Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(40)

“Because I want a woman in my life,” he snapped. His head came up, and now his eyes were dark and angry. “A real woman, not one who buys me, all right? I want a goddamn relationship, what’s wrong with that? In my line of work, they don’t happen. You do what you’re paid to do, and you do it well. I like my job, but I want a personal life. There’s nothing illegal about wanting a personal life.”

“No,” she said slowly, “there’s not.”

“So I lied about what I do on the form.” He moved his shoulders restlessly. “I didn’t want to match up with the kind of woman who’d get some purient thrill out of dating an LC. You going to arrest me for lying on a f**king dating video?”

“No.” And she was sorry, sincerely, to have embarrassed him. “You matched up with a woman. Marianna Hawley. Do you remember her?”

“Marianna.” He struggled to regain his composure, drank deeply of the iced drink. “I remember her video. Pretty woman, sweet. I contacted her, but she’d already met someone.” Now he smiled, shrugged again. “Just my luck. She was exactly the type I was looking for.”

“You never met her?”

“No. I went out with the other four from my first match list. Hit it off with one of them. We saw each other off and on for a few weeks.” He blew out a breath. “I decided if it was going to go anywhere, I had to tell her what I really did. And that,” he finished, toasting Eve with his glass, “was the end of that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, there are more where she came from.” But his cocky smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Too bad Roarke took you out of the running.”

“Charles, Marianna is dead.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you caught the news lately?”

“No. I haven’t been watching any screen. Dead?” Then his eyes sharpened, focused in on Eve. “Murdered. You wouldn’t be here if she’d died quietly in her sleep. She was murdered. Am I a suspect?”

“Yeah, you are,” she said because she liked him enough to be straight with him. “I’m going to want to do a formal interview, just to keep it all official. But tell me now, can you clear yourself for last Tuesday night, for Wednesday, and for last night?”

He stared at her for a long time, just stared with eyes dull with horror. “How do you do what you do?” he demanded. “Day in and day out?”

She met those eyes levelly. “I could ask you the same thing, Charles. So let’s not get into career choices. Can you alibi?”

He broke the stare, pushed away from the table. “I’ll get my book.”

She let him go, knowing she could trust her gut on this one. He wasn’t a man who had murder inside him.

He came back carrying a small, elegant date book. Opening it, he plugged in the dates she’d asked for. “Tuesday, I had an overnight. Regular client. It can be verified. Last night I had a theater, late supper, and seduction here. The client left at two-thirty a.m. Got thirty minutes overtime out of it. And a handsome tip. Wednesday I was home, alone.”

He slid the book across the table to her. “Take the names, check it out.”

She said nothing, merely copied the names and addresses into her own book. “Sarabeth Greenbalm, Donnie Ray Michael,” she said at length. “Either ring for you?”

“No.”

She looked at him then, steadily. “I’ve never seen you use enhancements. Why did you purchase lip dye and eye smudger from the Natural Perfection line at All Things Beautiful?”

“Lip dye?” He looked blank for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh, I picked them up for the woman I was seeing. She asked me to get her a couple of things since I was going into the salon for the styling that came with my package.”

Obviously confused, he smiled a little. “And why, Lieutenant Sugar, should you care if I buy lip dye?”

“Just another detail, Charles. You did me a favor once, so I’m doing you one. Three people who used the services of Personally Yours are dead, killed in the same manner and by the same hand.”

“Three? God.”

“In less than a week. I’m not going to give you many details, and what I do give can’t be passed on to anyone. It’s my opinion that he’s using the data from Personally Yours to select his victims.”

“He’s killed three women in less than a week.”

“No.” Eve leveled her gaze. “The last victim was a man. You’re going to want to watch your step, Charles.”

When he understood, the edge of resentment faded. “You think I could be a target?”

“I think anyone in the Personally Yours data bank could be a target. At this point I’m concentrating on the victims’ match list. I’m telling you not to let anyone in your apartment you don’t know. Anyone.” She drew another breath. “He dresses up like Santa Claus and carries a large gift-wrapped box.”

“What?” He set down the glass he’d just lifted. “Is this a joke?”

“Three people are dead. It’s not very funny. He gets them to let him inside, he drugs them, restrains them, and he kills them.”

“Jesus.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “This is bizarre.”