The disc collection proved to be filled with fashion and shopping programs, a smatter of novels – heavy on romance – and a daily journal that spoke of household matters, more shopping, lunch dates, and social events.
"Got to be more." Eve stepped back. "Roll up your sleeves, Peabody. Let's take this creepy little room apart."
"I think it's kind of pretty."
"Anybody who lives with this much pink has to be insane."
They went through drawers, searched under and behind them. The small closet held more office supplies and a filmy robe. Again pink.
They found nothing behind the watercolor paintings of formal gardens, not even dust.
Then Peabody struck gold. "A disc." Triumphant, she held it up. "It was in this swan cushion."
"Let's run it." Eve slipped it into the slot, then looked less than pleased when it immediately engaged. "She hides it, but doesn't bother to passcode it. Oh, I don't think so."
It was a diary, written in the first person, and detailing beatings, rapes, abuse.
"I heard him come in. I thought – he'll think I'm asleep, he'll leave me alone. I've been so careful to do everything right today. But when I heard him coming up the stairs, I knew he was drunk. Then I could smell it as he came to the bed.
"It's worse when he's drunk, when he's just drunk enough.
"I kept my eyes closed. I think I stopped breathing. I prayed he was too drunk to hurt me. But no one listens when you pray."
"Playing possum, little girl." The words, the voice, the memory snapped out at Eve like fangs. The smell of liquor and candy, the hands pulling, bruising.
"I begged him to stop, but it was already too late. His hands were on my throat, squeezing so I wouldn't scream, and he was pushing himself into me, hurting me, his breath hot on my face."
"Don't. Please, don't." It hadn't done Eve any good to beg. Hands on her throat, yes. Squeezing until red dots danced in front of her eyes, and the burning, tearing pain of another rape. With that sick-sweet breath on her face.
"Lieutenant. Dallas." Peabody took her arm and shook. "You okay? You're really pale."
"I'm all right." Damn it, goddamn it. She needed air. "It's a plant," she managed. "She knew someone would find it during the investigation. Scan through to the end, Peabody. She wants us to finish it."
Eve walked to the window, unlocked it, threw it open. She leaned out, had to lean out and breathe. The frigid air stung her cheeks, scraped her throat like little bits of ice.
She wouldn't go back there, she promised herself. Couldn't afford to go back there. She would stay in the now. In control.
"She talks about Zeke," Peabody called out. "It goes on – pretty flowery love language here – about meeting him, how she felt when she knew he was coming."
She looked over, relieved to see color in Eve's face again, though she suspected it was mostly from the slap of cold wind. "She talks about going down to the workshop; it runs with what they'd told us before. Then she's saying that she found her strength because of him, and was leaving her husband at last. It stops with her writing that she was packed and about to call Zeke and begin her real life."
"She covered her ass. If she decided not to run straight off, she'd have the disc, dated and logged, as verification of the story. I guess she figured Testing was too big a risk."
"Doesn't help us any. Everything here's just as you'd expect it to be if her story was on the up."
"But it's not, so there's more. This is a front." Eve closed the window, turned to wander the room. "This is image – what do you call it – veneer. Under this we've got a tough, determined, bloodthirsty woman who wants to be treated like a goddess. With awe and fear. She's not pink." Eve lifted a satin pillow, tossed it. "She's red; rich, powerful red. She's no delicate flower. She's poison – exotic, sensual, but poison. She wouldn't have spent any more time in this room than it would have taken to set it up."
Eve stopped, waiting for her racing mind to slow. Damn chemicals, she thought. She deliberately closed her eyes. "She'd come in here, probably sneer at all the little trinkets. False front. Society's trappings. She hates it. Uses it. She goes for the bold, but this is part of the stage. She's been acting for years. This room is to show people how soft and female she is, but it isn't where she works."
"The rest of the house is guest rooms, baths, living and kitchen area." Peabody sat where she was, watching Eve, watching her work. Watching her mind. "If she didn't work here, then where?"
"Close." Eve opened her eyes, studied the little closet. "Master bedroom's on the other side of that wall, right?"
"Yeah. Big he and she walk-in closet takes up the facing wall."
"All the closets are big. Except this one. Why would she settle for this little corner here?" She squeezed herself in, started running fingers over the wall. "Go around the other side, into the closet. Knock on the wall. Give it three good raps, and come back."
While she waited, Eve crouched, dug her mini-goggles out of her field kit.
"Why did I do that?" Peabody asked when she came back.
"You knock hard?"
"Yes, sir. Rap, rap, rap. Stung my knuckles."
"I didn't hear a thing. There's got to be a mechanism, a control."
"Hidden room?" Peabody tried to angle it. "That's so iced."
"Back up, you're in my light. It's got to be here. Wait. Hell. Give me something to pry with."
"I've got something." Peabody dug in her bag for her Swiss Army knife, selected the slim opener, and offered it.
"Were you a Girl Scout?"
"All the way to Eagle level, sir."
Eve grunted, slid the opener into the minute crack in the glossy ivory wall. It slipped out twice before she got some leverage, and hissing out an oath, she shoved it hard. The little door swung open to reveal a control panel.
"Okay, let's bypass this sucker." She worked for five cramped minutes, shifted her weight on her knees, wiped sweat off her face, and started again.
"Why don't you let me have a go at it, Dallas?"
"You don't know any more about electronics than I do. Hell with it. Step back." She rose, her shoulder bumping solidly into Peabody's nose. Peabody had a minute to yelp, check for blood, then Eve had her weapon out.
"Oh, sir, you don't need to – "
Eve blasted the control lock. Circuits sizzled, chips flew, and the panel of ivory slid smoothly apart.
"What's that fairy tale code? Open sesame." Eve stepped inside a small, pie-slice room, eyed the sleek control panel, the snazzy equipment that reminded her, a bit uncomfortably, of what Roarke had behind a locked door. "This," Eve said, "is where Cassandra worked."
She ran her fingers over controls, tried manual and verbal commands. The machines stayed silent.
"They'll be passcoded," she murmured, "and unregistered, and likely have a couple of traps laid in."
"Should I send for Captain Feeney?"
"No." Eve rubbed her cheek. "I've got an expert only minutes from this location." She dug out her 'link and called Roarke.
– =O=-***-=O=-
He took one look at the fried control panel and shook his head. "You'd only to call."
"I got in, didn't I?"
"Yes, but there's something to be said for finesse, Lieutenant."
"There's something to be said for speed. I don't mean to rush you – "
"Then don't." He moved into the room, let his eyes adjust to the dim light. "Set up your night flash until I can get the room controls working."
He took a slim penlight out of his pocket and, sitting at the controls, clamped it between his teeth in a technique favored by burglars.
Eve saw Peabody's eyes register appreciation and speculation, and moved between them. "Take the vehicle and get to my home office. Get ready to receive data. We'll send through what we find here. Put the rest of the team on alert."