Innocent in Death Chapter Three
Innocent in Death by JD Robb, Chapter Three Sneak Preview
As a BzzAgent I have been asked to take several chapter previews from JD Robb's upcoming release of her novel Innocent In Death, and share them with as many people as I can. What better way to accomplish that goal than to treat my Suite 101 readers? So without further ado, and at the request of the publishing house, I present Chapter One. Enjoy.
Chapter Three
Eve looked to find the first of those answers
at the morgue. The air always smelled just a little too
sweet there, like a careless whore who’d used perfume
instead of soap to disguise some unpleasant personal odor. Tiles—
floor and walls—were an unrelieved white, pristine and sterile.
There was a vending alcove where staff or visitors could order their
choice of refreshment, though Eve imagined many who passed by would
prefer something stronger than the muddy soy coffee or sparkling soft
drinks.
She strode down the white-tiled corridor where, behind thick doors,
death lay in sealed drawers or on slabs waiting for the right questions
to be asked.
She pushed through the doors of an autopsy room to see Chief
Medical Examiner Morris already at work to the wicked rhythm of
what she thought might be Dixieland jazz. His sealed hands were
bloody to the wrists as he lifted Craig Foster’s liver from his body to
the scale.
“Ah, why don’t I go score you a Pepsi.” Peabody was already taking
a step back. “Thirsty work. Be right back.”
Ignoring her, Eve continued into the room. Morris glanced up, his
eyes behind his microgoggles canny and faintly amused. “She still
queezes when I’m cutting.”
“Some never get past it.” When had she? Eve wondered. Too long
ago to remember. “You’re getting to him quickly. Appreciate it.”
“I always enjoy working on your dead, and feel you enjoy me having
my hands in them. What’s wrong with us?”
“It’s a sick old world. How about the tox?”
“Music off,” he ordered. “I assumed you’d want that straight away,
and put a red flag on it. Still snowing?”
“Yeah, it’s crap out there.”
“Personally, I enjoy the snow.” He worked smoothly, weighing the
liver, taking a small sample of it. He wore a sleek black suit under his
protective smock, with a silver shirt that shimmered as he moved.
His dark hair was in one tightly coiled braid, looped at the neck and
twined with silver cord.
Eve had often wondered how he managed it.
“Want a look?” He put the sample on a slide under his scope, gestured
to the screen. “The tox confirms poisoning. Ricin, very concentrated,
very lethal. Very quick in this case.”
“Ricin? That’s from beans or something, right?”
“And you win the trip for two to Puerto Vallarta. Castor beans, to be
precise. Ricin’s made from the mash after processing. It was used as a
laxative once upon a time.”
She thought of the state of the body, the crime scene. “It sure as hell
worked.”
“Superbly. His liver and kidneys failed, and there was internal bleeding.
He’d have had severe cramping, rapid heartbeat, nausea, very likely
seizures.” Morris studied the screen as Eve did. “Ricin dust was used—
and is still used on occasion—in bioterrorism. Injection of ricin was a favored
assassination method before we discovered handier ways.”
“Your all-purpose poison.”
“Very versatile. The lab will process, but I can tell you it appears he
drank it—in his hot chocolate.”
“His wife made the chocolate.”
“Ah. I love domestically inclined females.”
“I don’t see her for it. Married a handful of months, no obvious motive.
And she copped to making it without a blink.”
“Marriages, even new ones, can be a terrorist camp.”
“Damn right, but she’s not popping for me. Yet anyway.”
“Good-looking young man,” Morris commented. “Athletic build
and, I’d say, a harmonic homogeny of races.”
“Harmonic homogeny.” Eve shook her head. “You kill me. He was
a teacher—history, private school, Upper West Side. Left his lunch in
his classroom, habitually. Ate at his desk Mondays, habitually. No
security cameras in the classrooms or corridors. Private schools aren’t
required to have them. Wouldn’t have been hard for anybody to doctor
his drink. What we’re missing at this point is why anyone would. Guy’s
coming off as a nice, harmless mensch.”
