Across the table, Mavis closed her eyes, took a long breath. “Thanks. Thanks, Dallas.”
Eve waited until she’d talked to Baxter, then asked Mavis to come with her to a sitting room. Closed the door.
“You’re going to tell me you think Tandy’s dead.”
“No, I’m not. Sit down.” When she did, Eve sat across from her, leaned in so their eyes were level. “But I am going to tell you that you need to prepare yourself for that possibility. She was taken for a reason, and everything’s pointing to the baby being that reason.”
“And once she has it…It’s been since Thursday. She could—”
“A lot of things could,” Eve interrupted. “We’re going to deal with what is. Look, I know it might seem like I’m not paying much attention to this, not looking hard enough. But I promise you, it’s in my head. And Peabody’s working it when I’m not.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re not paying attention.” Mavis reached out now, took Eve’s hands. “I don’t think that. And I know Peabody’s doing everything she can, and—and that she’s good. But Dallas? She’s not you. That’s a bitch-weight of pressure, I know, but—”
“Don’t water up. Come on, give me a break on the tears.”
“I’m so scared for her. And I keep thinking, what if it was me? What if I was locked up somewhere, couldn’t protect my baby. It’s going to sound Princess of Drama, but I’d rather die than have anyone take my baby, or hurt it. I know Tandy feels the same. She said once that’s why she decided to have it, to keep it, even though she’d be on her own. That even though there were good people who wanted babies, who’d give hers a good life, it was hers. And she’d never be absolutely sure they’d love it as much as she did.”
“What kind of good people? Did she ever give any details, anything specific?”
“No, it was just…wait.” Eyes closed again, hands rubbing light circles over her belly, Mavis breathed slowly in and out.
“Oh, shit. Shit! Are you—”
“No, no, don’t go wig. I’m just trying to focus. We were talking once, me and Tandy, about raising a kid in the city. Pros, cons, la-la. She said how she hoped she was doing the right thing, choosing the urban deal when she could’ve given her baby a plush life as a country squire. She talked like that sometimes,” Mavis added and opened her eyes. “You know, squire. What is a squire?”
“How would I know, I’m a New Yorker. Okay, let’s you and me go over Peabody’s list. Maybe something else will ring for you.”
18
EVE SET MAVIS DOWN WITH THE LIST, THEN gestured Leonardo to sit down beside her. “Why don’t you be another pair of eyes, another brain on memory mode? You were in on some of the baby talk?”
“Sure. Tandy’s having a boy.” He laid his big hand gently on Mavis’s belly. “Tandy wanted to find out, and I talked to her about the baby, and herself, and her plans. I wanted to get a sense of it, not just because I’m her birthing coach, but because I’m designing a few basic—and a couple of special—outfits as a gift for her.”
“Is he the sweetest huggie-bear in the universe and beyond?” Mavis cooed.
“You bet. Look at the list. Remind yourself of conversations you had with her, about her. Individually and together. One of you may prompt something out of the other’s memory. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She moved into Roarke’s office where he sat at his desk running her search. She shut the door.
“Problem?” he asked her.
“Our house is full of people, one of whom could go off like a bomb of emotionally charged hormones at any moment. You’re doing drone work for me on two cases, one of which started with a huge personal insult to you. I dragged you to Brooklyn on a Sunday, then dumped you into another crime scene, and left you in charge of a hysterical witness. There’s probably more in there, but those are the high points.”
“Just another day in paradise.”
“I love you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up on that.”
It came into his eyes, that charge of pleasure and love, and blew right through her. “It’s nice to be reminded. You’re so tired, Eve.”
“You’re looking a little worn yourself.”
“Am I now?” He rose. “Maybe you should hold onto me a minute then.”
“Maybe I should.”
She came around the desk, and they held onto each other. She could stand on her own—God knows she’d proven it. But it was an amazing gift to have a man you could lean on without either of you thinking you were weak.
“I postponed that winter holiday deal we were planning a couple of times now.”
“Hmm.” With his eyes closed, he swayed a little with her, drawing in the scent of her hair, her skin. “Things came up.”
“They’ll always come up. As soon as Mavis pops that kid out, and we’ve done our duty, we’re going.”
“Are we?”
“You got my word.” She drew back to look him in the eye. “I need you, the just you and me time. I don’t know why I let myself forget that. Besides, I’m thinking after the doing-our-duty deal in the fun house that is the birthing room, we’re really going to need to go somewhere where we can stay zoned on alcohol and sex for a few days.”
“You just had to bring that up.”
“What? Sex?” She lifted her hands, patted both of his cheeks. “It’s wormed its way into my brain like a tumor. If I have to think about it, so do you.”
“I always think about sex.”
“Funny guy.” She pressed her lips to his just as his computer signaled his task complete. “That my data?” She pulled away, grabbed up the hard copy that spit out.
“So ends a charming interlude.”
Ignoring him, she scanned various properties, holdings, addresses, then zeroed in on one that made her smile spread, saber-sharp. “And look here, Madeline has herself a pied-à-terre on East End Avenue, off of Eighty-sixth.”
“I take it we’re about to pay another Sunday call.”
