Memory in Death (In Death #22)(30)

"Chicken soup, just after eight last night. Chinese wrap about midnight. A lot of coffee on and off until seven p.m." She opened the frig-gie. "Wine, good stuff—about a glass and a half left in the bottle. Milk, juice—both opened—and a quart, half gone, of chocolate frozen non-dairy dessert product."

She glanced at the sink and counter. "Yet there's not a bowl, glass, spoon unwashed."

"She was tidy?"

"She was lazy, but maybe she was bored enough to clean up after herself."

She heard Crime Scene arrive, took another minute. "Door's locked from the inside." Two clicks, she thought, when the maid had used her master. "Killer exited from the window. Possibly entered through same. Tourist hives like this one don't go for soundproofing. Makes you wonder why she didn't scream the place down."

She stepped out, saw not only the sweepers, but Morris, the Chief Medical Examiner.

She remembered he'd worn a suit to the party, a kind of muted blue overlaid with a faint sheen. His long, dark hair had been intricately braided and he'd knocked back a few. Enough that he'd gotten up on stage with the band at one point and wailed away on the sax.

His talents, she'd discovered, weren't limited to deciphering the dead.

Now he was in casual pants and a sweatshirt, and his hair was scooped back in a long, shiny tail. His eyes, slanted and oddly sexy, skimmed down the hallway and found her.

"Have you ever considered, just for the hell of it, taking a Sunday off?"

"Thought I was." She drew him aside. "I'm sorry to call you in, especially since I know you were up late."

"Very. In fact, I'd just gotten home when you tagged me. I have been to bed," he added with his slow smile. "Just not my own."

"Oh. Well. Here's the thing. I knew her."

"I'm sorry." He sobered. "Dallas, I'm very sorry."

"I said I knew her, not that I liked her. In fact, it's the opposite. I need you to verify time of death. I want to be sure your gauge matches mine. And I want to know, as close as you can get it, when she obtained the other injuries you're going to find."

"Of course. Can I ask—"

"Lieutenant, sorry to interrupt." Bilkey stepped beside her. "Vic's son's getting antsy."

"Tell him I'll be there in five."

"No problem. Nothing on the canvass so far. Just fyi, two rooms this floor had check-outs this morning. Got you the data on that. Room next to the scene was a no-show. Contacted the desk last night about eighteen hundred to cancel. Got the name in case you need it. You want I should get the lobby security discs?"

"Do that. Good work, Bilkey."

"All in a day's."

She turned back to Morris. "I don't want to get into it here and now. Just want to emphasize your confirmation of my time of death. I've got next of kin down the hall, and I have to deal with them. I'll fill you in on whatever's salient once you've filed your report. I'd appreciate if you'd handle all of it personally."

"Then I will."

With a nod, she signalled to Peabody. "This is bound to be messy," she began as they started down the hall.

"You want to separate them?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. Let's see how it goes."

She braced herself, and knocked on the door.

7

ODD, EVE THOUGHT, HOW LITTLE SHE remembered him. He was, essentially, the first child near her own age she'd ever known.

They'd lived in the same house for months, and it had been a series of firsts for her. The first time she'd ever lived in a house, or stayed in one place night after night with a bed of her own. The first time she'd been around another kid.

The first time she hadn't been beaten or raped.

But she could only see him vaguely the way he'd been—the pale blond hair cut short over a wide, almost chubby face.

He'd been shy, and she'd been terrified. She supposed it wasn't that odd that they hadn't bonded.

Now, here they were, in a bland hotel room with grief and death fouling the air.

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I'm very sorry about what's happened."

"I don't know what happened." His eyes were ravaged, and he clung to Zana's hand as they sat together on the side of the bed. "No one will tell us anything. My mother... my mother."

"Do you know why she came to New York?"

"Of course." When Zana made a little whimpering sound, Bobby took his hand from hers so he could wrap his arm tight around her shoulders. "She wanted to see you. And we haven't had a vacation in a while. She was excited about coming to New York. We've never been. And seeing you, and shopping for Christmas. Oh, God." He dropped his head onto his wife's shoulder, then just dropped it into his hands. "How could this have happened to her? Who could've done it?"

"Do you know anyone who was bothering her? Who had threatened her?"

"No. No. No."

"Well..." Zana bit her lip, then pressed them tight together.

"You thought of someone?" Eve asked her.

"I, well, it's just that she's got that feud going with Mrs. Dillman next door?" She knuckled tears away. "Mrs. Dillman's grandson's over there and out in the backyard all the time with that little dog he brings over, and they do carry on. Mama Tru and Mrs. Dillman had more than a few words over it. And Mrs. Dillman said she'd like to slap Mama Tru silly."