“Someone, I’d say, didn’t like your mensch. This kind of poisoning
isn’t just lethal, it’s extremely painful.” Hands deft as a violinist’s, Morris
removed the heart. “He didn’t live long after he ingested it, but
while he did, he suffered a great deal.”
She looked back at the body. What did you do, Craig, to piss somebody
off this much? “His wife wants to see him. She’s notifying his
parents, and I assume they will, too.”
“After nine this evening. I’ll have him prepared for viewing.”
“I’ll let them know.” She frowned back at Morris. “Where the hell
do you get castor beans?”
He only smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”
Peabody, slightly shamefaced, loitered by Vending. “Before you say
anything, here’s a nice cold tube of Pepsi. And I put my time to good
use. I’ve started runs on the staff members at Sarah Child and verified
life insurance policies on both the vic and his wife. Vic gets his through
work bennies. Fifty thousand, with the wife as beneficiary.”
“Pretty piddly motive.” Eve took the tube, pleased that it was, indeed,
nice and cold. “We’ll hit their financials, see if she had any major
debts. Maybe she’s the gambler, or the one with an illegals habit.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Eve cracked the tube, swigged as they walked.
“Unless there’s more money somewhere, the fifty doesn’t do it for me.
And if there was marital discord, let’s say, a spouse generally goes for
contact, for the personal. This was nasty, but remote. He pissed somebody
off.”
Peabody rewound her scarf, replaced her gloves as they hit the doors
and the cold exploded like an ice boomer. “Rejected lover, colleagues in
competition.”
“We’ll want to look closer at Mirri Hallywell.”
“Parents of a student who he disciplined, or who wasn’t doing well
in his class.”
“Jesus.” Eve jammed her hands in her pockets, and discovered she’d
lost yet another pair of gloves. “Who kills because their kid gets a big
doughnut in a history class?”
“Parents are weird and dangerous creatures. And I worked up another
theory. Maybe it was a mistake.”
“It was ricin poisoning, and Morris’s take is that the dose was intense
and quickly lethal.”
“See, what I mean is, maybe one of his students was upset with
him.” Peabody mimed a sulky face. “I’ll fix that meanie Mr. Foster.
Doctors his drink thinking he’ll maybe get sick. Oops.”
“Not entirely stupid.” They climbed into the vehicle, where both
hissed out the breath the blustery cold had them holding.
“Jesus, Jesus, why is there February?” Eve demanded. “February
should be eliminated altogether for the good of mankind.”
“It is the shortest month, so that’s something.” Peabody actually
moaned as the heat came on. “I think my corneas are frozen. Can that
happen?”
“They can in ****ing February. Let’s stick with Foster’s nearest and
dearest first. We’ll go by their building, talk to a few neighbors. Most
particularly the retired cop.”
“Once a cop,” Peabody nodded, and began to blink cautiously to
help her potentially frozen corneas thaw out. “If there was anything off
going on, he’d probably have noticed.”
Henry Kowoski lived on the second level of a four-story walkup. He
opened the door only after scanning Eve’s badge through his security
peep, then stood, taking her measure.
He was a stocky five-eight, a man who’d let his hair thin and gray.
He wore baggy trousers with a flannel shirt and brown, scuffed slippers.
In the background, the entertainment screen was tuned to the
Law and Order channel.
“Seen your picture on screen a few times. In my day, cops didn’t angle
for face time.”
“In my day,” Eve countered, “the world’s lousy with reporters. Going
to let us in, Sergeant?”
It might have been the use of his rank that had him stepping back
with a shrug. “Sound off,” he ordered the screen. “What’s the beef?”
The place smelled like it had been just a little too long since laundry
day, and not long enough since takeout Chinese night. The space was
what realtors liked to call “urban efficient,” which meant it was one
room, with a stingy bump for a kitchen, a short, narrow cell for a bath.
“How long were you on the job?”
“Thirty years. Last dozen of them out of the Two-Eight.”
Eve searched her mind, pulled out a single name. “Peterson the L.T.
when you were there?”
