Immortal in Death (In Death #3)(24)

“Three days,” she fumed, “three days in repair, and listen to it. It’s worse than it was.”

“Dallas.” He laid a hand on her arm. “You may have to face it, finally, learn to deal with the simple fact that your vehicle is a piece of garbage. Requisition a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one.” Using the heel of her hand, she rapped the control panel. “I want this one, without the sound effects.” She got caught at a light, tapped her fingers on the wheel. The way the controls sounded, she wouldn’t be able to trust automatic. “Where the hell is 582 Central Park South?” Her controls continued to buzz, so she slapped them again. “I said, where the hell is 582 Central Park South?”

“Just ask nice,” Feeney suggested. “Computer, please display map and locate 582 Central Park South.”

When the display screen popped up, the holographic map highlighting the route, Eve only snarled.

“I don’t baby my tools.”

“Which may be why they’re always breaking down on you. As I was saying,” he continued before Eve could snap at him, “the wife’s going to love this. Justin Young. He used to play this stud on Night Falls.”

“Isn’t that a soap?” She shot him a glance. “What are you doing watching soaps?”

“Hey, I tune in the Soap Channel for a little relaxation like everybody. Anyway, the wife was nuts about him. He does the movie thing now. She hardly goes a week without programming one of his movies on screen. Guy’s good, too. Then there’s Jerry Fitzgerald.” Feeney smiled dreamily.

“Keep your little fantasies to yourself, pal.”

“I tell you that girl’s built. Not like some of the models who have their bodies honed down to bone.” He made a sound like a man anticipating a large bowl of ice cream. “You know one of the best things about working with you recently, Dallas?”

“My charming ways and rapier wit?”

“Oh sure.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s being able to go home and tell the wife who I interrogated today. A billionaire, a senator, Italian aristocrats, film stars. I tell you, it’s done wonders for my prestige.”

“Glad I could help.” She squeezed her battered police issue between a mini Rolls and a vintage Mercedes. “Just try to control your awe while we do the third degree on the actor.”

“I’m a professional.” But he was grinning as he climbed out. “Just look at this place. How’d you like to own a place in here?” Then he chuckled and shifted his eyes away from the glossy faux marble facade of the lofty building. “Oh, I was forgetting. This is slumming for you now.”

“Kiss ass, Feeney.”

“Come on, kid, loosen up.” He slung an arm around her shoulder as they headed toward the doors. “Falling for the richest man in the known world isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of it. I just don’t like to dwell on it.”

The building was choice enough to have a live doorman as well as electronic security. Both Eve and Feeney flashed their badges and were admitted into a marble and gilt lobby accented with leafy ferns and exotic flowers in huge china pots.

“Ostentatious,” Eve muttered.

“See how jaded you’re getting?” Feeney moved out of range and approached the inner security screen. “Lieutenant Dallas and Captain Feeney, for Justin Young.”

“One moment, please.” The creamy computer voice paused while their identification was verified. “Thank you for waiting. Mr. Young is expecting you. Please proceed to elevator three, request your party. Enjoy your day.”

CHAPTER SIX

“So, how do you want to play it?” Feeney pursed his lips, studied the tiny camera in the corner of the elevator on the way up. “The standard good cop/bad cop?”

“Funny how it always works.”

“Civilians are easy marks.”

“Let’s start with the sorry to bother you, appreciate your cooperation sort of thing. If we get a sense he’s playing games, we can shift gears.”

“If we do, I want to be the bad cop.”

“You’re a lousy bad cop, Feeney. Face it.”

He gave her a mournful look. “I outrank you, Dallas.”

“I’m primary, and I’m better at bad cop. Live with it.”

“I always have to be the good cop,” he muttered as they stepped into a well-lighted hallway with more marble, more gilt.

Justin Young opened the opposing door with perfect timing. And, Eve thought, he’d dressed for the part of the well-to-do yet cooperative witness in casual, expensive, buff linen slacks and a drapey silk shirt of the same tone. On his feet were trendy sandals with thick soles and intricate beading over the instep.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Captain Feeney.” His beautifully sculpted face was in serious lines, the killer black eyes sober and a dramatic contrast to a wavy mane of hair the same color as the gilt in the hallway. He offered a hand adorned with a wide ring studded with onyx. “Please come in.”

“Thank you for agreeing to see us so quickly, Mr. Young.” Perhaps her eye had become jaded, but Eve’s initial scan of the room left her thinking. Overdone, overwrought, and overexpensive.

“It’s such a tragedy, such a horror.” He gestured them in toward a huge L-shaped sofa jammed with pillows in wild colors and slick fabrics. Across the room, a meditation screen was programmed to a tropical beach at sunset. “It’s almost impossible to believe she could be dead, much less that she died in such a sudden and violent way.”