Portrait In Death

It's a hot summer night, and she's enjoying it.

Rachel! Hi.

Very friendly, very easy. Just happened to spot her. And she'd stop, recognize the face. Flash that pretty smile.

But the killer doesn't want to loiter on the path. Someone could come by. Maybe fall into step with her to keep moving, talk about school. What are you working on, how's it going?Want me to carry that bag for you, it looks heavy.

Can't take her out here, got to get her to the vehicle, and that means parking facility.

Something to show her, or give her. Something in the van/ car/truck. Parked right over on Broadway. Just take a minute. Lead her along a little, keep up the chatter.

Not too many people heading on or off the campus now. And there has to be some risk, or there's less thrill.

Eve detoured toward the four-level vehicle port on Broadway used for college parking. Students and faculty bought a holo-stamp, fixed it to the window. They could come and go as they pleased. Visitors bought an hourly or daily. She made a note to get the data on how many vehicles left the facility between nine and ten on the night of the murder.

Of course, he could have parked elsewhere, could have lucked out and found something on the street, but this was the closest point between dorm and the classroom. And the port was more secluded, less likely to have people nearby than a spot on the street.

It was jammed now, but it wouldn't have been that evening. Nobody would have paid any attention to two people heading toward a vehicle.

Top level would have been the smartest because there would be fewer cars, less traffic at the top.Get her in the elevator if it's empty, the glide if it's not. Elevator would be lucky. Inside, a quick move with a pressure syringe full of opiates, a little hand squeeze, and she's floating.

By the time you step out, Eve mused as she rode up to level four, she's light-headed.Not to worry, I'll drop you off close to the dorm. No trouble at all to drive you down. Gee, you look a little pale, let's get you in the car.

Eve stepped out on the level, sca

She'd be groggy, maybe unconscious by the time they were down to street level. Drive down Broadway and take her to the place you've prepared. Have to help her inside, so it's got to be fairly private. No lobby to go through, no security to record the moment. A house, a small downtown loft, a business closed for the night, an old building set for renovation.

A business maybe, with an apartment over it. All the conveniences in one place. Nobody to question what goes on inside when the doors are locked.

She stepped over to the rail, looked down over the campus, out over the city.

It could have been done in under fifteen minutes. Add the transportation time and there'd been plenty of time left to take that final portrait.

Back in her car, Eve contacted Peabody at Central. "Get me a list of businesses in or around the college that supply students. Clothes, food, recreation, study guides, whatever. And the photography studios and galleries in the same area. Flag anything that includes private residence. Toss out anything with families. The killer doesn't have a spouse and kiddies ru

She clicked off, and headed toward home.

She hated taking personal time. Hated knowing she'd feel guilty and small if she didn't take it. Marriage was a big enough mass to negotiate, but it had so damn many offshoots. Who could navigate all that?

She should be heading back down to Central, doing the run she'd just dumped on Peabody herself. Letting the data circle around in her head without this outside interference.

Why did people say a busy personal life made you a well-rounded individual? What it did was make you insane more than half the time. Things had been simpler when her edges had been squared off.

She'd done the job, she'd gone home. Maybe, if she'd been up for it, she'd have hung out with Mavis. Now and again, she might catch a post-shift beer with Feeney.

But there hadn't been all these people in her life to worry about. To care about, she admitted. And now there was no going back.

For better or worse, she thought as she swung through the gates. There was plenty of better with Roarke in her life. She couldn't begin to measure it. And if the worst was a ski

But when the hour was up, she thought as she jogged up the steps to the front door, she was back on the clock and Roarke would just have to deal with the patient on his own.

The house was cool and quiet. Her first thought was that there'd been complications, or some holdup at the hospital and she'd beaten Roarke home. She turned to the monitor in the foyer.

"Where is Roarke?"

DARLING EVE, WELCOME HOME…

The endearment, in the computer's polite tones, had her rolling her eyes. Roarke had some weird-ass sense of humor.

ROARKE IS IN SUMMERSET'S QUARTERS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO SPEAK WITH HIM?

"No. Hell." Did this mean she had to go back there? Into the snake's pit? Shenever went into Summerset's private quarters. Jamming her hands in her pockets, she paced in a circle. She didn't want to go back there. He might be in bed. Would she ever be able to erase the horror of Summerset in bed from her vision once seen?

She didn't think so.

But her only choice was to sneak out of the house again, and feel like an idiot for the rest of the day.

Stupidity or nightmare, she wondered, then hissed out a breath. She'd go back, but she wasnot going in the bedroom. She'd stay in the living area, consider it a courtesy to both herself and the patient. She'd see if Roarke needed anything-though what that might be she couldn't imagine-and get the hell out.

Duty done, life goes on.

She wasn't often in this section of the house. Why would she need to go to the kitchen when there were AutoChefs in virtually every other room? Summerset's private habitat was off the kitchen, with access via elevator and stair to the rest of the house. She knew he sometimes used some of the other rooms for music, for entertainment, and she liked to think for secret rituals.

The door to his suite was open, and the laughter that poured out put Eve in a better frame of mind. There was no mistaking Mavis Freestone's happy cackle.

Eve looked in and saw her oldest friend, still in mid-laugh as she stood in the center of the room. Mavis was made for the center, Eve thought.

She was such a little thing, almost fairylike. If you imagined your fairies in skin-baring sunsuits and neon gel sandals.

Mavis's hair was summer blonde today, a conservative color until you got to the pink and blue tips, and noted those curling tips were topped by tiny silver bells that rang cheerfully with every movement. The sunsuit was short and backless with a complex series of crisscrossing strips of that same pink and blue over each breast, to a bare midriff and a pair of micro-shorts.

Though the belly was flat as a board, Eve was reminded-with a sharp jolt-that Mavis had a baby cooking in there.

It was, probably, some sort of high-fashion, I'm pregnant getup, Eve mused, designed by Mavis's one true love, Leonardo, who was currently looking down from his great height on the stylish mother-to-be with such adoration Eve was surprised his pupils weren't shaped like little hearts.

Looking on from a mobile chair, his sour face wreathed in smiles, was Summerset.

She felt a stir of pity as she saw the stiff angle of his supported leg, wrapped in the skin cast, and the sling support on his shoulder. She knew what it was to break bones and tear muscles-and how much worse the cure could seem to anyone used to doing for himself.