“Last couple years, yeah. He was a good boss. Heard he transferred
out a while back, moved clear out to Detroit or some such where.”
“That so? I lost track. You’ve had some complaints about the tenants
up above here? Fosters.”
“That’s damn right.” He folded his arms. “Playing music—if you
can call it that—all hours of the day and night. Stomping around up
there. I pay my rent, and I expect my neighbors to show some respect.”
“Anything else going on up there but loud music and stomping?”
“Newlyweds.” His mouth twisted. “Deduce. What the hell do
you care?”
“I care since Craig Foster’s in the morgue.”
“That kid’s dead?” Kowoski took a step back, sat on a ratty arm
chair. “****ed-up world. It was ****ed up when I picked up my
shield, and it was ****ed up when I turned it in. How’d he buy it?”
“That’s under investigation. Any trouble between them? Upstairs?”
“With dove and coo?” He snorted. “Not likely. Sooner lock lips than
eat, from what I’ve seen. If there was yelling, it wasn’t a fight—if you
get me. The girl’s a noisy lay.” Then he puffed out his cheeks, blew out
air. “I’m sorry about this. They pissed me off, I won’t say different,
with the noise up there. But I hate hearing he’s dead. Young guy.
Teacher. Had a smile on his face every time I saw him. Course if you’ve
got yourself a woman looks like her who’s ready to bang you every five
minutes, you’ve got a lot to smile about.”
“How about visitors?”
“Her mother was here a couple days ’round Christmas. Got some
other young people who came in and out now and then. And a couple
of loud parties. Both of them came home stumbling drunk New Year’s
Eve, giggling like a couple of kids, shushing each other.”
He shook his head slowly. “****ed-up world. You’re wondering
about criminal activity? You got yourself a couple of straight arrows with
these two, you want my take. Up every morning, off to work, back every
evening. Socializing now and again, sure, but these were homebodies.
Shoulda stayed home more, I guess, and out of that ****ed-up world.”
They spoke with the handful of neighbors who were home, and the
rhythm remained stable. The Fosters were a happy and newly married
couple, young urban professionals who enjoyed each other.
“We work three angles,” Eve decided as they headed back downtown.
“The vic, the school, the poison. They’re going to intersect somewhere.”
“Maybe through the science department. We can find out if they
were studying poisons, or ricin in particular.”
“Dawson’s a science teacher,” Eve considered. “Let’s do a deeper
run on him. You tag him meanwhile, ask about what gets mixed up in
their lab.”
“Got it. And if we’re leaning toward somebody in the school, or affiliated
with it, we should check the students’ records. See if Foster had
any go-round with one of them, or the parents of same.”
Eve nodded. “Good. Let’s look at the staff members we’ve verified
were in the building before classes started. If I were going to slip something
in somebody’s go-cup, I’d want to get it in before the place got
crowded. We’ll write this up, then start digging.”
“Hate to dig on an empty stomach. Not to be a whiner, but we
haven’t had a dinner break, and it’s nearly eight. Maybe we could—”
“Eight? Dinner?”
“Jeez, Dallas, just a hoagie.”
“Shit, shit. Shit! Dinner. Eight. French place. ****, ****. Why is it
nearly eight?”
“Well, because the Earth rotates on its axis while it orbits around the
sun. You’re supposed to be somewhere.”
“Roarke. Corporate wife duty.” Eve wanted to pull at her hair. “I
missed the last two, and I can’t do the no-show again. Le Printemps.
That’s it.”
“Le Printemps? Ooh-la-la! That’s megachic. Totally. And it’s Upper
East Side. Hate to point this out, but we’re low on the Lower
West Side.”
“I know where the hell we are.” She batted her fist on the wheel as
she spun into the garage at Cop Central. “I have to go. I have to do this.
I’m already late. Goddamn it.”
“The case is going to hold for the night,” Peabody pointed out.
“We’ve got nothing but paperwork now anyway. I can write the report,
and we’ll do the runs and the digging in the morning.”
