Reunion in Death (In Death #14)(44)

Now her voice caught and she pressed a hand to her mouth. "Damn it. Damn it, damn it."

"Do you want something? A glass of water?"

"No. I'm not a crier." She bore down, visibly. "And I also care about the law. I want whoever did this caught and punished. So ask your questions. I can promise you you'll have full cooperation from everyone in this firm or I'll skin them."

"Appreciated." Eve paused, turned when Peabody stepped in.

"Can I speak to you a minute, Lieutenant?"

"If you'll hold here, Ms. Fitch." She shifted to just outside the office door. "What have you got?"

"Julianna Dunne's fingerprints in the break room. She was here, and she didn't bother to seal up. I've got the discs from security. They're labeled."

"Good. Find me the office manager and send her in here when I'm done with Fitch."

She stepped back inside. "Ms. Fitch, do you know a woman named Julianna Dunne?"

"Dunne? That name sounds familiar." Her brow furrowed, then arched in surprise. "The Walter Pettibone murder-and the others. I saw the media reports and bulletins. Do you think she... but why? How could she just..." She did sit now, heavily.

"Have you seen a woman matching her description in or around these offices?"

"No." Olivia pressed her hands to her face. "I can't get my head around this."

"She was here, in your break room. I assume your cleaning service wipes down that area every night."

"Yes, yes. We have a very good, very thorough service."

"If that's the case, she was here this morning. Can I use this?" she asked, gesturing to the computer.

"Yes. Go ahead."

Eve plugged in the lobby disc. "Do you know what time the cleaning service does this area?"

"They're scheduled to do this floor between twelve and two a.m."

Eve programmed the disc to begin its run at two A.M. She zipped through, pausing periodically when someone entered or exited the lobby. Traffic was light, running to weary office drones who'd put in a late shift, maintenance people, and a change of lobby personnel. At oh-six-forty-five, an attractive brunette in a smart business suit strode in and walked straight to the reception desk.

Eve froze the frame, enhanced. "Do you recognize this woman?"

Olivia turned back, studied the image. "No. I don't recall seeing her before. There are a number of offices and companies in this building. I don't see how-"

"Look closer. Just the face. Forget the hair."

There was a flicker of impatience, but Olivia did as she was asked. "I know everyone on this level, and she's not... Wait. My God. That's Dunne, isn't it? I didn't recognize her at first glance."

"Yeah, most people wouldn't."

...

By noon she had a conference room booked and her team assembled.

"Here's how it went," she began. "Julianna forges a firm ID-child's play-and passes it off to the security guard. Same guard was on duty the day before-six to noon shift-and she signed in as Janet Drake, clerical temp for Mouton, Carlston, and Fitch at eight-forty-three on that date. Made a point in giving him a big, flirty smile and making some small talk so he'd remember her when she came in this morning. Walks in early," Eve continued, gesturing to the disc running on-screen. "Bops right on up to the main floor of the firm. We've got her until she walks into the offices. Eight minutes later, we have Mouton following the same route. For the next twenty minutes, we deduce."

She paused the run. "Statements from staff and associates confirm that Mouton habitually entered his office at oh-seven hundred. He was a creature of routine, and no doubt Julianna researched his habits. The most likely scenario is she introduced herself as a temp, claimed to be eager to start work, flattered him in the area most important to him-his firm, his work, his work ethic. She offers to bring him coffee, goes to the break room, orders a cup, poisons it. She'd have stayed to make sure he drank it, make sure he died. She likes to see the job through. At seven-eighteen, she exits the offices."

Eve ordered the run to continue, zipped it up. "She's got a glow about her now," she commented. "She really gets off on this. Exits by a second-floor fire door so she doesn't have to bother with the guard. She could catch the glide to street level and be home for brunch."

"She's changed her pattern," Feeney put in. "She's stayed in New York, she's greasing guys not previously known to her. But some habits die hard. She's still going for the same type of target, still modifying her appearance without any permanent changes."

"She's dug in here." Eve reached for coffee as a matter of habit more than need. "Mira's opinion is I'm part of the appeal-the only woman she's ever really combated with. She needs to be better than I am, and the way to do that is to kill on my turf while I chase my tail."

"Good." McNab caught her attention. "Then it'll hurt more when you rear back and bite out her throat."

"Sucking up, Detective?"

"Yes, sir." He flashed a grin as bright as his trio of earrings. "But hey, what is, is. She's not better than you."

"Right now I've got two dead men who aren't likely to agree with you. We need to keep on those units impounded from Dockport. She's got a place here."