Divided in Death (In Death #18)(49)

"You want to play. We'll play."

Moments later, the knock on her door earned a snarl.

"Dallas? Lieutenant? Your door's locked."

"I know the damn door's locked. I locked it."

"Oh. I have information on Carter Bissel."

Eve rose, kicked the desk, unlocked the door. "Relock it," she ordered, then sat back at her desk with her tools.

"Sure." With a shrug, Peabody secured the door. "I contacted-what are you doing?"

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"Well, it looks as if you're doing a fingerprint scan on a candy wrapper."

"Then that's probably what I'm doing. You contacted Carter Bissel?"

"No, I... Dallas, has a chocolate bar been entered into evidence on this investigation?"

"This is a personal matter. Sealed up," she muttered. "Bastard sealed up. But that's not the end of this. I've got other ways."

"Sir, you also appear to have run a fingerprint scan on a ceiling tile."

"Do you think I'm unaware of what I'm running, Detective? Do I look like I'm in a fugue state?"

"No, you look supremely pissed."

"Again, your powers of observation are keen and accurate. Congratulations. Fuck it." She balled the wrapper up, tossed it. "I'll deal with this later. And I will deal. Carter Bissel. And where's my coffee?"

"Uh, as you have declined the services of an aide-"

"Oh, bite me." She shoved away from the desk, stomped to the AutoChef.

"I just wanted the opportunity to say that. But, you know, I don't mind getting you coffee. You could even get it for me sometimes. Like now, for instance, since you're right there."

Eve heaved a huge sigh, and got a second cup.

"Thanks. Okay, Bissel, Carter. I tried the residence, but got no answer. Left a message on his 'link. Then I tried the bar he's listed as owning, and tagged his partner, Diesel Moore. Moore went into a rant and jive the minute I asked about Bissel. Says he wants to find him, too, and called him several uncomplimentary names. He claims Bissel left him high and dry nearly a month ago, and skimmed out of the till. Moore claims to be in dire financial straits. He waited, assuring himself Bissel would come back with an explanation, but that hasn't happened. He filed charges yesterday."

"You verify?"

"Yep. Local authorities are looking for Bissel, and have no record of him leaving the island. Could've taken a boat or a seaplane, island-hopped. They're looking into it, but not very hard. He only skimmed a couple thousand, and part of that would be his due. Also, he has a history of taking off for short periods of time without warning or explanation."

"They check his place?"

"Affirmative. It appears some of his clothes may be missing, and a few personal items, but there's no sign of struggle, foul play, or, for that matter, evidence that he was planning a long trip."

"A month ago, Felicity Kade made a trip to Jamaica. Just what did she and Carter Bissel have to talk about, I wonder?"

"Maybe she was looking to recruit him, too."

"Or maybe she was looking for another goat. I think we should take another look at the crime scene."

Her desk 'link beeped, and she tossed the ceiling tile aside. "Dallas."

Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officer at 24 West Eighteenth Street. Unattended death. Single victim, female. Identification verified as McCoy, Chloe.

"Acknowledged. Responding. Dallas, out."

10

She'd gone with pills, and had dressed in a frothy pink nightgown, done her face and hair carefully, then draped herself on the bed among a mountain of pretty pillows and a stuffed purple bear.

She smelled of something very young, very floral, and might have been mistaken for sleeping if her eyes hadn't been wide and staring, and already clouded with death.

The note lay on the bed beside her, just at her fingertips, with a single line written in dramatic, loopy script on cheap, reconstituted pink paper.

There is no light, there is no life without him.

The empty pill bottle sat on the nightstand, beside a glass of tepid water and a single pink rosebud, shed of all thorns.

Eve studied the room and decided the rose fit with the frilly pink-and-white curtains, the framed posters of fantasy landscapes and meadows. The room was tidy, if overly female, but for a scatter of used tissues lying like snow over the floor by the bed, the remains of a melted pint of Sinful Chocolate frozen dessert, and a half bottle of white wine.

"What does it look like?" Eve asked Peabody.

"It looks like she had herself a major pity party. Wine and ice cream for comfort, lots of tears. Probably used the wine to help herself gear up for the pills. She was young, stupid, and theatrical. The combo led her to self-termination over a sleazeball."

"Yeah, that's what it looks like. Where'd she get the pills?"

With a sealed hand, Peabody picked up the bottle to examine the unmarked green plastic. "It's not a prescription bottle. Black market."

"She strike you as the type who'd have black market connections?"

"No." And the question had Peabody frowning, studying scene and body more closely. "No, but you get fringe dealers working colleges and art circles. She moved in both."