Loyalty In Death Part 58

"I don't know how to thank you. For thinking of him. After he acted that way, with all that's going on, for thinking of him."

"I'm thinking of me." Eve shoved her door open. "I can't afford to have my aide's concentration split because she's worried about a family member."

"Right." Knowing better, Peabody sniffled as she got out of the car. But she'd blinked her eyes clear. "You have my full attention, sir."

"Let's keep it that way." Eve disarmed the police seal and entered the house.

"The droids have been deactivated and taken into holding." But she hitched back her jacket so her weapon was in easy reach. "The place should be empty, but we're dealing with people with solid tech and electronic skills.

They could have gotten through the seal. I want you on alert while we're in here, Peabody."

"Full alert, sir."

"We'll start with the offices."

Branson's was masculine, distinguished, in burgundy and green with dark wood, leather chairs, heavy crystal. Eve stopped in the doorway, shook her head.

"No, she's the force, she's the one who's driving this train." Her mind was clear again, achingly so. "I shouldn't have wasted time at his plant. She's the b.u.t.ton here."

She strode across the hall and into the feminine grace of Clarissa's office.

Sitting room, Eve decided it would have been called, with its rose and ivory tones, its dainty chairs with pastel cushions. There were pretty little vases lining the marble mantel, each with tiny flowers tucked in. The flowers were faded and dying and added a sick scent over the fragile fragrance of the air.

There was a day bed with a white swan painted on the cushions, lamps with tinted shades, curtains of lace. Eve walked to the small desk with long curved legs and studied the small-scale communication and data unit.

The disc collection proved to be filled with fashion and shopping programs, a smatter of novels -- heavy on romance -- and a daily journal that spoke of household matters, more shopping, lunch dates, and social events.

"Got to be more." Eve stepped back. "Roll up your sleeves, Peabody. Let's take this creepy little room apart." "I think it's kind of pretty."

"Anybody who lives with this much pink has to be insane."

They went through drawers, searched under and behind them. The small closet held more office supplies and a filmy robe. Again pink. They found nothing behind the watercolor paintings of formal gardens, not even dust.

Then Peabody struck gold. "A disc." Triumphant, she held it up. "It was in this swan cushion."

"Let's run it." Eve slipped it into the slot, then looked less than pleased when it immediately engaged. "She hides it, but doesn't bother to pa.s.scode it. Oh, I don't think so."

It was a diary, written in the first person, and detailing beatings, rapes, abuse.

"I heard him come in. I thought -- he'll think I'm asleep, he'll leave me alone.

I've been so careful to do everything right today. But when I heard him coming up the stairs, I knew he was drunk. Then I could smell it as he came to the bed.

"It's worse when he's drunk, when he's just drunk enough.

"I kept my eyes closed. I think I stopped breathing. I prayed he was too drunk to hurt me. But no one listens when you pray."

"Playing possum, little girl." The words, the voice, the memory snapped out at Eve like fangs. The smell of liquor and candy, the hands pulling, bruising.

"I begged him to stop, but it was already too late. His hands were on my throat, squeezing so I wouldn't scream, and he was pushing himself into me, hurting me, his breath hot on my face."

"Don't. Please, don't." It hadn't done Eve any good to beg. Hands on her throat, yes. Squeezing until red dots danced in front of her eyes, and the burning, tearing pain of another rape. With that sick-sweet breath on her face.

"Lieutenant. Dallas." Peabody took her arm and shook. "You okay? You're really pale."

"I'm all right." d.a.m.n it, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. She needed air. "It's a plant," she managed. "She knew someone would find it during the investigation. Scan through to the end, Peabody. She wants us to finish it."

Eve walked to the window, unlocked it, threw it open. She leaned out, had to lean out and breathe. The frigid air stung her cheeks, sc.r.a.ped her throat like little bits of ice.

She wouldn't go back there, she promised herself. Couldn't afford to go back there. She would stay in the now. In control.

"She talks about Zeke," Peabody called out. "It goes on -- pretty flowery love language here -- about meeting him, how she felt when she knew he was coming."

She looked over, relieved to see color in Eve's face again, though she suspected it was mostly from the slap of cold wind. "She talks about going down to the workshop; it runs with what they'd told us before. Then she's saying that she found her strength because of him, and was leaving her husband at last. It stops with her writing that she was packed and about to call Zeke and begin her real life."

"She covered her a.s.s. If she decided not to run straight off, she'd have the disc, dated and logged, as verification of the story. I guess she figured Testing was too big a risk."

"Doesn't help us any. Everything here's just as you'd expect it to be if her story was on the up."

"But it's not, so there's more. This is a front." Eve closed the window, turned to wander the room. "This is image -- what do you call it -- veneer. Under this we've got a tough, determined, bloodthirsty woman who wants to be treated like a G.o.ddess. With awe and fear. She's not pink." Eve lifted a satin pillow, tossed it. "She's red; rich, powerful red. She's no delicate flower. She's poison -- exotic, sensual, but poison. She wouldn't have spent any more time in this room than it would have taken to set it up."

Eve stopped, waiting for her racing mind to slow. d.a.m.n chemicals, she thought. She deliberately closed her eyes. "She'd come in here, probably sneer at all the little trinkets. False front. Society's trappings. She hates it.

Uses it. She goes for the bold, but this is part of the stage. She's been acting for years. This room is to show people how soft and female she is, but it isn't where she works."

"The rest of the house is guest rooms, baths, living and kitchen area."

Peabody sat where she was, watching Eve, watching her work. Watching her mind. "If she didn't work here, then where?"

"Close." Eve opened her eyes, studied the little closet. "Master bedroom's on the other side of that wall, right?" "Yeah. Big he and she walk-in closet takes up the facing wall."

"All the closets are big. Except this one. Why would she settle for this little corner here?" She squeezed herself in, started running fingers over the wall.

"Go around the other side, into the closet. Knock on the wall. Give it three good raps, and come back."

While she waited, Eve crouched, dug her mini-goggles out of her field kit.

"Why did I do that?" Peabody asked when she came back.

"You knock hard?"

"Yes, sir. Rap, rap, rap. Stung my knuckles."

"I didn't hear a thing. There's got to be a mechanism, a control." "Hidden room?" Peabody tried to angle it. "That's so iced."

"Back up, you're in my light. It's got to be here. Wait. h.e.l.l. Give me something to pry with."

"I've got something." Peabody dug in her bag for her Swiss Army knife, selected the slim opener, and offered it. "Were you a Girl Scout?"

"All the way to Eagle level, sir."

Eve grunted, slid the opener into the minute crack in the glossy ivory wall.

It slipped out twice before she got some leverage, and hissing out an oath, she shoved it hard. The little door swung open to reveal a control panel.

"Okay, let's bypa.s.s this sucker." She worked for five cramped minutes, shifted her weight on her knees, wiped sweat off her face, and started again.

"Why don't you let me have a go at it, Dallas?"

"You don't know any more about electronics than I do. h.e.l.l with it. Step back." She rose, her shoulder b.u.mping solidly into Peabody's nose.

Peabody had a minute to yelp, check for blood, then Eve had her weapon out.

"Oh, sir, you don't need to -- "

Eve blasted the control lock. Circuits sizzled, chips flew, and the panel of ivory slid smoothly apart.