Memory in Death (In Death #22)(100)

"A cop even then, in some part of you."

"She also knew people mostly aren't any damn good." She said it lightly, tried another raspberry. Then sat up straight. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. The presents. Let me think."

She pushed out of the chair, roamed the solarium with its potted trees, musical fountain.

"Presents and greed and Christmas and shopping. She bought stuff. I know Trudy bought stuff before she hit on either of us. I went through her credits and debits. She went on a fast, hard spree."

"And?"

"Bags in her room, shopping bags. I've got the stuff in inventory, but I never checked all the contents, one by one, with the accounts. She didn't buy anything like, you know, diamonds. Clothes, some perfume, shoes. She wasn't killed for new shoes, so I didn't go through it all, do a checklist. Just a quick skim. Some of it wasn't there, but she had some shipped from stores. I checked that. But I didn't go through it all, every piece."

"Why would you?"

"Greed, envy, coveting. Women are all the time, 'Oooh, I love your outfit, your shoes, those earrings.' Whatever." She circled a hand in the air when he laughed. "They went shopping together, the three of them, when they got in. Zana knew what she bought. Some of the stuff got shipped. Why would we bother to make sure some damn shirt made it to Texas? Gives her open season, doesn't it?"

She whirled back. "She's vain, under it. Always puts herself together. I bet Trudy bought some nice things for herself, and they're close enough to the same size. Who's going to know if her killer helped herself to a couple of things she liked best? Bobby's not going to notice. Men don't. Present company excepted."

"And you get that from dreaming about a corpse surrounded by presents."

"I get that because I'm groping. And I don't know, maybe my subconscious is working something out. The thing is, it fits with my sense of her, of Zana. Opportunistic. If she took something, if I can prove she had something from the room... it's still wild circumstantial evidence any PD in his first week could blow holes in, but it's something to needle her with."

She sat again. "She was one of us," Eve continued. "And we didn't get the good stuff. Handouts, hand-me-downs. Crumbs from the table when everyone else is having a big, fat slab of cake."

"Baby."

"I don't care about that." She rubbed her hand over his shoulder. "Never really did. But I'm betting she does, and did. Opportunity." She closed her eyes, sipped the mimosa without thinking. "Here in New York—big, bad city where anything can happen to anybody. Mark's running a scam that just makes it easier. It's like she's putting herself on a platter. Weapon's right there, easily used, easily disposed of. Gotta go out the window, but that's no trouble. Room next-door is empty. She had to wash up somewhere, and it wasn't in her own room or Trudy's. Had to be there, in the empty room."

She pushed up again. "Shit, shit. She stowed the weapon there, her bloody clothes, the towels. It's perfect—opportunity again. Stow the stuff, go back to your own room clean, where Bobby's sleeping. He'd never know the difference. And who's right on the spot the next morning, knocking on a dead woman's door?"

"Then you walk in."

"Yeah, she's not expecting that, but she adjusts. She's quick and she's smart. Patient, too. Ducks out the next morning, gets the stuff from the empty room. She could've ditched it anywhere, any recycler from the hotel to the bar where she staged the abduction, left her purse to add a flourish. Gone now.

Son of a bitch. We didn't canvass that far, not for the weapon or bloody clothes."

"Keep going," he said when she paused. "I'm fascinated."

"It's speculation, that's all it is. But it feels right." For the first time since the beginning, it felt exactly right. "Now she has the cops out looking for some guy, and chasing down an account that doesn't exist. Gives her time. Now she's a victim. She's got Trudy's discs. The case files, and the record Trudy made of her injuries."

Yes, she could see it, Eve thought. Gather stuff up, take what you need, what you want, don't leave any trace of yourself behind.

"Does she keep the discs? Hard to toss away that kind of opportunity for a future date. You could try the squeeze down the road."

"She didn't squeeze now, when it's ripe for it," Roarke pointed out. "Anonymous delivery of a copy of the recording—if it exists—an account number and instructions."

"It's too ripe. Yeah, too hot. Why push her luck? She needs time to think that angle through. Is it worth taking on a cop and a guy with your resources? Maybe not. Maybe later. But if she's smart, and she is, she checks, sees if we're alibied tight for the times in questions. And we were. Could've hired somebody to do it, back to that, but she's going to think if that's going to fly. If we're going to pay big piles of money over it or tough it out. More, go after her with a vengeance."

She paused. "Waiting's smarter. Isn't that what you'd do? It's what I'd do."

"I'd have destroyed the camera and the discs. Anything that tied me to that room. If it could be tracked to me, I'm in a cage." Roarke poured coffee for both of them. "Not worth it, especially not when I'm going to rake in whatever Trudy's socked away."