Visions in Death (In Death #19)(43)

"Of course." Roarke swallowed a great deal of wine. "Of course, you can."

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When they were alone, sitting in the soft light of dusk with the candles Summerset had lit flickering, Roarke reached out, gripped Eve's hands in his.

"They could change their minds. It's still months away, and they could easily change their minds and want this... event to be a private one between them."

She looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "Private? Private? This is Mavis we're dealing with."

He shut his eyes. "God pity us."

"And it's just going to get... more." She pulled away, sprang up. "Before you know it, before you know it she's going to want us to deliver the thing. They'll want to do it here, in our bedroom or something, with cameras—live feed to her fans. And us pulling the thing out of her."

Utter and genuine horror leaped into his eyes. "Stop it, Eve. Stop it now."

"Yeah, live feed, that's Mavis to the ground. And we'll do it." She spun back to him. "We'll do it because she's just sucking us in. Sucking us in like some..." She windmilled her arms. "Like some big sucking thing. Some big pregnant sucking thing."

"Let's just calm down." With the images Eve painted playing in his head, Roarke took out a cigarette. Lighting it, he ordered himself to think rationally. "Surely you've done this sort of thing before. You're a cop. You must have at least been on hand during a birthing."

"Uh-uh. Nope. No. Once, when I was still on patrol, we had to take this woman into a health center. Jesus, she was screaming like somebody was ramming steel spikes into her crotch."

"Merciful Jesus, Eve, could you dispense with some of the imagery?"

But she was wound up now. "And something gives way in there, and stuff's pouring out of her. Fluids, you know?"

"I don't, no. And I don't care to."

"Made a hell of a mess in the cruiser. But at least she had the decency—the common courtesy—to wait until she was inside, with the doctor or midwife or whoever the hell before she pushed it out."

For a moment, Roarke pressed his fingers to his temples. "We can't think about this anymore. We'll go mad if we do. We have to think about something else." He stabbed the cigarette out. "Entirely."

She drew one long, shaky breath. "You're right. I've got work."

"Murder. Much better. Let me help. I beg you."

She had to laugh. "Sure. It's the least I can do. Step into my office."

She took his hand, filling him in as they went inside and up.

"How much do you intend to use this Celina Sanchez?"

"I'd like to keep it minimal." She sat at her desk, kicked back to prop her feet on the edge. "She's got the Dimatto seal of approval, and she's even likable enough. I'd even call her steady. But it's not a good fit for me. Still, she's cued in to this, so I can't ignore what she can give me."

"I knew a man who kept a sensitive on staff and wouldn't make a decision without her. Worked well enough for him, as it happened."

"You got any?"

"I do. Precogs, clairvoyants, sensitives. I don't dismiss what they've been given, or what they can offer. But I prefer making my own decisions in the final run. You'll do the same."

"So far, her—let's call it intel —isn't adding much to my basic, non-sensitive cop work. But it matches it."

She frowned, mentally picking her way through the data and speculation. "Impressions we could pick up at the kill site, and the ones we got leading to the dump site indicate a size fifteen shoe. We may be able to make the tread, or at least a partial if Dickhead in the lab works some magic. Ground and grass were dry, but when he added her weight, he left some impressions."

"Well, that's a large foot you've got there, butnot all men with big feet are big men."

"Big enough to leave impressions on dry grass, strong enough to lift and carry a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight. You've got to speculate, do the probabilities. And when you do, you come up with a man between two hundred and seventy and eighty pounds. My guess would be a height of between six four and six eight."

He nodded, imagined he was building a picture in his mind similar to the one in hers. "And if you take it further, you assume that kind of strength and body type comes from discipline and dedication."

"Body sculpting procedures can give you the build, but they can't give you the strength."

"Hence, your foray into the world of musclemen."

"Reminded me I like my guys more on the lanky side."

"Lucky for me."

"I can't find any connection between the two missing and presumed and my vic, other than their predilection for fussy stuff and frequenting at least some of the same outlets for supplies."

"I could spare you time and look deeper there."

"That's what I was thinking."

"You can't buy a fifteen shoe just anywhere," Roarke continued.

"You'd have to special order, or use a specialty outlet. For that matter, if your man is as described, he wouldn't be able to buy anything off the rack."