby shower?”

“Oh. That. Well…I have no idea. I really choose to remain ignorant in this particular area of societal customs.”

“ Peabody said we have to have a theme.”

He looked momentarily baffled. “A song?”

“I don’t know.” Confused, Eve covered her eyes with her hands. “And there’s going to be a throne.”