Born in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

lacked security cams, alarms. And that the second scene had better security. Scoped them out first, preparation again. And/or had personal knowledge of the scenes.
    Had he been inside before the murders?
    Prior personal contact with the victims?
    She rose, set up her board, then sat again, angling her chair so she could study the faces of her dead.
    “What did you know, Natalie? What did you have? What did you figure out? Had you worried, whatever it was.”
    Called in sick the morning of the murder. Put on an extra lock, security peep, in a place you were moving out of in a few months. Yeah, you were worried.
    But not enough to tell the sister, or the boss she was allegedly friendly with.
    But Bick went into work that morning. Maybe not as worried, maybe to keep an ear to the ground.
    And not worried, not scared enough to have the boyfriend come over, stay the night.
    Not scared for your life, Eve concluded, despite the knife in the bedroom. Shook, upset, nervous—careful. But not scared for your life. Probably felt stupid, even a little embarrassed when you brought that knife into the bedroom with you. But you’re not scared enough to call the cops, even move in with the fiancé for a few days.
    Maybe working on something. Liked your space, your quiet. But it gets dark, you’re a little wiggy.
    To refresh herself, she called up the replay from Palma’s pocket ’link, reviewed the transmission to her sister.
    Hey, Nat!
    Palm. Where are you?
    Somewhere over Montana. Vegas/New York runs, remember. We’re loaded with them today. Back and forth, full shuttles. I’m getting into New York late. Still okay if I crash with you, right?
    Sure. I really want to see you. I’ve missed you.
    Me, too. Hey, something wrong?
    No. No. Just a lot on my mind.
    You had a fight with Bick.
    No. We’re fine. I’m just…there’s a lot going on. It’s…listen, you’re off tomorrow, right?
    After a shift like this, you bet. Want to ditch work and have a girl day?
    I really do. We could do some shopping.
    Wedding plans.
    Yeah. And I could clear my head, maybe run something by you.
    You’re not changing your colors?
    What? No, no. It’s nothing to do with that. It’s about—
    Damn, Five A’s beeping me again.
    You go. We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning. Oh, you’ve got the new key, the code I sent you this morning?
    Right here. Sweetie, you look so tired. What—oh, for God’s sake. Beep, beep, beep. Sorry, Nat.
    It’s okay. You go. I’ll see you soon. Palma, I’m really glad we’ll have some time.
    Me, too. Pancakes for breakfast?
    You bet.
    Bye!
    Stress level up on the vic, Eve thought. No need to run a voice analysis. She could hear it plainly and see it in the vic’s eyes. Not fear, but tension and fatigue.
    She was going to tell her sister, whatever it was. Lay it out for her as she’d laid it out, Eve was sure, for her fiancé. Lucky for Palma, she’d been out of the loop at the time of the murders.
    Looking for advice, someone to share the burden. I know this thing, found this thing, suspect this thing. I’m not sure what I should do.
    Closing her eyes, Eve brought Natalie’s apartment back into her mind. Female, tidy, matching this and matching that. The clothes Eve had pawed through had been the same. Definite style. Hard-working accountant. Practical and organized. New lock. Careful and cautious.
    Whatever she’d known or had that had killed her, she hadn’t known or had it long. Eve judged Natalie Copperfield as a woman who knew her mind.
    Shared the information with someone else besides the boyfriend, maybe. If so, it had been the wrong person.
    Taking the list provided, Eve began a standard run on the victim’s coworkers, superiors, and the heads of the firm. Then she tagged Peabody on the interdepartment ’link. “Do a search and run on the other tenants in Copperfield’s building. Maybe she saw something at home, or in the neighborhood.”
    “I was heading there. Just went over the statement from