Reunion in Death (In Death #14)(87)

When it came to fussing with hair and enhancements and treatments, Eve felt her personal space, and her control over self was violated. But it occurred to her that the opposite was true for most people. They liked having everything focused on themselves, on their appearance.

Julianna would have missed that in prison. Making use of the prison salon would hardly have satisfied her.

Would she risk giving herself that satisfaction here? Not in the city, Eve decided. She wouldn't be so foolish as to risk exposing herself to a beauty consultant in the same pool where she killed. Where her face was splashed all over the screen.

No, they were spinning wheels looking there.

People who worked on faces, on features and hair and bodies noticed faces and features and bodies. How many times had she heard Mavis and the terrifying consultant Trina chattering about this one or that one.

Eve didn't doubt Julianna was dealing with her own hair these days. Somehow most women appeared to know how, even though those who could afford it went to consultants. But she'd be yearning for a relaxing, indulgent day, even a weekend, of treatments.

And it would have to be top drawer.

Europe, Eve decided. She'd continue to check all the major salons and spa centers in the city, but her money was on Paris or Rome.

"Computer." She whipped back to her desk. "Run a global search on beauty salons, spas, and treatment centers. List top twenty. No, make that fifty. Worldwide."

working...

"Secondary search. Top five transportation companies that have service between New York and Europe."

secondary search acknowledged. working...

"Okay, it's worth a shot." She checked at her wrist , unit, swore. "When search is complete, save data on hard drive, copy and save same on disc."

acknowledged...

Satisfied with the new thread to tug, Eve made one quick 'link call then headed out to keep her promise to Peabody.

On the way, she juggled her mental notes. Poison, she thought as she nipped onto a glide. Both personal and aloof, traditionally more a female weapon than blades or bludgeons.

Kill without contact. That was important to Julianna. The sex had been a kind of necessary evil in the past.

Demeaning to both parties, she'd said, Eve remembered. Penetrating. Plunging.

No, she'd never use a blade, ramming it into flesh was too much like sex.

Another difference between us, Eve thought before she could stop herself. Then wiped her suddenly damp hands on her trousers.

You've killed. Julianna's voice echoed in her head. You know.

Not for pleasure, Eve reminded herself. Not for profit.

Yet she'd taken her first life at the age of eight. Even Julianna couldn't top that.

Feeling slightly ill, Eve rubbed her hands over her face.

"Interview C."

When she jumped, McNab grabbed her elbow. "Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to spook you. I hopped on behind you. Thought you heard me."

"I was thinking. What are you doing in this section?"

"I wanted to catch some of Peabody in action. I didn't say anything to her in case it distracts her. But I thought I could slip into observation for ten or fifteen. Is that okay with you, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah, sure. McNab?'

"Sir?"

She started to speak, then shook her head. "Nothing."

They moved down a narrow corridor past a grim set of gray doors that led to a temporary holding tank and coded into Observation.

It was little more than another corridor, fronted by two-way glass. There were no chairs. The lighting was dim and dreary and it smelled of someone's obsessively pine aftershave or a pine-scented cleaner. Either way, it filled the air like a forest.

They could have opted for one of the trio of more comfortable screen rooms in this section where there were chairs, credit-operated Auto-Chef, and equipment that would allow them to hear and view the interview.

But Eve found the facilities there kept the observer too distant and detached. She preferred the glass.

"You want me to get you a chair or something?"

Distracted, she looked over at McNab. "What?"

"You know, a chair in case you get tired of standing."

"Golly, McNab, are we on a date?"

He jammed his hands into his pockets and sulked. "Boy, try to be considerate because somebody got her head cracked and her face pounded and see where it gets you."

She'd all but forgotten about the state of her face, and found herself annoyed at being reminded. "If I need a chair, I can get one myself. But thanks."

When the door opened on the other side of the glass, he brightened. "Here she comes. Go get 'em, baby."

"Officer Baby," Eve corrected and settled in to watch the show.

CHAPTER 18

She watched while Peabody settled Maureen Stibbs in a chair at the wobbly table, set the record, offered the interview subject a drink of water.

Brisk, professional, Eve thought with approval. Not too threatening. Not yet.

And there was Officer Troy Trueheart posted at the door looking young and All-American... and about as grim as a cocker spaniel puppy.

She could sense Peabody's nerves, see them in the quick glance she flicked toward the glass as she poured the water.

But the uniform was enough, Eve decided as Maureen's eyes darted between Peabody and Trueheart.