J Robb - Imitation in Death

She waited a beat. “We’re working on finding him before tonight. He’s in the city, and as he’s emulating Marsonini, it’s likely he’s settled in somewhere near his target’s home. Marsonini habitually had a good meal, with wine, on the evening before a murder. He dressed well, generally in suits by Italian designers, and carried his tools in an expensive briefcase. He did his work to opera, again Italian. He spoke with an accent, though it was affected as he was born in St. Louis. History, details, and a complete bio of this subject are in your packs.”

She waited again while members of the team shuffled and took out the bio. “Renquist will become Marsonini, attempt and likely succeed in copying his mannerisms, habits, and routines. You also have, in your packs, the projected image of how he’ll look wearing the long red hair and sunshades. Now let’s go over the details. If Renquist follows this pattern, this is going down tonight.”

She spent another hour before dismissing her team. Since she’d seen McNab look at his purple-banded wrist unit three times during the briefing, she held him back.

“She’s got another two hours. You’d better chill.”

“Sorry. She was just so wigged this morning. She’s going into the sims now. She keeps choking on the sims.”

“If she chokes, she’s not ready to make the grade. The timing blows on this, McNab, but the fact is we’ve got a lot more at stake here than Peabody getting her detective shield.”

“I know it. She’s so damn worried about letting you down she’s turned her guts inside out.”

“Jesus. It’s not about me.”

He pressed his lips together as if wrestling with a decision, then shrugged. “Yeah, it is. Sure it is. A big part of it. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but I figure you gotta know so if she messes up on this, you can handle it. Handle her.”

“She better handle herself. She’s going straight into this op when she’s done, and she won’t have the results. She better handle herself, and do the job.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and gave Eve a cheeky grin. “See, you know just how to handle her.”

“Get out of here.”

She sat on the corner of the desk for a moment, to clear Peabody out of her head. It was one thing to be responsible for lives, for justice. But it was a hell of a kick in the ass to be told you had somebody’s psyche in your hands.

How the hell had it gotten there?

“Lieutenant?” Roarke stood in the doorway of their adjoining offices, watching her. “A minute of your time.”

“Yeah.” She rose to walk into the simulation of the Mitchell bedroom again, judging distances, angles, moves. “That’s about all I’ve got for you. We could take him on the street,” she said half to herself. “But Marsonini carried a blaster or stunner, so Renquist will have a blaster or stunner. If he gets to it, starts popping off heat… maybe some idiot civilian gets in the way. Potential hostage. Better do it inside. Contained and controlled inside. No place to run, no civilian targets. It should be cleaner inside.”

She looked over, shrugged when she realized she’d walked in and out of the holographic bedroom closet. “Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. You’re worried because Peabody will be in the bed, in the open.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“So she can. But the fact that you’re worried should help you understand I’ve some concerns of my own. So I’m asking you to let me in on this operation.”

Deliberately she cocked her brow. “Asking? Me? Why don’t you just go to your good pal Jack, or your buddy Ryan?”

“One tries to learn by one’s mistakes.”

“Does one?”

“I want to be there for several reasons, and one is because it’s become personal for you. It’s trickier when it’s personal.”

She turned back. “End hologram program. Screens off.” There was cold coffee on her desk. She picked up the cup, put it down. Then found herself reaching for the little statue of the goddess Peabody’s mother had given her.

“It’s not the notes. They’re just irritating on a personal level, and helpful otherwise. It’s not the fact that he’s marked me as a future target. That goes with the territory. It’s not even that he’s a vicious, arrogant, sick son of a bitch. You get that all the time. It was watching Marlene Cox fighting to come back, and more than that, seeing her mother will her back. Sitting beside that hospital bed, reading to her, holding her hand, talking to her, believing-refusing not to believe because she loved her more than… Well, more than anything.”

She set the statue down again. “The way the mother looked at me, with this utter faith that I’d make it right. In my line, you’re almost always trying to make it right for the dead. But Marlene’s alive. So it’s personal. It got turned on me, and yeah, it’s trickier when it’s personal.”

“Can you use me?”

“Slick operator like you? Don’t see why not. I’ll give you a ride into Central. You can report to Feeney in EDD.”

– -«»--«»--«»--

Her first task at Central was to arrange for Pamela Renquist to be brought to an interview room. Renquist’s high-priced lawyers were already working on her release. Eve would consider herself lucky to hold the woman another twelve hours.

Pamela came in without her attorney, but wearing her own clothes rather than prison garb. Used her pull for her priority, Eve assumed and gestured to the table.

“I’ve agreed to speak with you, and alone, because I don’t want to give you the importance of my attorneys.” Pamela sat, brushed at her soft, silk pants. “I’ll be released shortly, and have already instructed my attorneys to initiate suit against you for harassment, false arrest and imprisonment, and slander.”

“Gosh, I’m in big trouble now. Tell me where he is, Pam, and we’ll end this without anyone else getting hurt.”

“First, I don’t appreciate your familiar form of address.”

“Gee, now you hurt my feelings.”

“Secondly,” Pamela continued in a voice iced as February, “my husband is in London on business, and when he returns he will use all his influence to destroy you.”

“Hey, here’s a flash for you: Your husband is in New York City, finalizing his preparation to kill a female accountant using the method of Enrico Marsonini, who was infamous for the rape and torture of his victims before he cut them to pieces. He always took a finger or toe with him, as a kind of door prize.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m disgusting.” Eve let out a baffled laugh. “You are some piece of work. To continue. Following the pattern of his latest mentor, Niles visited his intended victim in her home yesterday afternoon.”

Pamela curled her fingers, examined her manicure. “That’s preposterous.”

“You know it’s not. You know that your husband, the father of your child, the man you live with, is a psychopath. You’ve smelled the blood on him, haven’t you, Pam? You’ve seen what he is when you look at his face. You have a daughter. Isn’t it time for you to protect her?”

Pamela’s gaze flashed up, and a hint of rage eked through. “My daughter is none of your concern.”

“And apparently none of yours, either. I sent a child liaison officer to your home last evening. Rose, along with Sophia DiCarlo, has been taken into protective custody. The reason this is news to you is that you haven’t bothered contacting your daughter since you were brought in yesterday.”

“You had no right to remove my daughter from my home.”

“I do. But it was the liaison who opted to do so after speaking with her and her au pair, and other members of your staff. If you want your daughter back, it’s time to step away from the madman and stand with them against him. It’s time to shield your child.”