"Motive," she concluded, settling again. "Self-indulgence." She took a deep, satisfied breath. "Compute probability."
Her system whined, reminded her it was one more piece of hardware that needed replacement, then settled into a jerky hum.
Probability Roarke perpetrator given current data and supposition, eighty-two point six per cent.
Oh, it was possible, Eve thought, leaning back in her chair. There was a time, in the not so distant past, when a child could be gunned down by another child for the shoes on his feet.
What was that if not obscene self-indulgence?
He had the opportunity. He had the means. And if his own arrogance could be taken into account, he had the motive.
So why, Eve thought as she watched her own words blink on the monitor, as she studied her computer's impersonal analysis, couldn't she make it play in her own head?
She just couldn't see it, she admitted. She just couldn't visualize Roarke standing behind the camera, aiming the gun at the defenseless, naked, smiling woman, and pumping steel into her perhaps only moments after he'd pumped his seed into her.
Still, certain facts couldn't be overlooked. If she could gather enough of them, she could issue a warrant for a psychiatric evaluation.
Wouldn't that be interesting? she thought with a half smile. Traveling into Roarke's head would be a fascinating journey.
She'd take the next step at seven the following evening.
The buzz at her door brought a frown of annoyance to her eyes. "Save and lock on voice print, Dallas. Code Five. Disengage."
The monitor blipped off as she rose to see who was interrupting her. A glance at her security screen wiped the frown away.
"Hey, Mavis."
"You forgot, didn't you?" Mavis Freestone whirled in, a jangle of bracelets, a puff of scent. Her hair was a glittery silver tonight, a shade that would change with her next mood. She flipped it back where it sparkled like stars down to her impossibly tiny waist.
"No, I didn't." Eve shut the door, reengaged the locks. "Forgot what?"
"Dinner, dancing, debauchery." With a heavy sigh, Mavis dropped her slinkily attired ninety-eight pounds onto the sofa where she could eye Eve's simple gray suit with disdain. "You can't be going out in that."
Feeling drab, as she often did within twenty feet of Mavis's outrageous color, Eve looked down at her suit. "No, I guess not."
"So." Mavis gestured with one emerald-tipped finger. "You forgot."
She had, but she was remembering now. They had made plans to check out the new club Mavis had discovered at the space docks in Jersey. According to Mavis, the space jocks were perennially horny. Something to do with extended weightlessness.
"Sorry. You look great."
It was true, inevitably. Eight years before, when Eve had busted Mavis for petty theft, she'd looked great. A silk swirling street urchin with quick fingers and a brilliant smile.
In the intervening years, they'd somehow become friends. For Eve, who could count on one hand the number of friends she had who weren't cops, the relationship was precious.
"You look tired," Mavis said, more in accusation than sympathy. "And you're missing a button."
Eve's fingers went automatically to her jacket, felt the loose threads. "Shit. I knew it." In disgust she shrugged out of the jacket, tossed it aside. "Look, I'm sorry. I did forget. I had a lot on my mind today."
"Including the reason you needed my black coat?"
"Yeah, thanks. It came in handy."
Mavis sat a minute, tapping those emerald-tipped nails on the arm of the couch. "Police business. Here I was hoping you had a date. You really need to start seeing men who aren't criminals, Dallas."
"I saw that image consultant you fixed me up with. He wasn't a criminal. He was just an idiot."
"You're too picky – and that was six months ago."
Since he'd tried to get her in the sack by offering a free lip tattoo, Eve thought it was not nearly long enough, but kept the opinion to herself. "I'll go change."
"You don't want to go out and bump butts with the space boys." Mavis sprang up again, the shoulder-length crystals at her ears sparkling. "But go ahead and get out of that ugly skirt. I'll order Chinese."
Relief had Eve's shoulders sagging. For Mavis, she would have tolerated an evening at a loud, crowded, obnoxious club, peeling randy pilots and sex-starved sky station techs off her chest. The idea of eating Chinese with her feet up was like heaven.
"You don't mind?"
Mavis waved the words away as she tapped in the restaurant she wanted on the computer. "I spend every night in a club."
"That's work," Eve called out as she went into the bedroom.
"You're telling me." Tongue between her teeth, Mavis perused the menu on-screen. "A few years ago I'd have said singing for my supper was the world's biggest scam, the best grift I could run. Turns out I'm working harder than I ever did bilking tourists. You want egg rolls?"
"Sure. You're not thinking of quitting, are you?"
Mavis was silent a moment as she made her choices. "No. I'm hooked on applause." Feeling generous, she charged dinner to her World Card. "And since we renegotiated my contract so I get ten percent of the gate, I'm a regular businesswoman."
"There's nothing regular about you," Eve disagreed. She came back in, comfortable in jeans and a NYPSD sweatshirt.
"True. Got any of that wine I brought over last time?"
"Most of the second bottle." Because it sounded like the best idea she'd had all day, Eve detoured into the kitchen to pour it. "So, are you still seeing the dentist?"
"Nope." Idly, Mavis wandered to the entertainment unit and programmed in music. "It was getting too intense. I didn't mind him falling in love with my teeth, but he decided to go for the whole package. He wanted to get married."
"The bastard."
"You can't trust anybody," Mavis agreed. "How's the law and order business?"
"It's a little intense right now." She glanced up from the wine she was pouring when the buzzer sounded. "That can't be dinner already." Even as she said it, she heard Mavis clipping cheerfully toward the door in her five-inch spikes. "Check the security screen," she said quickly and was halfway to the door herself when Mavis pulled it open.
She had one moment to curse, another to reach for the weapon she wasn't wearing. Then Mavis's quick, flirtatious laugh had her adrenaline draining again.
Eve recognized the uniform of the delivery company, saw nothing but embarrassed pleasure in the young, fresh face of the boy who handed the package to Mavis.
"I just love presents," Mavis said with a flutter of her silver-tipped lashes as the boy backed away, blushing. "Don't you come with it?"
"Leave the kid alone." With a shake of her head, Eve took the package from Mavis and closed the door again.
"They're so cute at that age." She blew a kiss at the security screen before turning to Eve. "What are you so nervous about, Dallas?"
"The case I'm working on has me jumpy, I guess." She eyed the gold foil and elaborate bow on the package she held with more suspicion than pleasure. "I don't know who'd be sending me anything."
"There's a card," Mavis pointed out dryly. "You could always read it. There might be a clue."
"Now look who's cute." Eve tugged the card out of its gold envelope.
Roarke
As she read over Eve's shoulder, Mavis let out a low whistle. "Not the Roarke! The incredibly wealthy, fabulous to look at, sexily mysterious Roarke who owns approximately twenty-eight percent of the world, and its satellites?"
All Eve felt was irritation. "He's the only one I know."
"You know him." Mavis rolled her green shadowed eyes. " Dallas, I've underestimated you unforgivably. Tell me everything. How, when, why? Did you sleep with him? Tell me you slept with him, then give me every tiny detail."