Memory in Death (In Death #22)(86)

He lifted his eyebrows. "You think she did it."

She drew a line with her finger from the photograph of Trudy, to Bobby, to Zana. A very handy triangle, she decided. Neat and tidy.

"I've thought she did it since I opened the door and found Trudy dead."

He turned in the chair now, studying her face. "Kept that one close to the vest, didn't you?"

"No need to get pissy."

"I never get pissy." He rose, deciding it was time for a brandy. "I do, occasionally, become irked.

Such as now. Why didn't you say earlier?"

"Because every time I circled around her, she's come up clean. I've got no facts, no data, no evidence, no clear motive."

She stepped closer to Zana's photo. Big blue eyes, wavy blond hair. The guileless milkmaid, whatever the hell a milkmaid was.

"I've run probabilities on her, and they come up low. Even my head tells me it's not her. It's my gut saying otherwise."

"You generally trust your gut."

"This is different, because my gut's already involved because of my connection to the victim." She walked away from the board, back to her auxiliary station. "And the suspect on the top of my gut list hasn't given me any solid reason to have her there. Her actions and reactions, her statements, her behavior are pretty much what they should be under the circumstances. But I look at her, and I think:

It ought to be you."

"And Bobby?"

"Could be working with her. One or both of them knew what Trudy was up to. One or both of them seduces the other, uses sex, love, money—all of the above."

She stopped, pulled the fresh scene photos of Bobby's injuries out of her file, and moved over to tack them to her board.

"But this, the incident that landed him in the hospital, doesn't fit with that. I made sure I saw him before she did. He gave no sign she'd pulled a double-cross on him. They were wired on their walk around the city, and Baxter's oral indicated they talked about shopping and lunch. Nothing about Trudy, nothing about any plot or plan. It just doesn't feel like him, doesn't feel like teamwork. But—"

"You're afraid your memory of him colors your instincts."

"Maybe. I need to push the pieces around some more."

Task completed. There are no matches in the manifest with files currently on record...

"Well, that was a bust," Eve complained. "We can try name combinations, look for aliases."

"I'll set it up."

Eve poured more coffee, waiting until his back was turned to avoid a caffeine lecture. "You're married to someone—and you work with them, live with them, sleep with them—don't you figure you'd get an inkling if they were stringing you? I mean, day after day, night after night. The stringer's got to make a slip sometime and put the stringee on guard."

"You've heard the expression 'love is blind.'"

"I think it's bullshit. Lust dazzles, sure, at least for the short term. But love clears the vision. You see better, sharper, because you feel more than you did before."

His lips curved as he stepped to her, touched her hair, her face. "That, I think, is the most romantic

thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"It's not romantic, it's—"

"Hush." He laid his lips on hers briefly. "Let me enjoy it. You have a point, but love can also cause you to see things as you prefer to see them, as you want them to be. And you haven't factored in—if we stick with your gut, and she's responsible—that she may love him. Part of her motive might have been to free him from what she saw as a destructive, even dangerous influence."

"Now who's being romantic? If I put her in as the killer, then she pushed her husband in front of a cab

a few hours ago. No way—if she did Trudy—that was an accident, a coincidence."

"You have me on that one."

"No, what I have is nothing. I've got one material witness/suspect in the hospital. Another in a hotel room, under watch. I have no evidence that points to either of them, or anyone else at this time. I need to pick at it, that's all. Shuffle things up and keep picking at it."

She thought of the recording, and Roarke's skill, his fancy computer lab. She could ask him to work

it for her, put in the time.

Not right, not fair. Not starting so late.

"Guess we'll pack it in for now. Check the results of that last run in the morning."

"That suits me. What about a swim first? Work out the kinks."

"Yeah, that'd be good." She started for the elevator with him, then narrowed her eyes. "Is this some ploy to get me wet and naked?"

"Love certainly doesn't blind you, Lieutenant. You see right through me."

17

IT WASN T SNOW FOR CHRISTMAS EVE, BUT another bout of nasty, freezing rain that made gleeful skittering sounds against the windows. It would, Eve thought in disgust, coat the streets and sidewalks and give the city employees who were on a shift another excuse to blow the day off.

She was tempted, nearly, to join them. She could drag on a sweatshirt and work from home, avoid the ice rink of the streets. Stay warm and comfortable. It was sheer contrariness that had her preparing to go in.