Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(83)

"That's assuming they, or their attorneys, saw the brush strokes."

They wouldn't see Roarke's, Eve ktiew. No one would. "I can't use the evidence if I don't have the authorization to seek the evidence." But she'd know enough to be able to narrow the list.

Enough, potentially, to save ,a life.

"I take him down, give him any wiggle room in the courts and he gets off, he'll kill someone else down the road. He won't stop until he's stopped. Not only because he enjoys it, he needs it, but because he's been working toward this for a long, long time. If I screw this up, all I do is put a hitch in his stride. Once he gets his rhythm back, whoever he kills is on me. I can't live with that."

"All right. I understand that. But, Eve, look at me now, promise me that if he kills someone else before you're able to stop him, you won't feel the same way.'

She did look at him. "I wish I could" was all she said.

Detective Sloan was a young, eager beaver who'd caught the case with his older, more experienced, and less interested partner. The partner had since retired, and Sloan was partnered with a female counterpart who'd come along for the ride for the meet with Eve.

"It was the first homicide where I was- primary," Sloan told Eve over chilled juices in a health bar. New L.A.'s version, she supposed, of the cop haunt.

The place was bright and cool, done in crisp colors and boasting a cheery wait-staff who were bouncy on their feet.

Eve thanked God she lived and worked on the other coast, where waiters were appropriately surly, and never felt obliged to offer you something called Pineapple-Papaya Phizz as the special of the day.

"Trent gave it to me as a training exercise," he added.

"He gave it to you so he didn't have to lift his fat ass off his desk chair," the partner put in.

Sloann grinned amiably. "Might've played into it. The victim was one of the disenfranchised. I did track some family after we identified her, but nobody cared to claim the body. I got conflictings from the witnesses I managed to convince to talk to me. Though they were impaired by some form of illegals, the most substantial described a male-race undetermined-wearing a gray or blue uniform who was seen entering the building at or around the time of the murder. Victim was squatting, and since anybody else in the building was also there illegally, everybody worked at ignoring everybody else."

"You've got a hot one back in New York with a similar MO." The new partner's name was Baker, and both she and Sloan were attractive, healthy specimens with sun-bleached hair. They looked more like a couple of professional surfers than cops.

Unless, Eve mused, you looked at the eyes.

"We, ah, did a little research after you contacted me," Sloan explained "Get a better handle on what you were looking for, and why."

"Good, saves me time explaining myself. You could reach out on this and let me have a copy of your case files, and walk me through the steps of your investigation."

"I can do that, and I'd like quid pro quo. My first case as primary," Sloan added. "I'd sure like to close it."

"We'd like to close it," Baker corrected. "Trent cashed it on his twenty-five, plans to spend the rest of his life fishing. He's not in this."

"Fair enough," Eve said.

This time when she was finished, she let Roarke pick her up. To her mind, any cops who weren't embarrassed to be seen drinking papaya juice couldn't blink at a fellow officer getting into a sleek little convertible. She stashed her growing bag of notes and discs behind her seat.

"I want to run by the scene, take a look at the setup." "We can do that."

She gave him the address, waited until he'd programmed it into the onboard computer. "So, did you buy the Dodgers?"

"I'm afraid not, but you have only to ask."

She leaned her head back, let her thoughts circle while he drove.

"Can't figure out why anybody lives out here," she said.

"Just because they've had the big one doesn't mean there's not another big one just waiting to flatten them."

"Nice breeze though," Roarke commented. "And they've certainly battled back the smog and noise pollution."

"Whole place feels like a vid, you know? Or a VR program. Too much peachy, pinky, white. Too many healthy bodies with perfect smiling faces on top of them. Creeps me.

"And I, just don't think you ought to have palm trees waving around in, the middle of a city. It's just not right."

"This should lease you then. The building you want appears to be suitably shabby and unkempt, and the locals seem to be satisfactorily shady_"

She sat up, stifled a yawn, and looked around.

Only about half the streetlights were working, and the building itself was dead dark. Some of the windows were riot-barred, others boarded. Several people skulked and slithered around in the shadows, and in one she spotted an illegals deal winding up.

"This is more like it. Cheered, she stepped -out of the car. "This thing got full security?"

"It's loaded." He put the top up, engaged locks and deflectors.

"Her flop was on the third floor. Might as well poke around since we're here."

"It's always a pleasure to poke around in a condemned building where someone might stab, bludgeon, or blast us at any moment."