“I can handle it on my own if you want to hang here.”
“With the ticking bomb of explosive hormones? No, thank you.”
When they stepped back into Eve’s office, Leonardo sat alone at the auxiliary unit, brows knit as he studied the screen.
“Mavis?”
“Oh, peeing. Again.” He smiled. “She has the cutest little bladder these days.”
“Adorable. Tell her I’ve got to follow up this lead on the homicides while it’s hot. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you hit on anything that seems familiar, even like a maybe, earmark it. We’ll give it a push when I get back. Peabody and McNab get back first, give it to them.”
“We will. Dallas, Roarke, would it be all right if we stayed here tonight? She’ll just want to come back tomorrow, or sit down at Central if you’re working there. I hate to have her going up- and downtown when she’s so worn down.”
“You’re always welcome,” Roarke told him. “Why don’t you ask Summerset to fix her a soother? He’d know what was safe for her and the baby.”
“You ought to take one yourself,” Eve added. Then because she knew he loved her friend, she stepped to Leonardo, gave his wide shoulder a squeeze. “Tell her Tandy’s in my head. I do some of my best work there.”
“She believes in you. That’s getting her through this.”
But no pressure, Eve thought wearily as they headed out.
“You drive,” she told Roarke. “I’m going to do some of that work in my head.”
She tipped back her seat a few inches, closed her eyes, and brought Tandy into focus.
Young, healthy, single, pregnant, no close family ties. Relocated. Why not keep in contact with friends/coworkers back home?
Hiding?
From what? From whom?
Father of the baby? Possible, but unlikely. No bitching to new coworkers or new pregnant pal about the lousy bastard who knocked you up.
Eve thought of Tandy’s apartment. A nest, Peabody had said. Not a hidey-hole. Hid
ing, maybe, but not obsessively. More like the fresh start angle.
The like crime victims had been similar there, too. Relocation—at least initially on the other Brit vic. New job, new place, new life. So maybe it was more getting away than hiding.
Getting away from what? From whom?
One woman dead, two missing. She’d get a doctor—Louise or Mira, or maybe Mavis’s midwife—to look over the autopsy report on the Middlesex vic. If the vic was injured, dead or dying, the killer might have tried to carve the baby out.
And God, that was gross.
No attempt to hide the body. Dump it instead near the vic’s home base. Away from where she’d been held, Eve thought. Away from the killer’s location.
But Belego never surfaced, alive or dead. Take the baby? Dispose of the body? Logical, she mused. Cops are looking for an abductee, pregnant or with infant. Or a runaway. Changed location once, change again.
They’re not looking for a nice healthy baby newly placed with some nice couple. In the country maybe, well away from the location of the abduction.
Healthy baby, priority one. Can’t put a woman that far along on a shuttle or any air transpo. Mavis said she couldn’t travel after her—what had it been—thirtieth week?
“She’s still in New York,” Eve mumbled. “Unless they drove her outside the city. Not far, though. They wouldn’t want to put any more stress on her than necessary. Any stress on her is stress on the fetus. And she’s still alive.”
“Because?”
“Unless she went into labor on her own, she’s still got the package in her. I don’t think they’d push that—give her whatever you give to start the whole process up. All these women were taken in the last weeks of their pregnancy. Maybe that’s coincidence, or maybe the kidnapper waits until they’re near end-of-term.”
She let it run through her head. “Maybe he or she is a frustrated midwife or OB. Likes to deliver babies. Then the mother had to be disposed of, somehow. Can’t keep the babies. Somebody’s going to notice if this guy, this woman keeps adding newborns to the household. Or…”
“Maybe he continues to botch it,” Roarke said quietly. “Loses both, and keeps trying.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s one we won’t mention to Mavis. Could be a moral fanatic. Except one of the vics that coordinates for me got married to the baby’s father.”
“If you’re fanatical enough, she still conceived out of wedlock.”
“Can’t rule it out.” She glanced idly at a corner glide-cart, grill smoking. “But the fact we’ve got echoing vics in three countries points me to profit. A business. Snatch, grab, deliver, sell. Destroy evidence.”
“Cold.”
“The coldest,” she agreed, then straightened as Roarke parked on East End Avenue. “But I’m thinking this ranks up there on the ice scale, too.”
It was a little palace of glass and stone, built on the ashes of the Urban Wars. There were a few like it—in size and style—along New York’s rivers, affording lofty views of the waterways. The glass reflected gilded bronze to any who stood outside its walls to admire it. Since the sun had set at the end of the long day, the security lights beamed that same rich color over the blind glass and warm brown stones.
It spired up, with generous terraces on the riverside, and a tall, wide arch at the entrance.
After pressing the buzzer, Eve held her badge up to the security screen. The red beam of the laser scanned it before the door opened.
She made the attractive, uniformed maid as a droid even before it spoke. “May I help you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD, and associate, to see Ms. Bullock and/ or Mr. Chase.”
“Neither Ms. Bullock nor Mr. Chase is at home to callers. Would you care to leave your card?”
“When I show you this,” Eve held the badge up in the droid’s face, “it means I’m not here to socialize. Do you think Ms. Bullock and/or Mr. Chase would prefer to call on me at Cop Central?”
