J. Robb: Seduction In Death

Two and a half hours later, she stormed out, damning all lawyers. She flipped on her communicator and tagged Peabody. "Status."

"Test results still pending, sir."

"Fuck that."

"Rough day in court, Dallas?"

"Defense council seems to think the NYPSD splattered the victim's blood all over his innocent client's hotel room, clothes, person just to give psychopathic tourists who stab their wives a couple dozen times during a marital spat a bad name."

"Well, it is tough on the Chamber of Commerce."

"Ha-ha."

"We have identified the woman Bankhead spoke with on the 'link the night she died. CeeCee Plunkett. She worked with the victim in the lingerie department at Saks."

"Grab transpo. Meet me there."

"Yes, sir, and may I suggest their lovely sixth-floor cafe for lunch? You need protein."

"I had a doughnut." With an evil smile, Eve broke transmission on Peabody 's shocked and envious gasp.

Being caught in the hell of lunch-shift traffic did little to improve her mood. Cars bumped and churned in place for so long she considered the possibility of just leaving her vehicle where it was and hoofing it across town.

Until she studied the jammed sidewalks.

Even the sky was packed – ad blimps, airbuses, tourist trams vying for air space. The noise was ridiculous, but for some reason, the sheer weight of sound smoothed out the rough edges. So much so that when she was trapped at a light at the corner of Madison and Thirty-ninth, she leaned out the window and spoke pleasantly to the glide-cart operator.

"Give me a tube of Pepsi."

"Small, medium, or large, fair lady?"

Her eyebrows lifted, disappeared under her fringe of bangs. An operator that friendly was either a droid or new. "Make it large." She dug in her pocket for loose change.

When he leaned down to make the exchange, she saw he was neither droid nor new. She pegged him at a well-tended ninety, and his smile showed an appreciation of dental hygiene far superior to most glide-carters.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

She looked at the traffic, at the knots of vehicles that were all but blocking out the sky in this sector. "You gotta be kidding."

He only smiled again. "Every day you're alive's a beauty, miss."

She thought of Bryna Bankhead. "Guess you're right."

She popped the tube, sucked on it contemplatively as she inched her way up Madison. At Fifty-first, she cut over, double parked, and engaged her ON DUTY sign.

And girding her loins, strode into Saks and the gauntlet of cosmetic shills.

High-fashion droids glided by the doors in a pattern designed to dazzle the eye, and make it impossible to break through unscathed. Backing them up were human consultants who manned booths, counters, or patrolled the aisle looking, in Eve's opinion, for escapees. The air was choked with scent.

A female droid with a starburst of magenta hair slithered across the floor to block Eve's forward progress.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to Saks. Today our premiere fragrance – "

"One drop goes on me, just one, and I'll ram that spritzer down your throat," she warned as the droid moved in for the kill.

"Indeed, madam, it only takes a drop of Orgasma to entice the lover of your dreams."

Eve flipped her jacket aside, tapped her fingers on her weapon. "It only takes one blast of this to put you in the recycle bin, Red. Now back off."

The droid backed off, with satisfying speed. Eve heard the call go up for Security as she plowed through the wall of customers and consultants. She flipped out her badge as a pair of uniformed droids rushed toward her.

"NYPSD. Official business. Keep those damn smell pushers off me."

"Yes, Lieutenant. May we be of some assistance?"

"Yeah." She tucked her badge in her pocket. "Where's the lingerie department?"

At least, Eve thought as she got off on the proper floor, nobody up here rushed you waving underwear. Still, selling sex seemed to be the order of the day as model droids roamed the department in foundation garments or night-wear. Human clerks, at least, wore real clothes.

She spotted CeeCee Plunkett immediately and waited until the woman completed bagging up a sale.

"Ms. Plunkett?"

"Yes, may I help you?"

Eve took out her badge again. "Is there a place we can speak privately?"

She had rosy cheeks, and they went white. She had pretty blue eyes, and they went wide. "Oh God. Oh God, it's Bry. Something's happened to Bryna. She didn't come into work, she doesn't answer her 'link. She's been hurt."

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"I – yes." Pressing a hand to her temple, CeeCee looked around. "The – the dressing area, but I'm not supposed to leave my station. I…"

"Hey." Eve snagged a droid in a sheer black bra and panties. "Take over here. Which way?" she asked CeeCee and came around the counter to take her arm.

"Back here. Is she in the hospital? Which hospital? I'll go see her."

Inside one of the small changing cubes, Eve closed the door. There was a tiny padded stool in the corner, and she guided CeeCee to it. "Sit down."

"It's bad." She gripped Eve's arm. "It's very bad."

"Yes, I'm sorry." There would never be an easy way. There was only the fast way – a quick stab to the heart rather than slicing inch by inch. "Bryna Bankhead was killed early this morning."

CeeCee shook her head, kept shaking it slowly as the first tear trickled down her cheek. "She had an accident?"

"We're trying to determine what happened."

"I talked to her. I talked to her yesterday, last night. She was going out on a date. Please tell me what happened to Bry."

The media had already reported the death, and the circumstances, so far as they were known. If they hadn't ferreted out the name by now, Eve thought, it wouldn't take them much longer.

"She… fell from her balcony."

"Fell?" CeeCee started to surge to her feet, but only sank back down again. "That can't be. That just can't be. There's a safety wall."

"We're investigating, Ms. Plunkett. You'd help a great deal if you'd answer some questions for me. On record?"

"She wouldn't have fallen." There was anger now, and insult, pricking through the shock. "She wasn't stupid or clumsy. She wouldn't have fallen."

Eve took out her recorder. "I'm going to find out what happened. My name is Dallas. Lieutenant Eve Dallas," she said for CeeCee, and the record. "I'm primary investigator in the matter of the death of Bryna Bankhead. I'm interviewing you, CeeCee Plunkett, at this time, because you were a friend of the deceased. You had a conversation with her via 'link last night, a few minutes before nine o'clock, just before she left her apartment."

"Yes. Yes. She called me. She was so nervous, so excited." Her voice went thick. "Oh, Bry."

"Why was she nervous and excited?"

"She had a date. Her first date with Dante."

"What's his full name?"

"I don't know." She dug in her jacket pocket for a tissue, then tore it to pieces rather than mopping her face. "They met online. They didn't know each other's last names, that's part of the deal. It's for safety."

"How long had she been in contact with him?"

"Maybe three weeks now."

"How did they meet?"

"A poetry chat room. There was this discussion of great romantic poetry through the centuries and… Oh God." She leaned forward, buried her face in her hands. "She was my best friend. How could this happen to her?"

"Would she confide in you?"

"We told each other everything. You know how it is with girlfriends."

More or less,Eve thought. "This was, to your knowledge, her first date with Dante?"

"Yes. That's why she was so excited. She bought a new dress, and shoes. And these great earrings…"

"And would it be usual for her to bring a first date back to her apartment for sex?"