Memory in Death (In Death #22)(74)

Eve strode to the bathroom. "In here. You'd do it in here, in case the pain makes you sick. Don't want to puke on the floor. Who's going to clean it up?"

Eve stepped to the sink, looked into the mirror. "Takes a good look. She's paid good money to keep her face in tune. But that's all right, that's okay. There'll be more. And there's no way that son of a bitch is going to get away with treating her that way. He doesn't know who he's dealing with."

Eve brought her fist up hard, right below the chin. Fast enough, violently enough to make Peabody jolt behind her.

"Jeez, I could almost feel it."

"Saw stars. Pain grinds right down into the gut. Dizzy, half sick. Gotta do the rest, gotta do it while you've still got the courage, and the strength." She mimed the blows, imagined them. Tipped forward, gripped the sink as if for support.

"They got her prints off the sink? Where?"

Peabody pulled out her PCC, called up the file. "Pretty much where your hand is. Good imprints—all four fingers and thumb, left hand."

"Yeah, cause she's still holding the sap in her right, had to grab hold to stay upright. Good grip, good prints. Got to bleed a little, from the face."

She turned, reached out for a washcloth. "Should be two of these. She takes one, holds it to her face, maybe dampens it first. So we get a little of her blood in the sink. But the cloth's not here when we find her."

"Killer took it? Why?"

"To keep the illusion she was beaten. Trudy takes the cloth, probably puts some ice in it, just to cool her face. None of her clothes had blood on them, except for the nightgown. Most likely she wore it while she clocked herself. Don't want to mess up a nice outfit. Besides, she's going to want to lie down for a while anyway. Sleep off the pain."

"It still doesn't make sense."

"Call up the list of her belongings. Is there a vid cam?"

"Hold on." Peabody shoved at her hair, then found the file. "No cam, but... hey. There's a disc for one. Unused. It was in her purse."

"Tourists don't come to New York without a vid cam. Just like our pal, Larry. And she used recordings before. Sleeps it off, first. Has to have her wits about her when she documents her injuries. Sets the stage, works up some tears, some shakes. Puts the finger on Roarke, or me. Or both of us."

Eve looked toward the bed, could picture Trudy sitting there, her face battered, tears streaming. "'This is what they did to me. I'm afraid for my life.' All she has to do is get a copy of it delivered to one of us. Have to have some subtext on the recording. 'I don't know what to do. Should I go to the police? But she's the police. God help me,' blah-blah. 'He's so rich, so powerful. What will happen if I take this recording to the media. Will I be safe?'"

"Figuring you'd read between the lines."

"And when we contact her, she'll insist one of us come here. No 'link conversations that can be turned around on her. Face-to-face. Give me the money, or I ruin you. But it doesn't get that far."

"Because her delivery boy took her out."

"Had to come in the door. I just don't buy the window, not with this scenario. Security's not heavy here. Anybody wants to walk in, they walk in. Or he could've been staying at the hotel. Keep him close that way, under her thumb that way. At her beck and call. We'll run the registration list again, go deeper there. Find a connection. Better if your minion's close by. She tells him to come up."

"She couldn't be feeling her best, even with the blockers, the alcohol."

"No, and she'd want to be able to complain to somebody. Fix me a drink. Get me some soup. Maybe bitching—if she'd sent the disc with him—why we hadn't jumped already. What's taking us so long? Maybe she slips about the amount she's going to demand, or maybe she just pushes the wrong button. But she's not concerned. Pacing around in her nightgown. She's there."

Eve pointed so that Peabody would assume Trudy's position. "Back to him. He picks up the sap, takes her down. Rug burns on the heels of her hand. Get down, Peabody."

"Cops have no dignity." Peabody went down on her knees, shot her hands out as if catching herself.

"And again, from above. One more to make sure. Blood. Had to get some blood on him. Now he's got to figure it out, cover his tracks. Take the weapon, take the 'link, take the camera. Record would be on the hard drive, if anyone decided to look. Make sure. Washcloth, towel, sock. Anything with her blood on it. Wrap everything up in a towel. Go out the window. Leave the window open. Logic says the killer came in that way."

By the window now, Eve looked out. "Down and gone, no problem. Or..." She studied the distance to the window of the next room, the emergency platform. "Next room was empty. Maybe..."

She turned back. "Let's have the sweepers take a look next door. I want those drains checked for blood. Bring them in now. I'll go down and deal with the desk droid."

He wasn't happy about it. The room was occupied, and moving guests generally made them unhappy.

"They'll be a lot unhappier if they're in there while my crime scene team's tearing up the room. You'll be a lot unhappier if I go through the trouble of getting a warrant to shut down this establishment until