Divided in Death (In Death #18)(54)

"You're sending McNab with me so he can watch my back."

"So you can watch each other's backs. I don't anticipate anyone will move on you, but I didn't anticipate anyone would move on Chloe McCoy either."

"No one could have, Dallas."

"You can always anticipate," Eve stated as she stepped off into the lobby, and turned to seal off the elevator. "If I had, she wouldn't be dead."

***

She sent Peabody off to pack and went solo to the morgue. Morris was just suiting up in his protective gear when she walked in.

He had a nice golden tan, and a trio of colorful balls dangling from a temple braid. It reminded her that he'd just returned from vacation.

"Good to see you back in the trenches," she said.

"My return would hardly be complete without a visit from my favorite murder cop. You've sent me three bodies in as many days. That's a haul, even for you."

"Let's talk about the new one."

"Haven't gotten to her yet. Even I have human limitations. You've sent her in priority one. Since it's you, I assume this poor young thing actually is priority one. Suspicious death." He looked down at Chloe. "Then, I'm always suspicious of death. Called in as a probable ST?"

"Yeah, but I'm not buying."

"No sign of force." He fixed on his goggles, bent low. Eve waited until he'd run his eyes and his gauge over the body, studied readouts and images on his screen. "No punctures, no insults. The note written in her hand?"

"It was, to the best of my knowledge."

"And she was alone, in her apartment. In her bed?"

"On the bed. The security discs show no one other than residents entering the building. There's no security floor to floor."

"Well, I'll open her up and we'll see what we see. Do you want to tell me what you're looking for?"

"I want to know what she took, or was given. The amount, the potency, the time. And I want to know fast."

"That I can do."

"How about the tox on the other two bodies-Bissel and Kade?"

"A moment." He walked over to his data center, called up the files. "Just in. It appears they'd both indulged in several ounces of champagne-French, excellent vintage. Last meal, three hours prior to death... very classy. Caviar, smoked salmon, brie, strawberries. No illegals or other chemical enhancements in the female. Small traces of Exotica in the male."

"They have sex?"

"They certainly did. At least they should have died in a jovial and satisfied frame of mind."

"Verified the murder weapon?"

"Yes. Kitchen knife, jagged-edge style. The one recovered from the scene matches the wounds inflicted."

"Zapped, stabbed."

"In that order," he agreed. "No defensive wounds. Some skin under the female's nails, that matches the other vic. Conclusion: a bit of passionate scratching, very minor, during the throes. They'd had sex, and from the positioning of the stunner marks, were likely having an encore when they were disabled. Someone was very annoyed with them."

"You'd think." She glanced back at Chloe, lying white and naked and cold on the slab. "Some people would think she got off easy."

"But we know better. I'll take care of her."

"You can reach me at home as soon as you have the results. Morris, repasscode the files on all three of these, will you? And don't let anyone else work on them."

His eyes gleamed with interest behind his goggles. "More and more interesting."

"Yeah. In fact, I'll come back and pick up the data when you're done. Don't send it."

"Now I'm fascinated. Why don't I bring it to you? That way you can offer me some of Roarke's wonderful wine while you explain."

"Works for me."

***

He'd bought time and space. That was the important thing. Nothing was going exactly as he'd planned, but he could think on his feet. He could, would, keep his head and think on his feet.

He'd thought on his feet with Chloe McCoy, hadn't he? He'd tied that right up.

The police weren't buying it, weren't buying any of it. And that made no sense. No damn sense.

He couldn't have handed them a sweeter package if he'd tied a damn ribbon around it.

Sweat wormed down his back as he prowled the well-appointed rooms that were, for now, his prison and his sanctuary. They couldn't tie him to the murders, and that was what counted. That was priority one.

The rest, he'd fix. He just needed more time.

So it was all right, for now it was all right. He was safe. And he'd figure a way out.

He had some money-not enough, not enough even now and a far cry from what he'd been promised-but it gave him some breathing room.

And no matter how maddening it was, parts of it were very exciting. He was the star of his own vid, and he was writing it as he went along. He wasn't the patsy people had taken him for, oh no, he wasn't.

He toked a little Zeus, a small reward, and felt like the king of the world.

He'd do what he had to do, and he'd be smart about it. Careful and smart.

Nobody knew where he was, or that he was.

He was going to keep it that way.