Portrait in Death (In Death #16)(20)

"Those who can't, teach. Isn't there some saying along those lines?"

She gave him a blank look. "If you can't do something, how the hell can you teach somebody else to do it?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea. It may be she enjoys teaching. People do."

"God knows why. People asking questions all the time, looking at you for the answers, for approval, whatever. Dealing with f**k-ups and smartasses and pompous jerks. And all so they can go off and get jobs that pay more than you make to teach them how to get the jobs in the first place."

"Some might say very similar things about cops." He gave the dent in her chin a quick flick with his fingertip. "If you're still at it when I'm done, I'll give you a hand."

She fixed a smirk on her face. "If you're still at it when I'm done, I'll give you a hand."

"That's a very nasty threat."

***

In her office, Eve headed straight to the kitchen and the AutoChef to order up coffee. At her desk, she loaded the discs from the data club, then absently picked up the statue of the goddess Peabody's mother had given her.

Maybe it would bring her luck, she thought, and setting it down again, ordered the disc images on screen.

She spent the first hour threading her way though the disc, studying the crowd, the movement. The lighting was poor, dim in corners, harsh and jerky on the dance floor. If she needed to ID anyone specifically, she'd probably need the EDD magicians to clean it up. But for now what she saw was a young crowd, mixing, mingling, cruising.

As advertised Steve Audrey was at the bar until nine when the light show burst into being and the music went from merely loud to eardrum damage. He did his job competently enough, spending a lot of time chatting with the customers, but managing to fill their orders without delays.

Most of the cruisers, male or female, traveled in pairs or packs, she noted. There weren't many solos. The killer. Eve figured, would be alone. He didn't troll with a friend.

She plucked out the few singles she noted, marked the section of the disc.

And there, zeroing in, was Diego. She'd bet the bank on it. Swaggering little guy, slicked up in a red silk shirt and pegged trousers. Heeled boots. Oh yeah, thinks he's a god.

She watched him scan the crowd, pick his marks for the night's hustle.

"Computer, freeze image. Magnify section twenty-five through thirty." She pursed her lips as she studied the face. Dark, handsome, if you went for the macho-slick, pretty-boy type. "Computer, run standard ID program on this image. Get me a full name," she murmured.

It would take time, so she shifted to other work.

Somebody in that club had transmitted those images to Nadine. Someone who'd walked through those lights, those shadows, had plugged that data into one of the units, coded in Nadine's number at 75 and sent it on.

While EDD went over the stations, picked their way through the drives until they found the echoes, whoever had killed Rachel Howard was preparing for the next portrait.

***

I am so full of energy. It can't be an exaggeration to say I've been transformed. Even reborn. She is in me now, and I can feel her life inside me. The way a woman must feel with a child in her womb. And yet, more than that. More. For this is not something that needs me to live, that needs to grow and develop. She is whole and complete in me.

When I move, she moves. When I breathe, she breathes. We are one now, and we are forever.

I have given her immortality. Is there any greater love?

How amazing it was, with her eyes locked on mine in that moment when I stopped her heart. I could see in them that all at once she knew. She understood. And how she rejoiced when I drew her essence inside me so her heart would beat again.

Forever.

See how she looks in the images I created of her, one after another in the gallery I've given her. She will never grow old now, or suffer, or know pain. She will always be a pretty young girl with a sweet smile. This is my gift to her, in exchange for hers to me.

There must be more. I must feel that flood of light again, and give my gift to one who deserves it.

Soon. Very soon, other images will grace my personal gallery. We will join together, Rachel and I, and the next.

One day, when the time is right, I will share the whole of this journal with the world instead of short passages. Many will condemn or question, even curse me. But by then, it will be too late.

I will be legion.

Chapter 5

Eve woke from a dream of being pinned under a train wreck to find the cat sitting on her chest. Purring ferociously, he stared. When she only stared back, he shifted his considerable weight and bumped his head against hers.

"Feeling pretty lousy, huh?" She lifted a hand to scratch under his chin where he liked it best. "You didn't mean to do it, and he'll be home today. Then you can sit on him."

Still stroking the cat, she sat up. She and Galahad were alone in bed. It was still shy of seven, she noted, and Roarke was already up. He'd still been working when she'd climbed into bed at one.

"Man or machine?" she asked the cat. "You be the judge. But either way, he's mine."

She frowned at the sitting area. He was often awake before her, and the first thing she'd see in the morning was Roarke having coffee and checking the stock reports onscreen, with the sound muted. It was a kind of routine she'd become accustomed to.