Naked in Death (In Death #1)(36)

So, prostitutes had class systems, Eve thought wearily. What else was new? “We haven’t determined whether they knew each other. But there’s little doubt that they both knew the same man. And that man killed them. Each murder followed a specific pattern. We’ll use that pattern to find him. Before, we hope, he kills again.”

“You believe he will,” Rockman put in.

“I’m sure he will.”

“The murder weapon,” DeBlass demanded. “Was it the same type?”

“It’s part of the pattern,” Eve told him. She’d commit no more than that. “There are basic and undeniable similarities between the two homicides. There’s no doubt the same man is responsible.”

Calmer now, Eve stood again. “Senator, I never knew your granddaughter and have no personal tie to her, but I’m personally offended by murder. I’m going after him. That’s all I can tell you.”

He studied her for a moment, saw more than he’d expected to see. “Very well, lieutenant. Thank you for coming.”

Dismissed, Eve walked with Feeney to the door. In the mirror she saw DeBlass signal to Rockman, Rockman acknowledged. She waited until she was outside before she spoke.

“The son of a bitch is going to tail us.”

“Huh?”

“DeBlass’s guard dog. He’s going to shadow us.”

“What the hell for?”

“To see what we do, where we go. Why do you tail anyone? We’re going to lose him at the transport center,” she told Feeney as she flagged down a cab. “Keep your eyes out and see if he follows you to New York.”

“Follows me? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to follow my nose.”

It wasn’t a difficult maneuver. The west wing boarding terminal at National Transport was always bedlam. It was even worse at rush hour when all northbound passengers were jammed into the security line and herded along by computerized voices. Shuttles and runabouts were going to be jammed.

Eve simply lost herself in the crowd, crammed herself into a cross terminal transport to the south wing, and caught an underground to Virginia.

After settling in her tube, ignoring the four o’clocks who were heading to the suburban havens, she took out her pocket directory. She requested Elizabeth Barrister’s address, then asked for directions.

So far her nose was just fine. She was on the right tube and would have to make only one change in Richmond. If her luck held, she could finish the trip and be back in her apartment in time for dinner.

With her chin on her fist, she toyed with the controls of her video screen. She would have bypassed the news — something she made a habit of doing — but when an all-too-familiar face flashed on-screen, she stopped scanning.

Roarke, she thought, narrowing her eyes. The guy sure kept popping up. Lips pursed, she tuned in the audio, plugged in her ear receiver.

“… in this international, multibillion dollar project, Roarke Industries, Tokayamo, and Europa will join hands,” the announcer stated. “It’s taken three years, but it appears that the much debated, much anticipated Olympus Resort will begin construction.”

Olympus Resort, Eve mused, flipping through her mental files. Some high-class, high-dollar vacation paradise, she recalled. A proposed space station built for pleasure and entertainment.

She snorted. Wasn’t it just like him to spend his time and money on fripperies?

If he didn’t lose his tailored silk shirt, she imagined he’d make another fortune.

“Roarke — one question, sir.”

She watched Roarke pause on his way down a long flight of marble steps and lift a brow — exactly as she remembered he did — at the reporter’s interruption.

“Could you tell me why you’ve spent so much time and effort, and a considerable amount of your own capitol, on this project — one detractors say will never fly?”

“Fly is precisely what it will do,” Roarke replied. “In a manner of speaking. As to why, the Olympus Resort will be a haven for pleasure. I can’t think of anything more worthwhile on which to spend time, effort, and capital.”

You wouldn’t, Eve decided, and glanced up just in time to realize she was about to miss her stop. She dashed to the doors of the tube, cursed the computer voice for scolding her for running, and made the change to Fort Royal.

When she came above ground again, it was snowing. Soft, lazy flakes drifted over her hair and shoulders. Pedestrians were stomping it to mush on the sidewalks, but when she found a cab and gave her destination, she found the swirl of white more picturesque.

There was still countryside to be had, if you possessed the money or the prestige. Elizabeth Barrister and Richard DeBlass possessed both, and their home was a striking two stories of rosy brick set on a sloping hill and flanked by trees.

Snow was pristine on the expansive lawn, ermine draped on the bare branches of what Eve thought might be cherry trees. The security gate was an artful symphony of curling iron. However decorative it might have been, Eve was certain it was as practical as a vault.

She leaned out the cab window, flashed her badge at the scanner. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.”

“You are not listed in the appointment directory, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I’m the officer in charge of the DeBlass case. I have some questions for Ms. Barrister or Richard DeBlass.”