“Copy the report, my home and office units. Anything else in your
notes that strikes you. Get out, get out! I gotta get to this stupid French
place.”
“Aren’t you going to go home and change first?”
“Into what? I don’t have time.” Then she grabbed Peabody by a
fistful of puffy coat. “Do this one thing for me. Tag Roarke, tell
him I’m on my way. Caught a case, running late, but I’m heading
there now.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t do it. He’ll see I’m in regular clothes, and he told me I should
take a change into work, but I nixed it. Like I want to go prancing out
of Central in some fancy dress.” Aggravation all but streamed out of
Eve’s pores. “Do you know the grief that causes me?”
“Honestly? I don’t know how you suffer through it. I’d crack like an
egg in your place.”
“Oh, bite me and tag Roarke.”
She all but shoved Peabody from the vehicle, and was whipping the
wheel and speeding out.
She couldn’t remember what she’d tossed on that morning, and
since she was driving like a maniac, couldn’t afford the time to check
herself out. The traffic, the stupid snow, the need to weave and dodge
made switching to autopilot an impossibility.
She probably smelled of death.
Well, it was his own fault, she decided. He’d married her, hadn’t he?
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made full disclosure on what a crappy wife
she’d make for a man like him.
She’d had to go and fall for a man who owned the lion’s share of the
known universe, and had to—on occasion—trot out his wife for that
odd and awkward mix of social business.
He wouldn’t complain that she was late. In fact, he wouldn’t even be
annoyed with her. If a cop had to get married—and God knew they
were better solo—she couldn’t do better than hooking up with a man
who understood that the job messed with personal plans. Constantly.
And because he wouldn’t complain or be annoyed, she felt even
more guilty for forgetting the dinner, and more determined to beat the
hellacious traffic.
She broke one of her own rules, hit the sirens, and used the cop for
personal gain.
After barely avoiding clipping bumpers with a Rapid Cab, she went
vertical, then hung a screaming right on Fiftieth, zigging, zagging her
way over to Third before heading uptown again.
She should’ve told Peabody to tell Roarke to have everyone order
without her. Not to wait. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Now they’d
probably be sitting there, starving, while she killed herself and many
innocent bystanders trying to get to a restaurant where she wouldn’t
even be able to read the damn menu.
“Guidance System on!” she ordered. “Where the hell is this place.
Restaurant, New York City, Le Printemps.”
One moment, please, while your request is programmed. Le Printemps is
located at 212 East Ninety-third, between Second and Third Avenues.
Would you care to make a reservation?
“I’ve got a damn reservation. Guidance off.”
Even with the kamikaze driving tactics, she was thirty minutes
late. And by the time she managed to double park, which would bring
the wrath of thousands and possibly cause an intercity riot, she was
later still.
She flipped on her On Duty light, then sprinted the last half-block.
She paused outside to scoop her fingers through her hair a couple of
times, then looked down at her dark brown trousers. She saw no overt
signs of blood or other bodily fluid staining them or the navy V-neck,
and considered the lack a big plus in her favor.
Horns were already blasting in protest of her parking arrangement
as she stepped out of the blowing snow, and into the fragrant and
muted music of five-star French.
The maître d’ swooped down on her like a vulture on roadkill.
“Mademoiselle. I regret, we cannot seat walk-ins.”
“How do you seat anyone if they don’t walk in?” She shrugged out
of her coat. Peabody had the megachic right, Eve noted. Every woman
in the place sparkled and gleamed. “Check the coat, Pierre. And it’s
your ass if it’s not here when I leave.”
“Mademoiselle, I must ask you to leave quietly.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, after I eat.” She smoothed down the brown
jacket, to be sure her weapon was concealed. Though she was tempted
to flash it, just to watch the tight-assed maître d’ crack his head on the
floor as he passed out.
“Now we can go a round right here,” she suggested, “and give your
diners a show along with dinner, or you can tell me where my party is.
Reservation Roarke.”
He lost color, shade by shade, until he’d gone from ruddy to pasty.
Apparently the name of Roarke carried as much power and threat as a
police issue. “I beg your pardon, Madame Roarke.”
