It was a fine face smiling back at her, and she remembered it. She'd met Charles Monroe nearly a year before while investigating another murder – the case that had brought her and Roarke together. Charles was a licensed companion, slick and charming. And what, she wondered, was a well-heeled LC doing in dating service?
"Trolling, Charlie? Looks like you and I are going to have to have another talk. Computer go to third match."
Match three of five, Jeremy Vandoren, divorced -
"Lieutenant."
"Computer pause. Yeah?" She glanced over as Peabody hovered at the door.
"Captain Feeney said you're finished with me for the day."
"Right. I'm just running some names before I go."
"He, uh, mentioned that you were going to use McNab for some of the e-work."
"That's right." Eve angled her head, then kicked back in her chair as Peabody struggled to keep her face controlled. "You got a problem with that?"
"No – that is… Dallas, you don't really need him. He's such a pain in the ass."
Eve smiled cheerfully. "He's not a pain in mine. I guess you'll just have to work on making your ass a little tougher, Peabody. But buck up, he'll do most of what I give him over in EDD. He won't be around here much."
"He'll find a way," Peabody muttered. "He's such a show-off."
"He does good work. And anyway – " She broke off as her communicator beeped. "Shit, I should have gotten out of here on time." She pulled it out. " Dallas."
"Lieutenant." Commander Whitney's wide, stern face filled the small screen.
"Sir."
"We have a homicide that appears to be connected to the Hawley case. There are uniforms on the scene now. I want you as primary. Report to 23B West One Hundred and Twelve, apartment 5D. Contact me at my home office after you've confirmed the status."
"Yes, sir. I'm on my way." She spared Peabody a glance as she rose and grabbed her jacket. "You're back on duty."
The uniform standing guard at Sarabeth's door had eyes that told Eve she'd seen the likes of what was inside before, and expected to see it again.
"Officer Carmichael," Eve began, scanning the nameplate. "What have we got?"
"White female, early forties, dead at scene. Apartment's in the name of Sarabeth Greenbalm. No sign of forced entry or struggle. There's no video security in this building other than on the main door. My partner and I were on our cruise when Dispatch sent the call at sixteen thirty-five. A 1222 anonymous report at this address. We responded, arriving at sixteen forty-two. The entrance door and the door of the reported unit were unsecured. We entered and found the deceased. We then secured the scene and alerted Dispatch of a suspicious death at this location."
"Where's your partner, Carmichael?"
"Locating the building manager, sir."
"Fine. Keep this hallway clear. Stand until relieved."
"Sir." Carmichael slid her eyes over Peabody as they passed. Among the uniforms Peabody was regarded as Dallas 's pet, with varying degrees of envy, resentment, and awe.
Feeling a combination of all three from Carmichael, Peabody twitched her shoulders as she followed Eve through the door.
"Recorder on, Peabody?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant Dallas and aide, on scene at 23B West One Hundred Twelve Street, apartment of Sarabeth Greenbalm." As she spoke, Eve took a can of Seal-It from her field kit and sprayed her hands and boots before handing it off to Peabody. "Victim, yet to be identified, is white female."
She approached the body. The bedroom area was no more than an alcove off the main room, the bed a narrow bunk style that could be folded up to afford more room. It had plain white sheets and a brown blanket worn at the edges.
He'd used red garland this time, wrapping it around her boa style from neck to ankle so that she resembled a festive mummy. Her hair, a shade of violet Eve imagined Mavis would admire, had been neatly brushed and styled into an upswept cone.
Her lips, slack in death, had been painted a rich purple, her cheeks a tender pink. Pale gold glitter shadow had been carefully applied to her eyelids all the way to the brow line.
Pinned to the garland just at the center of her throat was a circle of glossy green. Within it two birds, one gold, one silver, nested, beak to beak.
"Turtledoves, right?" Eve studied the brooch. "I looked up the song. The second day his true love gives him two turtledoves." Gently, Eve pressed a hand to the painted cheek. "She's fresh. I'd bet it hasn't been more than an hour since he finished her."
Stepping back, she took out her communicator to contact Whitney and request a Crime Scene team.
It was nearly midnight when she got home. Her shoulder was throbbing a little, but she could ignore that. What annoyed her was the fatigue. It came too quickly and too intensely these days.
She knew what the department's orifice poker would say about it. Not enough recovery time. She'd been entitled to another ten days injury leave. Her return to full duty had been too soon.
Because it tended to sour her mood to think of it, she blocked it out.
She'd forgotten to eat, and the minute she stepped inside the warmth of the house the first pangs of hunger hit. Just need a candy bar, she told herself and scrubbed her hands over her face before turning to the scanner near the door.
"Where is Roarke?"
Roarke is in his home office.
Figures, she decided as she started up the stairs. The man didn't seem to need sleep like a normal human. She imagined he'd look as fresh as he had when she'd left him that morning.
He'd left his door open, so it only took one quick glance inside to confirm her suspicions. He sat at the wide, glossy console, scanning screens, giving orders into his 'link while his laser fax hummed behind him.
And he looked sexy as sin.
She thought if she could get her hands on that candy bar, she might just have the energy to jump him.
"Don't you ever quit?" she demanded as she stepped into the room.
He glanced over, smiled, then turned back to his 'link. "All right, John, see that those alterations are made. We'll go over this in more detail tomorrow." He broke transmission.
"You didn't have to stop," she began. "I just wanted to let you know I was home."
"I was entertaining myself while I waited for you." He angled his head as he studied her face. "Forgot to eat, didn't you?"
"I'm hoping for a candy bar. Got any?"
He rose and moved across the polished floor to the AutoChef. Moments later he took out a thick green bowl, steaming with soup.
"That's not a candy bar."
"You can feed the child after you take care of the woman." He set the soup on a table, then poured himself a brandy.
She walked over, sniffed the soup. Nearly drooled. "Smells pretty good," she decided and sat down to devour. "Did you eat?" she asked with her mouth full, and nearly groaned with joy as he set a plate of hot bread on the table. "You have to stop taking care of me."
"It's one of my little pleasures." He sat beside her, sipping brandy, watching the hot food put color back in her cheeks. "And yes, I've eaten – but I wouldn't say no to a bit of that bread."
"Umm." Obligingly, she broke a hunk in half and passed it to him. It was sort of homey, she decided. The two of them sharing soup and bread after a long day.
Just like, well, normal people.
"So… Roarke Industries rose, what, eight points yesterday?"
His brow winged up. "Eight and three-quarters. Have you developed an interest in the stock market, Lieutenant?"
"Maybe I'm just keeping an eye on you. Your stock goes down, I might have to dump you."
"I'll bring that point up at the next shareholders' meeting. Do you want some wine?"
"Maybe. I'll get it."
"Sit, eat. I haven't finished taking care of you yet." He rose and selected a bottle already open and chilling in the cold box cabinet.
While he poured, she scraped the last of the soup from the bowl, barely resisting licking it clean. She felt warm, settled. Home. "Roarke, are we having a party?"