J.D. Robb - Visions In Death

Guy who can carry one-thirty the distance from the kill site to the dump site, and haul that much deadweight down a small cliff of rocks, probably works out regularly and seriously." "Could have his own equipment. Somebody really serious usually does." "And we're going to try tracking that, too. Full-scale home gyms to start. But if we're going to use what the psychic queen gives us, she said he was proud proud of his body.

He'd want to show it off, wouldn't he? Show what he can do." "Health club." "Health club." "Dallas, just offhand, would you care to guess how many health clubs we have in our fair city?" "We start with ones who cater primarily to men. He doesn't like women. So you scratch off the girly gyms where ladies prance around in their skin-suits and drink veggie juice or nibble nutribars before their massage. No day spa attached, no salons on premises. Forget the social clubs where guys go to play on the machines and pick up dates. Scratch off the facilities that cater primarily to same-sex orientation. The gay pickup cathedrals. We look for traditional, serious bodybuilder spots. The kind that pull in the sweaty guys with big necks." "Oooh. Sweaty guys with big necks. Hubba. Lifting face out of gutter immediately, sir." "Too late now," Eve muttered. "We can try another canvass of the victim's neighborhood. This guy surveilled her, got her routine. We go at it asking about an unusually tall, beefy guy. After you tackle Requisitions, contact the Vanderleas.

See if either of them remembers seeing someone like that around." "Check." Just a few more blocks, Peabody thought. Then she'd be able to pee. She squirmed, crossed her legs the other way.

"We run down home gym equipment: weight machines, virtual systems with bodybuilding programs. We check out subscriptions to magazines that Squirming isn't going to help, you know. You shouldn't have downed all that tea." "It's really nice of you to point that out now," Peabody shot back with some bitterness. "And squirming does too help.

Oh, thank all the gods and goddesses," she breathed when they drove into Central's garage.

Tree-Ageism pop out when your bladder's full, Detective?" "That's not all that's going to pop out." Peabody bolted from the car the instant it stopped, and ran/waddled to the elevator.

In her office, Eve glanced at her "link, noted several messages. She ordered them to play while she set up a murder board for Elisa Maplewood.

As they ran, she ordered some to delete, some to save.

Then stopped what she was doing to turn around and grin at the screen as Mavis came on.

"Hey, Dallas! We're back in town, my honey lamb and me.

Maui is just iced. Totally TPD tropical paradise deluxe.

Everything was mag. The concert, our roll-on-the-sand-naked vacation part. And guess what? The belly's completely poking out now. Honest to God, I am so knocked up. You gotta see. I'll jet by, soon as I can." Which was always a treat, Eve thought when the message ended. But if Mavis's belly really was poking out now, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see. Why pregnant women wanted anybody to see their poked-out bellies was another mystery, and one she had no desire to solve.

She turned to the AutoChef for coffee when Nadine Furst, Channel 75's on-air ace, clicked on.

"Dallas. I know you're going to give me the usual yaddahaddah blah, but I really want to talk to you re the Maplewood case. If I don't hear from you, I'm just going to show up at your office. I'll bring you a cookie." Eve considered. It might be smart to give a short on-air, especially with the bribe of baked goods. A brief one-on-one, and woman-to-woman. His profile indicated he hated and feared the female, so wouldn't it burn his ass to be discussed on screen by two women? It might push him into making a mistake.

She'd think about it.

The thought of cookies made her hungry. With a glance at the door, she reached behind the AutoChef, under the slight lip, and tugged off the candy bar she'd taped there.

It was an obvious hiding place to her mind, but it had foiled the insidious candy thief who plagued her.

She bit righteously into chocolate, dropped down at her desk, and engaged her computer.

Your authorization code and password are not recognized.

Access denied.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She gave the machine a quick boot with the heel of her hand. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve." She read off her badge number for authorization, repeated her password.

The computer gave a cheerful little beep, then a long grinding buzz. The screen flickered.

"Don't you start on me. First my vehicle, now this. Don't you even start."

Acknowledged. Operations shutting down.

"No! Damn it, you bitch, you son of a bitching bastard whore, you know that's not what I meant." She smacked it again, set her teeth, and repeated the start-up process.

After a series of mechanical hiccups, it hummed.

That's better. Okay. Open case file 39921SH.

Maplewood."

Acknowledged.

What flashed on-screen wasn't a case file. It wasn't police business unless the various naked couples writhing in athletic and impressive positions were a bunch of Vice cops undercover at an orgy.

Welcome to Fanta-Cee! Your virtual garden of sexual pleasure.

You must be twenty-one to enter. Your debit account will be charged at the rate of ten dollars per minute during your one-week trial membership.

"Mother of God. Computer, close and delete current area." Incomplete command.

"Like hell. Close this file." Acknowledged.

The cavorting figures disappeared.

"Now you listen to me. This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. I own you. I want case file 39921-SH, and I want it now." The screen jumped, filled with text. In what was possibly Italian.

The sound Eve made was somewhere between a scream and a bellow. She rapped the machine with her hand, punched it with her fist, and considered just ripping it out of the network and tossing it out her window.

Maybe, just maybe if her luck was in, there'd be a Maintenance guy strolling by under it. Two birds, one stone.

As satisfying as that would be, she calculated she could expect a replacement unit sometime near the end of the current century.

She swung to her "link, intending to contact Maintenance and ream whoever was unfortunate enough to answer.

"And where will that get you, Dallas?" she asked herself.

"Those puss-faced jerks in Maintenance, they live for moments like this. They'll sit around down there and laugh and laugh until you're forced to go down and kill every last one of them and spend the rest of your life in a cage." She punched the computer again, just for the hell of it.

And inspired, tried another angle.

"EDO. McNab. Hey, Dallas!" Peabody's main squeeze grinned at her from her "link screen. His narrow, pretty face was surrounded by bright blond hair that sported a couple of skinny temple braids.

"I was just about to shoot you the report on the e-work." "Don't bother. My unit's funky. It's giving me grief, McNab. How about doing me a favor and taking a look at it?" "You call Maintenance?" When she merely growled, he gave a heh-heh-heh sort of laugh.

"Delete that. I can give you thirty in about fifteen." "Good." "Or if you officially requested I report to your office at once, to bring you a disc and hard copy of the e-work, I could come now." "Consider yourself officially requested." "Allying op." "What?" But he'd already broken transmission.

Annoyed, she dug out her pocket unit and set to work trying to transfer the data she wanted from the desk unit to the PPC. She wasn't an e-geek, but she wasn't stupid, she told herself. She knew how to handle basic tech.

She was pulling her hair when McNab bopped in. He was wearing a purple shirt with a green placket down the center. It reached the thighs of baggy green pants with purple racing stripes. Both colors were picked up in his checked airsneaks.