Vendetta in Death (In Death #49) - J. D. Robb Page 0,104

hundred, she’s taking a pass. But … stick an hour after that.” She rattled off the address, strode to her office.

Programmed coffee, pulled out her ’link.

“Lieutenant, aren’t we chatty today?”

“Not chat. And shouldn’t you be buying up some third-world country and crowning yourself king instead of answering your ’link?”

“I did that this morning.” Roarke smiled. “And just finished a lunch meeting where I approved the plans for my palace. What can I do for you?”

“What’s the black-tie deal Brinkman’s going to tonight?”

“Ah, it’s the annual Spring Gala hosted by Our Planet and benefitting various environmental causes.”

“Great. Can you get us in?”

He said nothing for a moment. “Since I assume you haven’t just been injected with a drug that causes you to want to socialize, and in a formal setting, I further assume this would be work.”

“Both assumptions are accurate. I figure she might try for Brinkman there. She likes the risk, likes to dress up in costume—and that’s what these deals are, essentially. Just an excuse to put on the fancy. Peabody’s interviewing a couple of other women, so we might come up with other viable targets, but right now Brinkman’s high on the list. I want the option of being there to shadow him, and if I get lucky, take her down.”

“Watching you take down a suspect is one of my top forms of entertainment. Especially when you’re in formal dress. It just adds that touch of piquant.”

“I don’t know what that means, but fine. Can you get us in?”

“As it’s held in the grand ballroom of my Palace—hotel in this case—I certainly can. Shall I arrange for Trina to come in, see to your hair and so on?”

Eve breathed in and out her nose. “That was mean.”

“I know, but also entertaining. I’ll see you at home then.”

“Yeah. Do not tag Trina,” she added, and clicked off.

With her coffee in hand, she put her boots on the desk, studied the board.

“What part would you play on this one? A server? That’s what I’d do. Easy to spike a drink if you’re the one serving it. All you’d need to do is guide him away. And doing it in front of all those people, that audience? Yeah, you’d love that. Big step up from a shithole bar.”

Eve drank coffee, considered.

She could go as a guest. That would work, too. One of many of the rich and fancy.

“But how do you keep the grandmother unaware?” she wondered. “Or am I wrong there? Is she part of it? Either way, either way, we have to have another conversation. I need another look at the two of you before tonight.”

Eve stayed as she was when she heard Peabody’s boots clomp toward her office.

She looked pale, Eve noted. Pale and tired.

“Please,” Peabody said. “I need coffee.”

“Go.”

At the AutoChef Peabody let out a long breath. “I’ve got another name—another of the women. I’ll contact her after this. And I’ve got another name—or two in this case—of potential targets.”

“Sit down.” Because her partner looked beaten down, Eve gave up her chair, pointed to it. “And sum it up.”

“First, Ming’s got an alibi for the first two nights. Visiting her family in Maine. I’ll check it out, but it’s going to hold. She got back yesterday afternoon. She has a roommate, another female, and they were both home until around eight, when the roommate went out. She says she went to bed about eleven—tired—and didn’t hear the roommate come in. But saw her this morning about seven-thirty, and the roomie said she got in about one. Big date. It’s sketchy, but it’s not her, Dallas.”

“Check anyway. The targets?”

“Gregory Sullivan and Devin Noonan. They’re all grad students at NYU. There was a party right before the Thanksgiving break, a lot of drinking, some illegals—she didn’t hedge there or deny she’d had her share of both. She went into the bedroom to get her coat, ready to head home. They both came in behind her, locked the door. She says Sullivan’s the one who forced her onto the bed, but Noonan helped hold her down while Sullivan dragged off her pants. It’s loud, nobody hears her calling for help. They took turns with her.”

“Did she tell anyone?”

“No.” Peabody scrubbed a hand over her face. “They told her she’d asked for it, the way she’d rubbed up against Sullivan when they danced. Everybody saw how she did, how she asked for it, then they left her there. She pulled on her pants, went home, got sick. The roomie had already