Kindred in Death (In Death #29)(34)

“Yeah, I’ve got a possible. I want to work it now.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Waste time, and neither do you. I’ll drive.”

When he clicked off she blew out a breath.

No point in arguing. And she could do a secondary run on Powders while Roarke played chauffeur.

He beat her downstairs and opened the door under the bitter eye of Galahad just as the vehicle he’d remoted on auto cruised to the front of the house.

“Where are we going and why?”

“Columbia, on-campus housing to interview a possible suspect. More likely a potential dupe. But either way that’s not my vehicle.”

Roarke glanced at the slick two-seat convertible, top down, in glittering silver. “It’s mine, and since I’m driving and it’s a very nice evening, I want an appropriate ride.”

She frowned all the way to the passenger seat. “I have an appropriate ride, which you gave me.”

“Safe, loaded, and deliberately unattractive. Key in the address,” he suggested, and gunned it down the drive.

She hated to admit it, but it felt damn good, the night, the air, the speed. Reminding herself it wasn’t about fun, she started a deeper run on Darian Powders.

“Kid’s from Georgia, requested new ID in January. He’s the right age, and he’s got a pretty face.”

“Isn’t school out for the summer? Why would he be on campus in June?”

“He’s taking a short summer semester, and interning at Westling Publishing. Lit major. He’s completed his second year at the college, carries a 3.4 grade average. No criminal, but his brother—who’s still in Georgia—has two illegals pops. Minor shit. He’s got an uncle in New York, an editor at the publishing house, who has a son a couple years older than this one who took a harder illegals hit. Did six months, and another three in rehab. Bust was Brooklyn’s, so not MacMasters.”

“Hardly motive for what was done to that girl.”

“It’s a start,” Eve said, and kept working the run as she enjoyed the ride.

7

EVE FLASHED HER BADGE AT THE STERN-FACED droid riding the desk at the check-in for the dorm. She assumed they’d gone droid to try to avoid any possibility of bribery or human weakness with infractions. But she figured that area would be offset by the ability of probably half the residents in reprogramming or memory erase.

The droid gave Eve’s badge both a naked eye study and a red-beam scan.

“Purpose of business?”

“That would be filed under none of yours.”

In droid fashion, the machine dubbed “Ms. Sloop” according to its nameplate stared blankly during processing.

“I am responsible for the residents and visitors of this building.”

“I’m responsible for the residents and visitors of this city. I win.” Eve tapped her badge. “This requires you to answer one simple question: Is Darian Powders on the premises at this time?”

The droid blinked twice, then consulted its comp, though Eve imagined it had the information in its own circuits.

During the process, Eve wondered if the pinched-face, tight-lipped, slicked-back-bun look of the machine was an attempt by whoever was in charge to intimidate the residents into behaving.

Since the stern, disapproving facade reminded her of Summerset, she didn’t see how it could work.

“Resident Powders logged in at oh-three-thirty. He has not since logged out.”

“Okay then.” Eve turned toward the elevator.

“You are required to log in.”

Eve didn’t bother to glance back. “You scanned my badge. That logs me in.” Stepping on, she ordered the fourth floor. “Why can’t they use humans?” she complained to Roarke. “Droids aren’t nearly as much fun to screw with.”

“I don’t know. I found it mildly entertaining. And it did look considerably put out.”

“Maybe, but it’s already moved on.” Hands in pockets, she rocked on her heels. “A person would probably sulk or stew about it for a few minutes anyway. That’s more satisfying.”

When the doors opened, the noise slammed her eardrums, and made her eyes throb. Music—clashing styles, volumes, lyrics—pumped out of rooms with their doors propped open. Voices mixed with them, some raised in argument or debate, others singing along. People, possibly under the influence of pharmaceuticals and in various stages of dress, wandered the hallways.

A couple twined in deep kiss/grope mode just outside a closed door. Eve wondered why they just didn’t go inside and finish the job.

She stepped in front of a girl sporting two nose rings and what might have been a tattoo of a honking goose on her left shoulder.

“Darian Powders? Where do I find him?”

“Dar?” The girl flapped a hand behind her while giving Roarke a long, slow, smoldering study. “Straight back, last on the right. Door’s open. I’m over that way,” she said to Roarke, “if you’re interested.”

“That’s an offer,” Roarke said pleasantly. “But I’ll be going this way.”

“Bummed.”

With a look more of wonder than annoyance, Eve watched the girl stroll off. “She completely eye-f*cked you.”