“Dallas, Lieutenant. Where’s the table?”
“If you would please follow me.”
“My coat. I like that coat.”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful garment.” He snapped his fingers. “See to
Madame . . . to the lieutenant’s coat. If you will? Your party is already
seated. It would be my pleasure to bring you a cocktail.”
“Whatever they’ve got’s fine.” She scanned the room with all its gilt
and glory, then followed the chastened maître d’.
He saw her coming. Knowing she’d be late, he’d chosen the table
with that in mind. He loved watching her walk into a room, carelessly
long strides, those cop’s eyes seeing every detail.
And in the simple jacket and pants she, in his eyes, outshone every
woman in the room. When their eyes met, he got to his feet.
“Good evening, Lieutenant.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Champagne for my wife,” he said without taking his eyes off her.
He drew her chair back himself. “Let me introduce you to Natalie and
Sam Derrick.”
“So this is Eve! I’m just thrilled to meet you.” Natalie flashed a milewide
grin, even as her gaze tracked over Eve’s clothes.
“Glad you could join us.” Sam held out a hand the size of a rump
roast, pumped Eve’s twice. “Roarke’s told us it’s hard for you to get
away from work.”
“I just can’t think how you investigate murders.”
Eve glanced back at Natalie. “First I need a body.” She felt Roarke’s
hand pat her thigh twice. “It’s a lot of details,” she continued. “And not
nearly as interesting as it comes across in a vid or on screen.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. But I don’t suppose we want to talk of unpleasant
things.” Natalie beamed again. “Sam was just about to tell the
story of how he caught the biggest bass in Jasper County.”
“Wow.” It was all Eve could think to say, and she was grateful for
the glass of champagne now in her hand. And the fact that Roarke had
given her free one a squeeze under the table.
Just look at him, she thought, sitting there as though he couldn’t be
more interested or enthralled to hear about some stupid fish. And of
course, he’d know that every eye in the place would be turned on him
at some point during the evening.
She couldn’t blame them. He sat, at ease, the half-smile on his gorgeous
face, the light of interest in those laser-blue eyes. Candle- and
lamplight gleamed in his hair, that thick mane of black.
When his lips curved more fully, her heart actually bumped her ribs.
He could still do that to her, chase her heart to a gallop, stop her breath,
melt her bones. And do all of that just with a look.
At some point she was given a menu, and on a quick scan saw that it
was, indeed, the sort of fare that caused mild fear in her rather than
hunger.
Sam and Natalie weren’t as terminally boring as she’d imagined they
would be. Though there was a lot of talk about the sort of outdoorsy activities
that caused more discomfort in her than fancy French food.
Hunting, fishing, hiking, riding in boats on rivers, sleeping in tents.
Maybe it was a kind of cult Roarke wanted to infiltrate.
But there was some humor in them, and an obvious enjoyment of
the moment.
“This is just wonderful. Sam, this lobster puts your big bass to
shame. You have to have a taste. We don’t spruce up very often,” she
continued as she held her fork up for her husband. “We’re country
people, and that’s how we like it. But it sure is fun to do the big city in
a big way. I guess you’re used to it,” she said to Eve.
“I don’t spruce up very often either. Obviously.”
This time when Natalie smiled, there was more warmth to it.
“Honey, if I looked like you in pants and a sweater, I wouldn’t wear
anything else. Next time, you’ll have to come out and see us, and we’ll
throw you a real Montana feed. Roarke, you’re just going to have to
bring Eve out to see us.”
“I’ll have to do that.” He lifted his glass, smiled over the rim at Eve.
And when someone said his name, and he glanced toward them, Eve
saw something come into his eyes, just a flash of it. A something she’d
only seen when he looked at her.
It was gone, shuttered down into polite pleasure. But it had been
there. Very slowly, Eve tracked her gaze over, and saw her.
She was stunning, in a bold red dress that managed to be both elegant
and sexy. Long legs ended in the glitter of paper-thin silver heels.
