"See how well we know each other." He reached in the pocket of his gorgeous topcoat, took out a small enameled box, and removed a tiny blue pill. "Open up."
When she frowned and firmed her lips into an uncooperative line, he only lifted an eyebrow. "It's a simple blocker, Eve. You'll think more clearly without the headache."
"No funny stuff?"
"None. Open." He took her chin when she opened her mouth, then used his hand to close it again after he'd dropped the pill on her tongue. "Swallow it, there's a good girl."
"Bite me."
"Darling, I've thought of nothing else all day. I brought your backup field kit."
"Well, one of us is thinking clearly. Thanks," she said when he got it out of the car. "I've got him cold," she added as they started into the building. "Physical evidence, eyewitness, motivation, opportunity, the works."
"You can add the fact that the enhancement case he left behind in Piper Hoffman's apartment is a one of a kind. He ordered it custom-made." Roarke ran a hand over the back of Eve's neck, rubbing lightly to help the blocker along. "My company offers that option to licensed cosmeticians."
"Great. Now all I have to do is find him."
"He hasn't checked into a hotel." Roarke smiled at her. "McNab's been very busy. No hotel, and no private lodging – at least that he could access on a day where no one wants to work."
"Tell me about it. I walked into an orgy at the lab."
"And we weren't invited. That's insulting."
"I have a feeling an invite might have included the rare treat of seeing Dickhead naked." She took out her master and bypassed the police seal and block on the door of 35. "That's something I really don't want for Christmas. You gotta seal up if you're coming in."
Roarke glanced at the can with a hefty sigh. "Can't the department use something with a more pleasant odor?" But he coated his hands, his shoes, then waited for Eve to do the same.
"Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve entering subject Simon's personal residence, December twenty-four, sixteen twelve. Investigating officer accompanied by Roarke, civilian, in capacity of temporary aide."
She entered, ordered lights, then simply stood and studied the room. It wasn't quite so neat now. The CS team had done its work and left a fine sheen on surfaces while checking for prints and trace evidence. The sweepers had shoved furniture out of place, upended cushions, removed art from the walls. The 'link had been disconnected and taken in.
"Since you're here," she said to Roarke, "poke around. Anything that strikes you, call me. I'm going to do the bedroom."
She'd barely started on the closet when Roarke came in, holding a disc between his thumb and forefinger. "This struck me, Lieutenant."
"Where the hell did you find that? They should have swept all the discs into evidence."
"Holiday help, what can you do? It was sealed inside a hologram frame – I assume the woman in the holo was his mother. It seemed the sentimental choice of hiding places."
"I've got nothing to run it on. They took all the electronics. I'll need to go in and…"
Her voice trailed off as Roarke took a slim black case out of his pocket, swiveled the lid, and opened it to reveal a small screen. "New toy," he said as she frowned at it. "We weren't able to get all the bugs out for the Christmas market. It'll be ready for the President's Day sales."
"Is it safe? I can't have that disc damaged."
"I reworked this unit personally. It's a little jewel." He slipped the disc into a slot, lifted a brow again. "Shall I?"
"Yeah, let's see what we've got."
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was a rambling and rather pitiful video journal. A year in a man's life when that life shatters into pieces and begins to fall away from the core.
Eve supposed Mira would have called it a cry for help.
He referred to his mother a dozen times or more. His true love, whom he canonized in one entry and vilified in the next.
She was a saint. She was a whore.
The one thing Eve was certain of at the end was that she had been a burden, one that Simon had never shirked, and never understood.
Every Christmas she had re-boxed and re-wrapped the gold cuff bracelet she had purchased for her husband, engraved with the words "My True Love," and placed it under the tree for the man who had left her and her young son. And every Christmas she had told her son that his father would be there on Christmas morning.
For a long time, he believed her.
For a longer time, he allowed her to believe.
Then on Christmas Eve the year before, sick of it, revolted by the men she let use her, he'd smashed the box and destroyed her illusion.
And she hanged herself with the pretty garland her son had strung around the tree.
"Not a cheerful seasonal tale," Roarke murmured. "Poor bastard."
"A lousy childhood's not an excuse to rape and murder."
"No, it's not. But it's a root. We grow our own way, Eve, one choice leading to another."
"And the choices we make we're responsible for." She dug out an evidence bag and held it open. After a moment, Roarke ejected the disc and dropped it inside.
Taking out her communicator, Eve called McNab.
"No luck on his hidey-hole, Dallas. I traced the father. He relocated to Nexus Station nearly thirty years ago. Got a second wife, two kids, grandchildren. I've got data if you want to contact."
"What's the point?" she murmured. "I've got a video diary from Simon's place. The crime scene techs and the sweepers missed it. I'll transmit to EDD. Go in and file it, will you, McNab? Then you're off duty. Relay that same status to Peabody. Both of you remain on call as long as subject is at large."
"That's affirmative. Hey, he's got to come out sometime, Dallas. Then we'll have him."
"Right. Go hang your stocking, McNab. Let's hope we all get what we want for Christmas. Dallas out."
Roarke watched her pocket the communicator. "You're too hard on yourself, Eve."
"He'll have to move tonight. He'll need to move. And he's the only one who knows where. And who." She turned back to the closet. "He's got his clothes organized – color, fabric. Even more obsessive about it than you."
"I see nothing obsessive with organizing your wardrobe."
"Yeah, especially if you own two hundred black silk shirts. Wouldn't want to pull out the wrong one and make a fashion faux pas."
"I take that to mean you didn't buy me a black silk shirt for Christmas."
She glanced over her shoulder, grimaced. "I kind of messed up on the shopping. I didn't understand the deal until Feeney pointed out you're supposed to buy in bulk for a spouse. I've just got this one thing."
He tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Do I get a hint?"
"No, you're too good at puzzles." She looked back in the closet. "So puzzle this. You've got shirts and trousers here, white to cream to whatever this color is."
"I'd say taupe."
"Fine. Then it goes into blues, greens. All of them hung in order. Now there's a gap, then we pick up browns, grays to black. What color do you suppose is missing?"
"Best guess is red."
"Right. No other red in here. Maybe he only wore red for special occasions. He had a backup suit, and he took it with him. Something else the sweepers didn't come up with. The rest of the tokens. Six geese whatever and so on. He's got them, too. He'll be ready for the show. But where has he stashed it all? Where's he keeping it, and himself?"
She circled the room. "There's no coming back here for him. He knows that. He risked coming back because he's got to finish, and he can't finish without his tools, his costume, his props. But he's too smart, he's too organized, too fucking anal not to have had a place to go."