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll inform Ms. Bullock.”
Here was a formal foyer with gold and silver tiles for the floor, complex shapes in thin red glass dripping light from the ceiling. There were paintings in sleek gold frames—all flash and color, and to Eve’s mind, no substance or sense.
Benches, tables, chairs were all ebony and trimmed in deep, dark red.
She wandered away from the entrance, glancing up a sweep of silver stairs and looking east into a spacious room where the decor colors had been reversed—black and red for the floor, gold and silver for the furnishings.
A fire roared away in the ruby hearth, and beyond the wall of gilded glass was the long, dark river.
Nothing soft, she thought, nothing quiet or feminine or comforting. Just meticulous, somewhat regimented decor—the sort that gave her a mild headache.
No one would dare put their feet up on the gleaming silver table, or curl up for a nap on the gold cushions of the straight-lined sofa.
She heard the click of heels on the tiles and turned to study Madeline Bullock, in the flesh.
The ID photos hadn’t done her justice, Eve decided. She was a presence. Tall, stately, handsome, with silver-blonde hair sleeked back from a youthful face and rolled smooth at the nape of her neck.
Her eyes were arctic blue, her lips painted red as the hearth. She wore a sweater and full-legged pants that matched her eyes, and diamonds glittered like drops of ice from her ears and her throat.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” She crossed the room the way a well-appointed yacht sails a calm sea. Smooth and important. The hand she offered sparkled with both diamonds and rubies. Eve wondered if she’d accessorized to match the room.
“I spoke with your associate a few days ago,” Madeline continued, “about that terrible tragedy at Sloan, Myers, and Kraus.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re Roarke.” Her smile warmed several degrees. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. How odd, considering.”
“Ms. Bullock.”
“Please, please, sit. Tell me what I can do for you both.”
“I was under the impression you’d left the country, Ms. Bullock,” Eve began.
“And you’ve caught us out.” She laughed lightly, crossed her legs with a whisper of silk. “My son and I decided we wanted a little time, incognito, if you understand.”
“I know the term,” Eve said dryly, and Madeline’s smile didn’t falter a fraction.
“We did tell Robert—Robert Kraus—and several others that we were leaving New York. I’m sure you understand that being entertained can be just exhausting. Of course, you’re both young. You must enjoy the constant round of dinners and parties and fêtes.”
“I live for fêtes. Can’t get enough.” This time, that smile flickered toward a frown for just an instant. “You couldn’t just refuse an invitation? Or explain that you and your son wanted a few quiet evenings?”
“So much is expected of people in our position.” On a heavy sigh, Madeline lifted her hands, let them fall gracefully to her lap. “Sometimes those expectations are a burden. Accept this invitation, and refuse that one, feelings are hurt. It was just a little ploy to avoid all that and have those quiet evenings. We do love your city. Ah, here’s some refreshment.”
The droid wheeled in a cart holding decanters, a teapot, plates of fruit and cheese, and little frosted cookies.
“May I offer you brandy or tea? Perhaps a bit of both.”
As he anticipated her refusal, Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s knee, squeezed lightly. “Tea would be lovely.”
“Wonderful. I’ll pour. You’re excused,” she said to the droid, who slipped silently away. “Cream, lemon?”
“Neither, for either of us. No sugar, thanks.” Roarke took the lead. “You have an impressive home. Marvelous view.”
“The view was the pull. I could sit and watch the river for hours. All of our homes are near water of some kind. I feel very drawn to it.”
“You have this lovely home,” Eve put in, “but
you stayed in Robert Kraus’s this trip.”
“We did. His wife—have you met her? Lovely woman. She extended the invitation, and it seemed like fun. We do have a nice time together. We enjoy cards.” After passing out the tea, she poured her own. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why that would be of interest to you.”
“Every detail of a murder investigation is of interest to me.”
“Then it’s still being investigated? I’d hoped it was all settled by now. Terrible thing. They were both so young. But surely you’re not looking at Robert?”
“Just getting the full picture. You knew Randall Sloan.”
“Of course. Now there’s a social butterfly. Such energy! Nothing stay-at-home about him.”
“I don’t know. He died there.”
“I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“Randall Sloan was found early this afternoon, hanging from the chandelier in the bedroom of his brownstone.”
“My God.” Madeline pressed a hand to her breasts. “Dear God. Randall? Dead?”
“When did you see or speak to him last?”
“I don’t…I can’t take this in. It’s such a shock. I…Please.” She reached over, tapped open a silver box. Inside was an intercom system. “Brown, please tell Mr. Chase to come down right away.”
Madeline sat back, pressed her fingers to her brow. “I’m sorry, this is such a shock. I knew the man nearly a decade. We were friends.”
“How close friends were you?”
Hot color streaked Madeline’s cheeks as she dropped her hands into her lap. “I realize you must ask questions at such a time, but I find the implication in that question in very poor taste.”
“Cops have very poor taste. Were you and he involved on a personal level?”
“Certainly not in the way you mean. We enjoyed each other’s company.”
“I’m told he persuaded you to bring your business to his father’s firm.”