Betrayal in Death

"It's not usual for a client to pay cash?"

"Oh, we do a lot of cash transactions, but I've never personally done one over two thousand dollars, and this was more than four times that. I guess he saw I was goggling, because he smiled at me again and said that he preferred to pay as he went."

"You spent a lot of time with him then."

"More than an hour."

"Tell me about his speech pattern. Did he have an accent?"

"Sort of. Not really anything I could place. He had a kind of high voice. Almost like a woman's. But very nice, soft and well, cultured, I guess. Come to think of it, his voice fit the DG more than it fit him, if you know what I mean."

"Did he mention his name, anything about where he lived, where he worked?"

"No. Early on, I tried to coax his name out by saying something like: I'd be happy to show you other styles, Mr… But he just smiled and shook his head. So I called him 'sir' the whole time. I suppose I thought he lived in New York because he took away rather than having sent or shipped, but I suppose he could have been from anywhere."

"You said you thought you'd seen him in here before."

"I'm pretty sure. Not long after I started working here, in the early part of the Christmas rush. Late October, maybe early November. At the skin counter again. He was wearing a coat and hat, but I really think it was the same man."

"Did you wait on him?"

"No, it was Nina. But I remember, sure, I remember now because we bumped into each other behind the counter getting products for our clients and she said how this guy was buying the whole Artistry skin-care line – that's who makes Youth. That's a couple thousand, and a really good commission, so I took a peek thinking how I wished I'd snagged him instead of Nina."

"But you hadn't noticed him before or since."

"No, ma'am."

Eve took her through a few more questions, then asked to see Nina.

Nina's memory wasn't as keen as Letta's. But when Eve moved from her to other clerks, she picked up just enough to be certain Yost dropped into Paradise once or twice a year.

"He'll have other places, other cities," she told Peabody when they were back in the car. "But on this same level. He won't settle for less. Always cash, and he'll know what he wants when he walks in. He pays attention to advertising, researches his products."

"Watches a lot of screen."

"Likely, but I'd bet this guy runs the product data on his computer. He wants a handle on the ingredients, the manufacturer's record, the consumer endorsements. Let's see what EDD can do about tracing that skin line backwards from last October when he made that purchase. He bought the whole ball of wax so that could mean he'd seen the ad, done the research, then decided to try it out. Artistry's bound to have a site for consumer information and questions."

She tried the luggage store next. None of the clerks recalled a man meeting Yost's description buying the carry-on. But downtown, she hit gold, so to speak, with the silver wire.

The clerk had an excellent visual memory. Eve clued into this the moment she stepped up to the small display counter with its riot of loose stones, silver coils, and empty settings under the glass. The clerk's eyes wheeled, his lips began to tremble. She heard his breath heave and initially feared a cardiac incident.

"Mrs. Roarke! Mrs. Roarke!"

His voice was heavily accented with what she thought might have been East Indian, but she was too busy wincing to worry about his origin.

"Dallas." She slapped her badge on the countertop. "Lieutenant Dallas."

"We are honored. We are unworthy." He began to shout something unintelligible to one of his associates. "Please, please. You will select anything you want in our humble establishment. As a gift. You like necklace? Bracelet? You like maybe earrings."

"Information. Only information."

"We take a picture. Yes? We see you many times onscreen, and hope for the day you might come into our unworthy shop." He piped something else to the young man who scrambled over with a miniature holo-camera.

"Hold it, hold it. Just hold it!"

"Your famous husband is not with you today? You are shopping, yes, with your companion. We will give also a gift to your companion."

"Yeah?" Delighted, Peabody edged closer.

"Shut up, Peabody. No, I am not shopping. This is police business. Police business."

"We did not call for the police." He turned to the younger man busily taking holo-shots, let out a series of quick high sounds. The response was rapid, and accompanied by a fierce head shake.

"No, we did not call for the police. We have no trouble here. You would like this necklace." He pulled one out of a long shallow drawer under the counter. "Our gift to you. We design, we make. You will honor us to wear it."

Under other circumstances, Eve would have been tempted to just punch him to shut him up. But his dark eyes were shining with hope, and his smile was as sweet as a cocker spaniel's. "That's very nice of you, but I'm not allowed to accept. I'm here on police business. If I accept your gift, it would cause trouble."

"Trouble for you? No, no, we want to give you no trouble. Just a gift."

"Thanks very much. Some other time. You could help me by looking at this picture. Do you recognize this man?"

Confusion and disappointment drenched his eyes. He continued to hold the necklace up as he looked at the photograph. "Yes, this is Mr. John Smith."

"John Smith?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith, he is a hobby – has a hobby," he corrected. "To make the wearable art. But he buys no stones that we suggest. Only the silver wire. Two feet in length. Very specific."

"How often does he buy his wire?"

"Oh, he comes in two of the times. First it was cold outside. Before the Christmastime. Then in the last week, he comes again. But he does not have this hair on his head. I welcome him back to our store and ask if he would like now to look at stones or glass, but again he wants only the silver."

"And he pays in cash?"

"Yes, both of the times in cash money."

"How do you know his name?"

"I ask him name. Please to give me your name, sir, and will you tell me how you have heard of our humble establishment."

"What was his answer?"

"He is John Smith and he has seen our business page on the Internet. Is this helpful to you, Mrs. Lieutenant Dallas Roarke?"

"Just Lieutenant, and yes, it's helpful. What else can you tell me about him? Did he talk about his hobby?"

"He did not care to talk. He did not…" He closed his eyes, searching for a word. "Linger," he said, beaming. "I say to my young brother that I do not see how Mr. Smith can have success with his hobby as he does not have interest in stones or glass or other metals. He does not look at the many designs we have on display. He does not wish to speak about his work. He is instead… very strict business ways. Business… like. That is correct?"

"Yeah."

"He is polite. Once the 'link in his pocket rings, but he does not answer while he is doing business. I ask if the wire he purchased in the winter worked well for him, if he was satisfied. He tells me only that it did the job. Then he smiles, and I hope he is not your friend, because I do not like his smile at that time. I sell him the wire and am glad he leaves. I have offended you."

"No. You interest me. Peabody, do we have a card?"

"Yes, sir." Peabody rooted one of Eve's cards out of her own pocket.

"I'd appreciate you contacting me if he comes in again. I don't want you to alert or alarm him in any way, or tell him anyone's asked about him. If he comes in, you or your brother should go into the back, away from him, and contact me."

The clerk nodded. "He is a bad man?"