Seduction in Death by J. D. Robb Page A
Authors: J. D. Robb
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Police, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Large Type Books, Mystery & Detective - General, New York (N.Y.), Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Policewomen, American Light Romantic Fiction, Eve (Fictitious character), Dallas, Dallas; Eve (Fictitious Character)
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odds. Three to five."
"Done."
Back in the conference room, Peabody and McNab sat just as they were.
"I've got no problem working with you,"' McNab said.
"Why should you? I haven't got one working with you either."
"Good."
"Good."
They stared, ceiling and shoes, for another twenty seconds. McNab broke first. "You're the one who's been avoiding me anyway."
"I have not. Why should I? We are so over."
"Who said anything different?" And it burned him that she could say it, just that coolly, when he thought about her all the time.
"And you wouldn't think I'd been avoiding you if you hadn't been trying to get my attention."
"Shit. For what? I'm a busy boy, She-Body. Too busy to worry about some stiff-necked uniform who spends her off-time playing with LCs."
"You leave Charles out of this." She leaped to her feet, rage boiling in her blood. And a new little tear in her heart.
"Me, I don't have to hunt up pros. I got all the amateurs I can handle." He kicked out his legs, worked up a sneer. "But that's neither here nor there, right? We got the job, and that's it. If you can handle it."
"I can handle anything you can. More."
"Fine. I'll put the list together, and we'll get started."
CHAPTER FOUR
"You don't have his face."
Eve scowled at Dickie Berenski, the chief lab tech. He might have had a smarmy smile, an attitude that had earned him the not-so-affectionate nickname of Dickhead and a personality defect that deluded him into thinking of himself as a ladies' man, but he was a genius in his little world of fibers, fluids, and follicles.
"You called me out of the field to tell me I don't have his face?"
"Figured you'd want to know." Dickie pushed himself away from the station, sent his chair spinning toward another monitor. His spidery fingers danced over a keyboard. "See that there?"
Eve studied the color-washed image on monitor. "It's a hair."
"Give the lady a prize. But what kinda hair, you might ask, and I'm here to tell you. This didn't come out of your perp's head, it didn't come out of your victim's head, or any other area of their bodies. Came out of a wig. Expensive, human hair wig."
"Can you track it down?"
"Working on it." He scooted his chair to yet another post. "Know what this is?"
There were colored shapes and circles and formulas on the monitor. Eve blew out a breath. She hated the guessing games, but knew her job when it came to Dickie. "No, Dickie, why don't you tell me what it is?"
"It's makeup, Dallas. Base cream number 905/4. Traces of it found on the bed linens. And it don't match what was on the dead girl. Got more." He switched the image. "We got here traces of face putty. Stuff people use to give 'em more chin or cheekbone, whatever, if they don't want to go for permanent face sculpting and shit."
"And she wasn't using any face putty."
"Another prize for the little lady! Guy was wearing a wig, face putty, makeup. You don't have his face."
"Well, this is just wonderful news, Dickie. You got any more?"
"Got a couple of his pubic hairs. The real thing -- medium brown. Be able to give you more on him from that before we're finished. Got his fingerprints on the wineglasses, on the bottle, on the body, balcony doors, and rail. And here and there. You find him, we'll box him up real pretty."
"Send me what you've got. Track down those brand names. I want that data by morning."
"Hey!" he shouted as she strode out. "You could say thanks."
"Yeah. Thanks. Goddamn it."
She let it play through her head all the way home, trying to see what kind of man lived inside her killer. She was afraid she did see. He was smart -- smart enough to change his appearance so the security cameras and Bryna Bankhead wouldn't identify him. But he hadn't taken her out, or gone back to her apartment with the idea of killing her. Eve was sure of it.
He'd gone to seduce her.
But things had gotten out of hand, she mused, and he'd found himself with a dead woman on his rose petals. He'd reacted, panicked or angry,
"Done."
Back in the conference room, Peabody and McNab sat just as they were.
"I've got no problem working with you,"' McNab said.
"Why should you? I haven't got one working with you either."
"Good."
"Good."
They stared, ceiling and shoes, for another twenty seconds. McNab broke first. "You're the one who's been avoiding me anyway."
"I have not. Why should I? We are so over."
"Who said anything different?" And it burned him that she could say it, just that coolly, when he thought about her all the time.
"And you wouldn't think I'd been avoiding you if you hadn't been trying to get my attention."
"Shit. For what? I'm a busy boy, She-Body. Too busy to worry about some stiff-necked uniform who spends her off-time playing with LCs."
"You leave Charles out of this." She leaped to her feet, rage boiling in her blood. And a new little tear in her heart.
"Me, I don't have to hunt up pros. I got all the amateurs I can handle." He kicked out his legs, worked up a sneer. "But that's neither here nor there, right? We got the job, and that's it. If you can handle it."
"I can handle anything you can. More."
"Fine. I'll put the list together, and we'll get started."
CHAPTER FOUR
"You don't have his face."
Eve scowled at Dickie Berenski, the chief lab tech. He might have had a smarmy smile, an attitude that had earned him the not-so-affectionate nickname of Dickhead and a personality defect that deluded him into thinking of himself as a ladies' man, but he was a genius in his little world of fibers, fluids, and follicles.
"You called me out of the field to tell me I don't have his face?"
"Figured you'd want to know." Dickie pushed himself away from the station, sent his chair spinning toward another monitor. His spidery fingers danced over a keyboard. "See that there?"
Eve studied the color-washed image on monitor. "It's a hair."
"Give the lady a prize. But what kinda hair, you might ask, and I'm here to tell you. This didn't come out of your perp's head, it didn't come out of your victim's head, or any other area of their bodies. Came out of a wig. Expensive, human hair wig."
"Can you track it down?"
"Working on it." He scooted his chair to yet another post. "Know what this is?"
There were colored shapes and circles and formulas on the monitor. Eve blew out a breath. She hated the guessing games, but knew her job when it came to Dickie. "No, Dickie, why don't you tell me what it is?"
"It's makeup, Dallas. Base cream number 905/4. Traces of it found on the bed linens. And it don't match what was on the dead girl. Got more." He switched the image. "We got here traces of face putty. Stuff people use to give 'em more chin or cheekbone, whatever, if they don't want to go for permanent face sculpting and shit."
"And she wasn't using any face putty."
"Another prize for the little lady! Guy was wearing a wig, face putty, makeup. You don't have his face."
"Well, this is just wonderful news, Dickie. You got any more?"
"Got a couple of his pubic hairs. The real thing -- medium brown. Be able to give you more on him from that before we're finished. Got his fingerprints on the wineglasses, on the bottle, on the body, balcony doors, and rail. And here and there. You find him, we'll box him up real pretty."
"Send me what you've got. Track down those brand names. I want that data by morning."
"Hey!" he shouted as she strode out. "You could say thanks."
"Yeah. Thanks. Goddamn it."
She let it play through her head all the way home, trying to see what kind of man lived inside her killer. She was afraid she did see. He was smart -- smart enough to change his appearance so the security cameras and Bryna Bankhead wouldn't identify him. But he hadn't taken her out, or gone back to her apartment with the idea of killing her. Eve was sure of it.
He'd gone to seduce her.
But things had gotten out of hand, she mused, and he'd found himself with a dead woman on his rose petals. He'd reacted, panicked or angry,
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