Closing her eyes, Eve brought Natalie’s apartment back into her mind. Female, tidy, matching this and matching that. The clothes Eve had pawed through had been the same. Definite style. Hard-working accountant. Practical and organized. New lock. Careful and cautious.
Whatever she’d known or had that had killed her, she hadn’t known or had it long. Eve judged Natalie Copperfield as a woman who knew her mind. Shared the information with someone else besides the boyfriend, maybe. If so, it had been the wrong person.
Taking the list provided, Eve began a standard run on the victim’s coworkers, superiors, and the heads of the firm. Then she tagged Peabody on the interdepartment ’link. “Do a search and run on the other tenants in Copperfield’s building. Maybe she saw something at home, or in the neighborhood.”
“I was heading there. Just went over the statement from the neighbors, both scenes. Nothing on the surface on either.”
“So we go under. I got the click on a search of their financials. I’ll look there.”
“They weren’t blackmailers. There’s no vibe.”
“We look anyway.”
No vibe, Eve agreed, but brought up Natalie’s data. What she found was, she supposed, what should be expected for a number cruncher. Organized, frugal, balanced accounts. The occasional spree, and a big, fat chunk laid out three months before at White Wedding for a dress, veil, undergarments.
There hadn’t been any fancy wedding dress in the apartment. Eve relayed the same to Peabody.
“It would have to be fitted,” she was informed. “They’d probably keep it at the shop, and schedule fittings up to a week or so before the big day.”
“Oh. Right. Let’s check anyway, be sure.”
“Got a couple minor possessions – illegal substance – on the first-floor tenant, first scene. Pauli, Michael. Last one three years back. A D-and-D, and a shoplifting charge on tenant on second scene. Neither recent.”
“I’ve been running the office. I’m going to shoot that data to you – you keep at it – and head up to EDD. See if they’ve dug anything off her pocket ’link.”
“I can go to EDD.”
“I’m not sending you up there to play grab-ass with McNab.”
“Aw.”
“Run the names, Peabody. Anything pops, tag me. Otherwise, send the results back to my unit here, and at home. Clock out when you’re done. You can go home and play grab-ass.”
“He doesn’t have much to grab, but what there is – ”
To save herself, Eve cut the transmission. She saved herself again by taking the glides rather than the elevator to EDD. At change of tour, the elevators were a box of bodies and odors. The glides were bad enough, jammed with cops coming on, going off, bringing in subjects for questioning, hauling others down to Booking. Eve squirmed her way off and took the stairs to the last level. She came out into the corridor of the EDD unit and was all but blinded by the wild squiggly pattern of blue lightning bolts on violent pink that only Ian McNab would call a shirt.
“I want to know where you shop,” she demanded.
“Huh? Hey, Dallas.”
“Because I never want to make the lethal mistake of going there.” She dug out credits. “Get me a tube of Pepsi from that sarcastic, sadistic thing people call a vending machine.”
“Sure.” He caught the credits she tossed him.
Peabody was right, at least about the fact he didn’t have much ass. He was built like a reed, dressed like a circus star, and had the soul of an e-geek. His hair was slicked back in a blond tail leaving his thin, pretty face unframed. There were countless silver hoops in his left ear. She wondered why he didn’t list to that side when he walked.
“I caught your case,” he told her, and tossed her the tube. “Just on my way back from making a pit stop. About to tag you.”
“You got something for me?”
“Got the first vic’s trans, seven days back. Can get you more. See, even when you clear the ’link, the trans are on the hard drive for – ”
“I don’t want a nerd lesson, just the results.”
“Come on back.”
If Homicide was business casual, EDD was haute couture. On Venus. McNab’s lightning bolts sizzled among a storm of clashing colors, shiny materials, gel-boots, and pounds of body adornments. Where Homicide hummed, EDD sang. Shrieked, actually, Eve thought, with beeps and buzzes, voices, music, and electronic whistles. She’d go mad in an hour under these conditions and often wondered how her old partner, Feeney, captain of the division, survived. In fact, she corrected, thrived among the peacocks and passion flowers.
McNab grabbed a disc from his workstation. “We’ll take a booth.”
He wound his way through the jungle. Most of EDD danced around, talking on headphones. It gave her the jitters. She followed McNab through glass doors where a dozen clear booths were lined up like soldiers. More than half of them were occupied.
McNab snagged one, then slid the disc into a slot on a sleek little comp unit. “Most of the trans are to the second vic. Some to her mother, her sister, the office. Others to shops and stuff – she was getting married, right?”
“That was the plan.”
“Yeah, doing checks on flowers, the dress, that kind of stuff.”
“Can we skip those?”
“Figured as much so I made two files. This one just has the trans to the boyfriend. You can review the other if you need it. Replay,” he ordered.
The computer recited the date of the transmission, the time, the codes used. Byson came on screen, as he would have on Natalie’s pocket unit.
He’d been a good-looking guy, Eve mused, before he’d had his face smashed in.
‘Hey, Nat.’
‘Bick. Are you alone?’
‘Yeah, I’m about to head into a meeting. What’s up?’
‘I need to talk to you – about…what I’ve been looking into. Can you take lunch?’
‘I can’t. I’ve got one scheduled. What is it?’
‘I don’t think we should talk about it on the ’link. After work – we’ll go to my place. I need to show you. Come down when you’re finished for the day, okay? I think this is really important.’
‘Okay, see you later.’
The computer announced end of transmission, time elapsed.
“A little stressed, a little jumpy, but excited, too,” Eve mused. “Like, Look what I found. ”
The next was a day later, an incoming.
‘Hey, babe. I’m trying to move this dinner meeting along, but it’s dragging. Do you want me to come by after?’
‘No, no, that’s okay. I’m working. Bick, I’m finding more. I think a lot more. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Meet me for breakfast maybe? Our spot.’
‘I’ll be there. Seven-thirty good?’
‘Perfect. God, Bick. I just can’t believe all this. We have to find it all. It has to be stopped.’
‘We could go to the cops.’
‘Not yet. We have to be absolutely sure. We don’t know who’s involved, not on this end. Not for certain. We have to be careful. I’ll tell you about it in the morning.’
‘Don’t work too late. Love you.’
‘Love you right back.’
There were a handful of others, increasingly tense, equally cryptic, ending with one near midnight, only a couple of hours before the first murder.
‘Just wanted to talk to you. See your face.’
‘Nat, listen, I’ll just come over.’
‘It’s late, and you had such a long day. I’m fine, really. Just edgy, I guess. And Palma will be here later. I always feel so odd having you sleep here when she’s staying over.’
‘You puritan.’
‘Guess I am.’
‘But she laughed a little.’
‘I’m going to tell her, Bick, talk it through with her.’
‘I don’t like the way you were approached. Nat, they tried to bribe you.’