Her hair was a long, waving stream of delicate blond, clipped at the
sides with something small and sparkling. Her eyes were brilliantly
green, full of life and excitement that translated to sexual power. Her
lips were full, very red and lush against luminous skin.
“Roarke.”
She said it again in a kind of throaty purr that brought up the hackles
on Eve’s back. And she glided as such women do, to the table, holding
out her hands for his.
“‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,’” she murmured
as he rose, and lifted her face for a kiss.
“Magdelana,” he said with the Irish in his voice cruising through the
name, and he brushed her lips very lightly with his. “What a surprise.”
“I can’t believe it’s you!” Magdelana laid her hands on his cheeks,
stroked. “And as handsome as ever. More. The years agreed with you,
lover.”
“And with you. Eve, this is an old friend of mine, Magdelana Percell.
Magdelana, my wife, Eve Dallas, and our friends, Sam and Natalie
Derrick.”
“Wife? Oh, of course, of course. I heard. One does. I’m delighted to
meet you. And you,” she said to the Derricks. “You’ll have to excuse me
for breaking into your meal. All I saw was Roarke.” She smiled down
at Eve, that glitter in her eyes. “You understand.”
“Oh, yeah.”
With another full-wattage smile, Magdelana dismissed Eve, then all
but melted into Roarke. “I’ve only been in town a few days. I was going
to contact you, see if we could make a date to catch up. It’s been, my
goodness, ten years?”
“Nearer to twelve, I’d think.”
“Twelve!” She rolled her exquisite eyes. “Oh, Franklin, forgive me!
My escort, Franklin James. This is Roarke, his wife, and the Derricks.”
“We know each other.” Roarke held out a hand. “Hello, Frank.”
He was thirty years her senior, by Eve’s gauge, looked prosperous
and hale. And, she thought, slightly besotted.
“We’ll let you get back to your dinner.” Magdelana ran a hand down
Roarke’s arm—a light, somehow intimate gesture. “I’m just thrilled to
see you again.” And this time she brushed her lips against Roarke’s
cheek. “We’ll have lunch, won’t we, and take a walk down Memory
Lane. You won’t mind, will you, Eve?”
“The lunch or the walk?”
Magdelana laughed, a frothy gurgle. “We’ll have to have lunch ourselves,
us girls. And tell secrets about Roarke. I’ll be in touch. So nice to
meet you.”
Conversation picked up again, over food, and fishing. Though
Roarke’s face betrayed nothing but interest in his companions, Eve
knew him. So she knew while he ate, he drank, he spoke, his mind was
across the elegant room where the stunning Magdelana sipped wine in
her bold red dress.
When the evening was done, they put the Derricks in one of Roarke’s
limos for the drive back to their hotel, then got into Eve’s vehicle.
“There have probably been a dozen murders committed due to the
way you parked this thing.”
“Who is she?”
“I told you, she and Sam own not only a very large portion of Montana,
but one of the most successful resorts in the state.”
“Don’t play me that way. Lover.”
“An old friend.” He shifted, his eyes meeting Eve’s. “And yes, we
were lovers. It was a long time ago.”
“That much I already know.”
He sighed. “She was in the game. We . . . competed for a while, then
we worked together on a couple of jobs. Then we parted ways.”
“She’s a thief.”
“She was.” He said it with a shrug. “I wouldn’t know if she continues
in that profession.” He reached out, and since Eve had gotten behind
the wheel, flicked at her hair as she drove. “What does it matter
to you?”
I saw something in your eyes, she wanted to say. “Curiosity,” she said
instead. “She’s a looker.”
“She certainly is. Do you know what I thought when you walked
into the restaurant?”
“Thank God she doesn’t have blood all over her shoes?”
“No, but good point. I thought, there is the most compelling woman
in the room. And she belongs to me.” He laid a hand briefly over hers.
“Thanks for tonight.”
“I was late.”
“I noticed. New case?”
“Yeah. Caught it this afternoon.”
“Tell me about it.”
She ordered herself to put old lovers out of her head, and gave him
the basics.
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