Born in Death (In Death #23)(17)

Not scared for your life, Eve concluded, despite the knife in the bedroom. Shook, upset, nervous—careful. But not scared for your life. Probably felt stupid, even a little embarrassed when you brought that knife into the bedroom with you. But you’re not scared enough to call the cops, even move in with the fiancé for a few days.

Maybe working on something. Liked your space, your quiet. But it gets dark, you’re a little wiggy.

To refresh herself, she called up the replay from Palma’s pocket ’link, reviewed the transmission to her sister.

Hey, Nat!

Palm. Where are you?

Somewhere over Montana. Vegas/New York runs, remember. We’re loaded with them today. Back and forth, full shuttles. I’m getting into New York late. Still okay if I crash with you, right?

Sure. I really want to see you. I’ve missed you.

Me, too. Hey, something wrong?

No. No. Just a lot on my mind.

You had a fight with Bick.

No. We’re fine. I’m just…there’s a lot going on. It’s…listen, you’re off tomorrow, right?

After a shift like this, you bet. Want to ditch work and have a girl day?

I really do. We could do some shopping.

Wedding plans.

Yeah. And I could clear my head, maybe run something by you.

You’re not changing your colors?

What? No, no. It’s nothing to do with that. It’s about—

Damn, Five A’s beeping me again.

You go. We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning. Oh, you’ve got the new key, the code I sent you this morning?

Right here. Sweetie, you look so tired. What—oh, for God’s sake. Beep, beep, beep. Sorry, Nat.

It’s okay. You go. I’ll see you soon. Palma, I’m really glad we’ll have some time.

Me, too. Pancakes for breakfast?

You bet.

Bye!

Stress level up on the vic, Eve thought. No need to run a voice analysis. She could hear it plainly and see it in the vic’s eyes. Not fear, but tension and fatigue.

She was going to tell her sister, whatever it was. Lay it out for her as she’d laid it out, Eve was sure, for her fiancé. Lucky for Palma, she’d been out of the loop at the time of the murders.

Looking for advice, someone to share the burden. I know this thing, found this thing, suspect this thing. I’m not sure what I should do.

Closing her eyes, Eve brought Natalie’s apartment back into her mind. Female, tidy, matching this and matching that. The clothes Eve had pawed through had been the same. Definite style. Hard-working accountant. Practical and organized. New lock. Careful and cautious.

Whatever she’d known or had that had killed her, she hadn’t known or had it long. Eve judged Natalie Copperfield as a woman who knew her mind.

Shared the information with someone else besides the boyfriend, maybe. If so, it had been the wrong person.

Taking the list provided, Eve began a standard run on the victim’s coworkers, superiors, and the heads of the firm. Then she tagged Peabody on the interdepartment ’link. “Do a search and run on the other tenants in Copperfield’s building. Maybe she saw something at home, or in the neighborhood.”

“I was heading there. Just went over the statement from the neighbors, both scenes. Nothing on the surface on either.”

“So we go under. I got the click on a search of their financials. I’ll look there.”

“They weren’t blackmailers. There’s no vibe.”

“We look anyway.”

No vibe, Eve agreed, but brought up Natalie’s data. What she found was, she supposed, what should be expected for a number cruncher. Organized, frugal, balanced accounts. The occasional spree, and a big, fat chunk laid out three months before at White Wedding for a dress, veil, undergarments.

There hadn’t been any fancy wedding dress in the apartment. Eve relayed the same to Peabody.

“It would have to be fitted,” she was informed. “They’d probably keep it at the shop, and schedule fittings up to a week or so before the big day.”

“Oh. Right. Let’s check anyway, be sure.”

“Got a couple minor possessions—illegal substance—on the first-floor tenant, first scene. Pauli, Michael. Last one three years back. A D-and-D, and a shoplifting charge on tenant on second scene. Neither recent.”

“I’ve been running the office. I’m going to shoot that data to you—you keep at it—and head up to EDD. See if they’ve dug anything off her pocket ’link.”

“I can go to EDD.”

“I’m not sending you up there to play grab-ass with McNab.”

“Aw.”

“Run the names, Peabody. Anything pops, tag me. Otherwise, send the results back to my unit here, and at home. Clock out when you’re done. You can go home and play grab-ass.”

“He doesn’t have much to grab, but what there is—”

To save herself, Eve cut the transmission. She saved herself again by taking the glides rather than the elevator to EDD. At change of tour, the elevators were a box of bodies and odors. The glides were bad enough, jammed with cops coming on, going off, bringing in subjects for questioning, hauling others down to Booking.

Eve squirmed her way off and took the stairs to the last level. She came out into the corridor of the EDD unit and was all but blinded by the wild squiggly pattern of blue lightning bolts on violent pink that only Ian McNab would call a shirt.