J Robb - Imitation in Death

“Yes.”

“You support her, financially.”

“As long as she’s taken care of, she stays away, and out of my life. She’s smart enough to know that coming forward, selling her story, might net her some quick money, but it would kill the golden goose. If my income suffers, so does hers. I explained this to her, very carefully, before the first payment was made.”

“Your relationship with your mother is adversarial.”

“We don’t have a relationship. I prefer not to think of the connection. It unbalances my chi.”

“JacieWootonwas an LC.”

“Who?”

“Wooton. The woman who was murdered inChinatown.”

“It has nothing to do with me.” More composed now, he waved it all away with his uninjured hand. “I also choose not to dwell on the darker shades of the world.”

“A second woman was murdered on Sunday. The mother of a grown son.”

He flashed her a look now, and there was a hint of fear in it. “That doesn’t have anything to do with me, either. I survived violence. I don’t perpetuate it.”

“Victims of abuse often become abusive. Children who were beaten often become violent adults. Sometimes a killer is born, sometimes he is made. A woman hurt you, a woman who had control over you, authority over you. She hurt you for years when you were helpless to stop her. How do you make her pay for that pain, for that humiliation, for all the years you lived in fear?”

“I don’t! She’ll never pay. Her type never pays. She wins, again and again. Every time I send her money, she wins again.” Tears tracked down his cheeks now. “She wins because you’re standing there pushing her into my head again. My life is not an illusion because I made it. I created it. I won’t let you come into it and try to shatter it, to smear it.”

Empathy rolled into her stomach. His words, the passion behind them, could have been her own. “You have a home here, and one in London.”

“Yes, yes, yes! What of it?” He jerked his hand, and glanced down at the tug of Peabody’s. When his gaze landed on the bloody cloth, his face went white as bone.

“Go away. Can’t you go away?”

“Tell me where you were Sunday morning.”

“I don’t know. How can I remember everything? I have people to take care of me. I’m entitled to be taken care of. I give pleasure. I take pleasure. I deserve it.”

“Sunday morning, Carmichael, between eight and noon.”

“Here. Right here. Sleeping, meditating, detoxifying. I can’t live with stress. I need my quiet times.”

“Were you alone?”

“I’m never alone. She’s in every closet, under every bed, waiting in the next room to strike out. I lock her away, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t waiting.”

She hurt, looking at him. Understanding the words, she hurt. “Did you leave the house on Sunday morning?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you know Lois Gregg?”

“I know so many people. So many women. They love me. Women love me because I’m perfect. Because I don’t threaten them. Because they don’t know that I know what they are under it all.”

“Did you kill Lois Gregg?”

“I have nothing more to say to you. I’m going to call my attorneys now. I want you to leave my home. Li!” He put his injured hand behind his back as he rose, swaying a little. He stepped carefully to the side, away from the blood-smeared towel.

“Li, make them go away,” he ordered, as she hurried into the room again. “Make them leave. I have to lie down now. I don’t feel well. I need my quiet room.”

“There now, there.” Cooing, she put an arm around his waist, took his weight. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry. Poor baby. Don’t you worry.”

She shot a vicious look at Eve over her shoulder as she led Smith from the room. “I want you gone when I get back. If not, your superior will hear about this.”

Eve pursed her lips, listening to Li’s voice fade as she cooed Smith away.

“Guy’s got some serious problems,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah. Maybe he thinks he can cover it up with meditation, herb drinks, and mind-numbing music.” Eve shrugged. “Maybe he can. He couldn’t look at the blood,” she added, studying the towel. “Made him sick to see blood. Hard to do what was done to those two women if blood makes you sick. Then again, maybe it’s just the sight of his own blood that does it.”

She checked the time as they left the house. “We’re running a little early.”

“Yeah?” Peabody perked right up. “Then maybe we could hit a cart, or a24 /7. I missed breakfast.”

“Not that early.” When Peabody’s face fell, Eve sighed. “You know I hate that kicked-puppy look. Whatever we pass first. And you have one minute to do the transaction, which will include getting me coffee.”

“Deal.”

They hit a cart, so Peabody settled for a scrambled egg wrap that Eve assumed tasted better than it smelled. The coffee didn’t but that was par. “We’re going to talk to Breen’s wife. I got a hassle when I called her office for her schedule, so I pulled in the reserves.”

Peabody’s response was an egg-substitute-filled mumble. She swallowed. “I’m supposed to arrange the appointments.”

“You’re going to bitch because I cut you a break?”

“No.” But she had to fight the pout. “I don’t want you to think I can’t fulfill my duties because I’ve got all this stuff going on.”

“If I have a complaint about your work, Peabody, you’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s a given,” Peabody muttered and took a slug of her orange-flavored energy drink. “You said reserves?”

“Julietta does fashion. I happen to know somebody in the fashion forefront. Ms. Gates’ schedule miraculously cleared when she got a call from Leonardo’s main squeeze.”

“You tagged Mavis. Mag.”

“It’s not a girl outing, Peabody, it’s a murder investigation.”

“Silver linings, sir. I like a nice silver lining.” Peabody washed down egg substitute with reconstituted citrus product. “I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to be neighbors. At least until she has the baby. I guess they’re going to want a bigger place.”

“Why? How much room could a baby take up?”

“It’s not the baby so much, it’s all the stuff. You got your crib, your changing table, your activity center, your diaper unit, your-”

“Never mind. Jeez.” It gave her the mild weirds just to think about it.

“It was really smart to horn in using Mavis.”

“I have my moments.”

“Of course, you could’ve just told them you were Mrs. Roarke, and they’d have bowed to you.”

“I don’t want them to bow to me, I just want a damn interview. And don’t call me Mrs. Roarke.”

“Just saying.” Cheerful now, Peabody polished off the wrap. “Boy, nothing like a good breakfast to lift your mood. It’s not such a big deal, getting a place with McNab. It’s just another step in an evolving relationship. Right?”

“How the hell do I know?”

Fastidiously, Peabody dug out a wipe for her fingers, and made a mental note to replace the bloody handkerchief she’d left at Smith’s. “Well, when you moved in with Roarke you didn’t get all stupid and nervous and knotted up.”

There was a long pause, a long silence.

“You did?” Peabody’s head thunked back on the seat. “That’s so great. It makes me feel so much better. If you can get all screwed up over moving in with the god of men, into that palace, it’s okay for me to get wigged about moving to an apartment with McNab. It’s okay.”

“Now that we’ve solved that thorny dilemma, maybe we can concentrate on the case.”

“I just have one more question. When did you get over it? I mean, how long did it take for you to feel normal about hooking up with Roarke-living in the same space and all that?”