Creation In Death

“I do.”

“Send me a copy. I’ll reach out to Romania again, see if they’ll get me the juice on her case. You got anything else?”

“A lot of screaming tabloid headlines, screen and print. My busy bees will pick through them, see if there’s anything worth looking at twice.”

“Let me know.”

When she clicked off, Eve noted down: Pale man. Music. Tree of life. Death house.

Then she went to snag Peabody.

I think it’s getting warmer.” Peabody hunched her shoulders and tried to lever her body so the wild March wind didn’t blow straight into her marrow.

“Are you standing on the same side of the equator as I am?”

“No, really. I think it’s a couple of degrees up from yesterday. And seeing as it’s March, it’s practically April. So it’s almost summer if you think about it.”

“The frigid wind has obviously damaged your brain.” Eve pulled out her badge for the security sca

“No! I can do it. It’s freezing, okay. The wind’s so freaking cold it’s drilling right through my corneas into my retinas. But it hasn’t yet entered the brain.”

When they were cleared, Peabody stepped in, yanked off her earflap cap. “Do I have hat hair? You can’t effectively interview with hat hair.”

“You have hair. Be satisfied with that.”

“Hat hair,” Peabody muttered, raking her hands through it, shaking her head, fluffing and pushing as they got in the elevator.

“Stop! Stop being a girl. Jesus, that’s a

“Baxter would combat hat hair before an interview.”

Because it was inarguably true, Eve only scowled. “He doesn’t count.”

“And there’s Miniki. He-”

“Keep it up, and I’ll tie you down and shave you bald. You won’t ever suffer the pain and embarrassment of hat hair again.”

Eve strode out of the elevator, followed the numbers to Cal Marshall’s apartment.

“Do I still take the lead?” Peabody asked, meekly.

Eve sent her a withering look, then knocked. When the door opened, she shifted slightly to the side so that Peabody had the front ground.

“Mr. Marshall? I’m Detective Peabody. We spoke earlier. This is my partner, Lieutenant Dallas. May we come in?”

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah.”

He was blond, ta

“Why don’t we sit down?”

“What? Yeah, we should sit.”

Through an open door, Eve spotted the bed-made-with a large duffle tossed on it. There was a snowboard tipped against the wall. In the living area, a heavy ski coat was draped over a chair, the lift pass still clipped on it.

On the molded black table in front of the dark blue gel sofa were several empty bottles of beer.

Came in, Eve mused, tossed down his gear, checked his ’link messages. Got the word. Sat here and drank most of the night.

“I heard. I got home and heard-” He rubbed at his eyes. “Um, Bale-he heard from Zela. She works with Sari at the club. She told him…he told me.”

“It must’ve been a shock,” Peabody said. “That was the first you heard of her death? You didn’t have your pocket ’link, or see any reports while you were gone?”

“I shut down my ’link. Just wanted to board. It was all about boarding. Me and Bale went out to Colorado. Incommunicado Colorado. Big joke,” he said. “Shuttled back last night. Bale, he’s closer to the station, got home first. Zela left him a message. Zela talked to him. He called. I got home, and he…”

“You and Sarifina were involved.”

“We were…we were together until a couple of weeks ago.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “A couple of weeks…We broke up.”

“Why did you break up?”

“She was always too busy. She was always…” He trailed off, lifted his gaze to Peabody’s. “I wanted more, okay? I wanted her more available, more interested in what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. It wasn’t working out, not the way I wanted it. So I said I was done with it. With her.”

“You argued.”

“Yeah. We both got pretty harsh. She said I was selfish, immature, self-involved. I said something like, ‘Right back at you.’ Shit, shit, shit. She’s dead. Bale said…I was snowboarding and trashing her to Bale. And she was dead. You think I hurt her? I wanted to hurt her. Here,” he said, thumping a fist to his heart. “I wanted her to feel crappy that I flipped her, you know? I wanted her to be lonely and miserable while I found somebody-lots of somebodies-who knew how to have a good time. Christ.”

He dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, my Christ.”

“We don’t think you hurt her, Mr. Marshall. Before you broke up, did she stay here with you?”

“Less and less. Things were disintegrating. We barely saw each other. Once or twice a week maybe.”

“Did she ever mention anyone bothering her? Anyone that made her uncomfortable?”

“We weren’t doing a lot of talking lately.” He said it quietly while he looked down at his hands. “I don’t remember her saying anything like that. She liked the old guys who came into the club. Especially the old guys. Smooth, she said. They got smooth with age, like whiskey or something. Some hit on her now and then, and she got a kick out of it. At least I didn’t get twisted about that. I thought it was fu

“Anyone specifically?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention. I’m not into that retro crap. Bored me senseless, you know? She looked good though, when she dressed up for work? Man, she looked good.”

N ot much of a well to pump there,” Peabody commented as they rode down.

“I don’t know. She liked older men, older men liked her. It’s high probability the killer is an older man.”

“And?”

“I bet he chatted her up somewhere along the line. A week or two before he grabbed her, he makes contact in the club. That’d be a big thrill for him, having a conversation, maybe a dance with his intended victim. A good way to get another sense of her, a gauge, a rhythm.”

“Yeah.” Peabody hissed in her breath as they started outside. “And…If he did, and she saw him later-on the street, wherever he made the grab, she’d be friendly, at ease. It’s Mr. Smooth from Starlight.”

“So, if he made contact with her…maybe he made contact with Gia Rossi.”

“The fitness center.”

“Place to start.”

H e knew how to blend. He knew how to make himself inconspicuous, so that eyes passed over him without notice. It was a skill he put to good use during the research phase of any project.

He used it now as he watched her-Eve Dallas-stride out of the apartment building, down the street. Ground-eating strides. Loose and busy. Strong.

He very much approved of strong women-physically and mentally.

She’d been strong. The Eve of all the others. The mother. She’d been very strong, he remembered, but he believed this Eve-this last Eve-would be stronger than any who had come before.

Not time for you yet, he thought as he watched her, watched the way she moved. Not quite time for this Eve. But when it was, oh…

He believed she would be his finest work to date. A new level of excellence. And the pi

But for now, there was another who required his attention.

He really should get home to her.

T he manager of BodyWorks was a six-foot Asian with a body like molded steel. He went by the name of Pi. He wore a black skin-suit and a small, trim goatee.

“Like I told the other cops, it was just another day. Gia had her classes, her clients. I gave them the client list. Do you need-”