Memory in Death (In Death #22)(56)

She snapped her fingers, shot her index up, leading with the festive ice pick. "Friday. Me and Fawn grabbed gyros on Friday. She had the weekend off, and I remember crabbing about it to her."

"Was she alone?"

"Who'd hang with that type? If anybody was with her, they stayed back. She strutted out by herself. I watched her go." She smiled a little. "Shot her the bird behind her back. Couple of the customers applauded."

"Have you got security discs?"

"Sure. What's this about? Somebody kick her ass? I'd've held their coat."

"Yeah, somebody did. I'd like to view the discs for Friday afternoon. We'll need to make copies."

"Wow. Okay. Gee. I'm not in trouble with this, am I?"

"No. But we'll need the discs."

Jayne shoved herself to her feet. "I gotta get the manager."

* * *

Back at her office, Eve reviewed the disc again. She drank coffee and watched Trudy walk in through the street doors. Sixteen-twenty-eight on the time stamp. Time enough to stew about the result of her visit to Roarke, Eve decided. Time enough to discuss it with a partner, or just walk around until a plan formed.

Pissed, Eve noted, when she paused, magnified Trudy's face. She could almost hear the teeth grinding together. Seething anger, not cold deliberation. Not right now, anyway. Impulse, maybe. I'll show them.

Had to look for the socks, elbow people out of her way, skirt around tables. But she found what she wanted... and at a bargain price.

Eve watched Trudy's teeth bare in a snarl when she yanked the socks from the display. But she frowned at the price, at the sale display, before marching over to stand in line.

Tapping her foot, glaring at the customers in line ahead of her.

Impatient. And alone.

She continued to watch, through the altercation with the clerk, Trudy looking down her nose, fisting her hands on her hips. Digging in. Turning briefly to snap something at the woman behind her in line.

Making a scene over pocket change.

Buying her own murder weapon on the cheap.

She didn't wait for a bag, didn't wait for a receipt. Just stuffed the socks in her purse and stalked out.

Eve sat back, perused the ceiling. Had to get the credits. Nobody carries enough to fill a sock around with them. And the way she'd slung the purse around didn't indicate it was weighed down.

"Computer, find and list all banks from Sixth Avenue to Tenth, between... Thirty-eighth and Forty-eighth.

Working...

Pushing up, she checked the time. Banks were closed for the day. But Trudy would have had just enough time to get to one, get herself a sackful of credits.

Check that out tomorrow. "Print out data," Eve ordered when the computer began to recite a list of banks. "Copy to file, copy to my home computer."

Acknowledged. Working...

She could see it. She'd have to find the bank, verify, but she could see it. Closest one to the boutique, that's the one it would be. Stride in, still steaming. Used cash if she was thinking, Eve decided. No point in having a transaction like that popping on a credit or debit report, so you use cash. And you dispose of the bank bag before you go back to the hotel.

Alone, she thought again.

Comes to the station alone, then to Roarke's office. No sign anyone's waiting for her in the lobby.

Makes a call maybe, uses her 'link once she's outside the building. No way to check that when the 'link's gone. Smart to take the 'link from the murder scene.

She paced, ordered more coffee.

Scared when she leaves Roarke. Contacts her pal, her cohort. Cries the blues. Could've cooked up the next part together.

She turned to her murder board, studied the photos of Trudy's face.

"What does it take to do that to yourself?" Eve muttered. "Plenty of motivation. Plenty of anger. But how the hell did you expect to prove you got tuned up by me or Roarke, or somebody we sicced on you?"

Back to stupid, she thought with a shake of her head. That was leading with anger, that was impulse and fury. Smarter to have gotten one or both of us out of the house on some pretext, somewhere we wouldn't be easily alibied. Stupid to assume we wouldn't have one. Sloppy.

A memory nudged at her, nearly faded once more. Eve closed her eyes, pressed and focused.

Dark. Can't sleep. Too hungry. But the door of her room was locked from the outside. Trudy didn't like her to wander around the house— sneaking around, getting into trouble.

She was being punished anyway.

She'd talked to the boy across the street, a couple of his friends. Older boys. Taken a ride on one of their boards. Trudy didn't like the boy across the street, or his friends.

Hoodlums. Delinquents. Vandals. And worse. And you, nothing but a slut. Nine years old and already putting out. That's nothing new for you, is it? Get upstairs, and you can forget about supper. I don't feed trash in my house.

Shouldn't have talked to the boy. But he'd said he'd show her how to use the board, and she'd never ridden one before. They could do tricks on theirs—loops and wheelies and spins. She liked to watch them. The boy had seen her watching, and grinned at her. Motioned her over.

Shouldn't have gone—hell to pay. But he'd held that colorful board out, said she could take a breeze. He'd show her how.

And when she'd shot off on it, he'd whistled through his teeth. His friends had laughed. He'd said she had balls.