J.D. Robb: Visions In Death

He saw her gesture, and saw the stalwart and more comfortably dressed Peabody nod. Then Eve was peeling off from the group of cops, and heading back to him.

"You're going to want to go on home," she told him. "This is going to take some time." "I suspect it will. Rape, strangulation, mutilation." He lifted a brow when her eyes narrowed. "I keep my ear to the ground when it involves my cop. Can I help?" "No. I'm keeping civilians even you out.

He didn't kill her down there, so we need to find where he did. I probably won't make it home tonight." "Would you like me to bring you, or send you, a change of clothes?" Since even with his amazing powers, he couldn't just snap his fingers and put her in boots and trousers, she shook her head. "I've got spare stuff in my locker at Central." She glanced down at the dress, sighed at the smears of dirt, the small tears, the stains from body fluid. She'd tried to be careful, but there you go, and God knew what he paid for the damn thing.

"Sorry about the dress." "It's not important. Get in touch when you can." "Sure." She struggled knew he knew she struggled not to wince when he skimmed a finger down the dent in her chin, when he leaned down and brushed his lips to hers. "Good luck, Lieutenant." "Yeah. Thanks." As he walked back to the limo, he heard her raise her voice. "Okay, boys and girls, fan out. Teams of two. Standard evidence search."

He wouldn't have carried her far, Eve deduced. What would be the point? The added time, trouble, the additional risk of being seen. Still, they were talking Central Park, so it wasn't going to be quick and easy unless they ran into incredible luck.

She did, inside of thirty minutes.

"Here." She held up a hand to stop Peabody, then crouched.

"Ground's torn up some. Hand me the goggles. Yeah, yeah," she said after she'd strapped them on. "We got some blood here." She went down on hands and knees, her nose nearly to the ground, like a hound scenting prey. "I want this area cordoned off. Call the sweepers. I want to see if they can find any trace. Look here." She got tweezers out of the field kit. "Broken fingernail.

Hers," she decided when she held it up to the light. "Didn't make it easy for him, did you, Elisa? You did what you could." She bagged the nail, then sat back on her heels.

"Dragged her over the grass. You can see where she tried to dig in. Lost a shoe. That's why she's got grass stains and dirt on one foot. But he went back for it. Took her clothes with him." She pushed to her feet. "We'll check bins in a ten-block radius in case he dumped them. They'll be torn, bloody, dirty.

We'll see if we can get a description of what she was wearing, but even without it, we'll look. Kept them though, didn't you?" she murmured. "Kept them as a memento." "She lives a couple blocks from here," Peabody commented.

"Grabbed her close to home, dragged her here, did the job, then carried her over to the dump site." "We'll canvass. Let's get this coordinated, then take her residence." Peabody cleared her throat, studied Eve's dress. "You're going like that?" "Got a better idea?"

It was hard not to feel a little ridiculous, striding in her ruined dress and mile-high shoes toward the night droid on door duty in front of Maplewood's building.

At least she had her badge. It was one of those things she never left home without. "Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. Regarding Elisa Maplewood. She lives here?" "I'll need to scan your IDs to verify." He looked pretty spiffy for so early in the morning, but that was a droid for you. He wore a natty red uniform with silver trim, and was designed to replicate a man in his mid-fifties, just a bit of silver at the temples to match the braid.

"These are in order. Mrs Maplewood is a live-in domestic, employed by Mr and Mrs Luther Vanderlea. What's this about?" "Did you see Ms Maplewood tonight?" "I'm midnight to six. Haven't seen her." "We'll need to see the Vanderleas." "Mr Vanderlea is out of town. You'll need to clear a visit with the desk. Comp's on this time of night." He unlocked the doors, walked in with them. "Secondary scan for ID," he informed them.

It irritated, but Eve passed her badge through the electronics on the fancy desk in the black-and-white lobby.

Your identification is verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. What is the nature of your business?

"I need to speak with Mrs Luther Vanderlea, regarding her employee, Elisa Maplewood."

One moment while Mrs Vanderlea is contacted.

The droid hovered while they waited. Quiet music played.

It had switched on when they'd started across the lobby. Set to activate, Eve assumed, when a human entered.

Why people needed music to cross a room, she couldn't say.

The lights were dim, the flowers fresh. A few good pieces of furniture in case you wanted to sit down and listen to the recorded music were arranged tastefully. There were two elevators in the south wall, and four security cameras to sweep the lobby.

The Vanderleas had a lot of bucks under the belt.

"Where's Mr Vanderlea?" she asked the droid.

"Is this an official inquiry?" "No, I'm just a nosy so-and-so." She waved her badge under his nose. "Yes, this is an official inquiry."

"Mr Vanderlea is in Madrid on business." "When did he leave?" "Two days ago. He's due back tomorrow evening." "What-" She broke off as the comp signaled.

Mrs Vanderlea will see you now. Please take Elevator A to the fifty-first floor. You will find Mrs Vanderlea in Penthouse B.

"Thanks." Even as they crossed the checkerboard floor, the elevator doors opened. "Why do we thank machines?" Eve wondered out loud. "They couldn't possibly give a shit." "One of those innate human traits. That's why programmers have them thanking us, too, I guess. You ever been to Madrid?" "No. Maybe. No," she decided. She'd been a lot of places over the last couple of years. "I don't think. Do you know who designs shoes like the ones I'm wearing, Peabody?" "The shoe god. Those are magolicious shoes, sir." "No, not the shoe god. These are the product of a man, a devious flesh and blood man, who secretly hates all women.

By designing shoes like this, he can torture them for profit." "They make your legs look a hundred feet tall." "Yeah, that's what I want all right. A pair of hundred-foot legs." Resigned, she stepped off on fifty-one.

The door to Penthouse B was wide as a truck, and opened by a petite woman in her thirties wearing a moss green dressing gown.

Her hair was long and sleep-tousled, and was a deep, dark red with subtle gold streaks streamed through it.

"Lieutenant Dallas? God, is that a Leonardo?" Since she was goggling at the dress, it didn't take Eve long to conclude she was talking about it. "Probably." As Leonardo was not only the current darling of the fashionable set, but also the main squeeze of Eve's closest friend.

"I was… at a thing. My partner, Detective Peabody. Mrs Vanderlea?" "Yes, I'm Deann Vanderlea. What's this about?" "Can we come in, Mrs Vanderlea?" "Yes, of course. I'm confused. When they called from downstairs and said the police wanted to see me, my first thought was something happened to Luther. But I'd have gotten a call from Madrid, wouldn't I?" She smiled, uncertainly.

"Nothing's happened to Luther, has it?" "We're not here about your husband. This concerns Elisa Maplewood." "Elisa? Well, she's in bed at this hour. Elisa can't be in any trouble." She folded her arms. "What's this about?" "When did you last see Ms Maplewood?" "Right before I went to bed. About ten. I went to bed early.

I had a headache. What is this?" "I'm sorry to tell you, Mrs Vanderlea, but Ms Maplewood is dead. She was killed earlier tonight." That that's just ridiculous. She's in bed." The simplest, cleanest way, Eve knew, was not to argue.

"You may want to check on that." "It's nearly four in the morning. Of course she's in bed.