Rapture in Death (In Death #4)(34)

“There’s no law against good grooming, Lieutenant Dallas.” Her gaze flicked dismissively over Eve’s untidy hair down to her battered boots. “You might try it yourself.”

“Aw, now you’ve hurt my feelings. You polished yourself up, flicked open the top three buttons of your blouse, and brought along a bottle of wine. Sounds like seduction time to me, Leanore.” Eve shifted closer, nearly winked. “Come on, we’re all girls. We know the drill.”

Leanore took her time, studied a minute chip in her manicure. She remained icy. Unlike Foxx, the woman didn’t break a sweat. “I dropped by that evening to consult with Fitz on a professional matter. We had a brief meeting, and I left.”

“You were alone with him during that time.”

“That’s right. Arthur got into one of his snits and went out.”

“One of his snits?”

“It was typical of him.” There was a sneer in her voice now, light and disdainful. “He was outrageously jealous of me, certain I was trying to lure Fitz away from him.”

“And were you?”

A slow, feline smile curved Leanore’s lips. “Really, Lieutenant, if I’d put any effort into it, don’t you think I would have succeeded?”

“I’d say you put effort into it. And not succeeding would have really burned you.”

Leanore lifted a shoulder. “I’ll admit I was giving it some consideration. Fitz was wasting himself on Arthur. Fitz and I had a great deal in common, and I found him very attractive. I was very fond of him.”

“Did you act on your attraction and your fondness that evening?”

“You could say I made it clear that I was open to a more intimate relationship with him. He wasn’t immediately receptive, but it was only a matter of time.” She moved her shoulders, a quick, confident movement. “Arthur would have known that.” Her eyes went cold again. “And that’s why I believe he killed Fitz.”

“Quite a piece of work, isn’t she?” Eve muttered when the interview was completed. “Doesn’t see anything wrong with trying to lure a man into adultery, break apart a longstanding relationship. More, she’s convinced there isn’t a man in the world who could resist her.” She sighed heavily. “Bitch.”

“Are you going to charge her?” Peabody wondered.

“For being a bitch?” With a small smile, Eve shook her head. “I could try to nail her on the false statement, and she and her legal pals would brush it off like lint. Not worth the time. We can’t place her at the scene at time of death or hang any kind of motive on her. And I can’t see that self-absorbed bimbo sneaking up on a two hundred fifty pound man and slashing his wrists. She wouldn’t have wanted to get all that blood on her nifty suit.”

“So you’re back to Foxx?”

“He was jealous, he was pissed, he inherits all the toys.” Eve rose, paced to the door and back. “And we’ve got nothing.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I’ve got to go with what he said when he lost it during interview. He’d have killed Leanore, not Fitzhugh. I’m going to review the data on the two previous suicides.”

“I haven’t got much yet,” Peabody began as she followed Eve out of the interview room. “There wasn’t time.”

“There’s time now. And Feeney’s probably come through. Get me what you’ve got, then get me more,” Eve demanded and swung into her office. “Engage,” she ordered the computer as she plopped down in front of it. “Play new communications.”

Roarke’s face swam onto the screen. “I assume you’re out fighting crime. I’m on my way to London, a little glitch that requires personal attention. I don’t imagine it will take long. I should be back by eight, which will give us plenty of time to fly out to New Los Angeles for the premiere.”

“Shit, I forgot.”

On screen, his image smiled. “I’m sure you’ve conveniently forgotten the engagement, so consider this a gentle reminder. Take care of yourself, Lieutenant.”

Flying to California to spend the evening rubbing elbows with puffed-up video types, eating the glossy little vegetables people out there considered food, tolerating reporters sticking recorders in her face and asking lame questions was not her idea of an entertaining evening.

The second communication was from Commander Whitney, ordering her to prepare a statement for the media on several ongoing cases. Hot damn, she thought sourly. More headlines.

Then the data from Feeney flashed on screen. Eve rolled her shoulders, hunkered down, and got to work.

At two, she walked into the Village Bistro. Her shirt was sticking to her back as the temperature control on her unit had once again died an unnatural death. The air inside the tony restaurant was ocean breeze cool. Soft, loving zephyrs flitted through, teasing the feathery palms, which grew in huge, white china pots. Glass tables were arranged on two levels, cleverly situated near a small, black water lagoon or in front of a wide-view screen of a white sand beach. Servers wore short uniforms in tropical hues and threaded their way through the tables with offerings of colorful drinks and artistically arranged dishes.

The maitre d’ was a droid dressed in a flowing white jumpsuit and programmed with a snooty French accent. He took one look at Eve’s worn jeans and limp shirt and wrinkled his prominent nose.