Memory in Death (In Death #22)(72)

"I'm going to clear you to go out."

"Out?" He looked toward the windows as if they were prison bars. "Really? You think it's safe, after what happened?"

"I think the chances of you being approached or accosted, especially while you're together, are pretty low. Basically, Bobby, I can't keep the two of you holed up like this as material witnesses when you didn't see anything in the first place. If you've thought of anything else, remembered anything, that might help."

"I've gone over it and over it. Not doing a lot of sleeping since... since it happened. I don't understand why my mother would've gone to you for money. She's—she was—pretty well set. And I'm doing good. Good enough, and better now that we closed that big deal. Somebody must've pushed her to do it. But I don't know who'd do that. I don't know why."

"Get out, clear your head a little bit. Maybe something will come to you." If not, Eve thought, she was going to bring them both in, formal interview. Hit them with the facts, she decided, straight out. See what shakes.

"We could—" He broke off when Zana stepped out.

She was dressed in a white sweater and trim pants with tiny brown and white checks. Eve noted she'd taken the time to put on some lip dye, a little cheek color.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. We're getting a late start today."

"It's okay. How're you feeling?"

"All right. It's all starting to seem like some long, strange dream."

"Eve said we can go out for a while," Bobby told her.

"Really. But..." As he had, Zana glanced toward the window, bit her lip. "But what if... He could be watching."

"I'll be with you." Bobby walked over, put an arm around her. "We'll go out, buy a little tree. We might get some real snow."

"I'd really like that, if you're sure." She looked back at Eve. "I guess we're both going a little stir-crazy."

"Take your 'link," Eve advised. "I'll check in with you now and then." She headed for the door, stopped. "It's pretty cold. You'll want to dress warm if you're going to be walking around."

As she headed for the elevator, she pulled out her communicator again. "Peabody, status."

"Two blocks west. Got what we were looking for, first stop."

"Meet me in front of the hotel."

"Are we a go?"

"We're a go," Eve said. She switched over to Baxter. "We're in place. You have the signals."

"That's affirmative."

"Give them some room. Let's see how they spend their day."

On the street, she took a look around. If Trudy's killer had tracked them to the new location—and anything was possible—where would he wait and watch? There were always places. A restaurant, another hotel room, even the street for a period of time.

But those chances were slim. Tracking them wouldn't have been a cinch. That would take skill, smarts, and luck. Finding a spot to watch for a couple of days would take a great deal of patience.

And for what purpose? Money, if money was the object, would only come through them if she paid it out. Smarter, simpler, to try the direct blackmail route.

Smarter, simpler, to try to shake her rather than the victim's daughter-in-law.

She leaned on her car as she waited for Peabody. If money was the motive for murder, why wasn't the killer pushing harder for a payoff?

Peabody hiked up, rosy-cheeked from the cold and the walk.

"What if the money's the beard?"

"Whose beard?"

"The beard, Peabody. I keep circling back to payback instead of payoff. It just slides in better. But if it's payback, why do you wait until she's in New York, coming after me? Why do you smash her head in

after she's made contact? Why don't you wait until you see if she gets the dough first? Or you take her out at her home base, easier to make it look accidental."

"Maybe the killer lives here. In New York. Maybe she was playing two at once."

"Maybe. But so far, I've got nobody who's local popping out of her file. If it was impulse, why hang around trying to threaten Zana into coughing up money she doesn't have?"

"Because now you're greedy."

"Yeah, greed's usually good." But it wasn't gelling for her.

She got in the car. She didn't want to be loitering out front when and if the Lombards came out.

"What did you find out?" she asked Peabody.

"National Bank, a block from the boutique. One of the tellers made her photo straight off. She was in right before they closed, Friday afternoon. Wanted two hundred single-dollar credits. Snippy about it, so says the teller. Wanted them loose. No bag, no rolls. Just dumped them into her purse. Oh, they want a warrant before they turn over any security discs."

"Get one. Let's tie up all the threads."

"Where are we heading?"

"Back to the murder scene. I've run re-enactments on the comp. I want to try it on the spot." She dug out her homer, stuck it on the dash. "Baxter and Trueheart can handle the shadow, but we'll keep an eye on them anyway."

"Haven't moved yet," Peabody observed.