Robb, J D - In Death 18 - Portrait in Death

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2024-12-03 0 0 705.93KB 252 页 5.9玖币

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The light of the body is in the eye

—New Testament

A mother is a mother still,

The holiest thing alive.

—Samuel Coleridge

Prologue

We begin to die with our first breath. Death is inside us, ticking closer, closer, with every beat of

our heart. It is the end no man can escape. Yet we cling to life, we worship it despite its transience. Or

perhaps, because of it.

But all the while, we wonder of death. We build monuments to it, revere it with our rituals. What

will our death be? we ask ourselves. Will it be sudden and swift, long and lingering? Will there be pain?

Will it come after a long, full life, or will we be cut off—violently, inexplicably—in our prime?

When is our time? For death is for all time.

We create an afterlife because we cannot rush through our days chased by the specter of an end.

We make gods who guide us, who will greet us at golden gates to lead us into an eternal land of milk and

honey.

We are children, bound hand and foot by the chains of good with its eternal reward, and evil with

its eternal punishment. And so, most never truly live, not freely.

I have studied life and death.

There is only one purpose. To live. To live free. To become. To know, with each breath, you are

more than the shadows. You are the light, and the light must be fed, absorbed from any and all sources.

Then, the end is not death. In the end we become the light.

They will say I am mad, but I have found sanity. I have found Truth and Salvation. When I have

become, what I am, what I do, what I have created will be magnificent.

And we will all live forever.

Chapter 1

Life didn't get much better. Eve knocked back her first cup of coffee as she grabbed a shirt out of

the closet. She went for thin and sleeveless as the summer of 2059 was currently choking New York, and

the rest of the Eastern seaboard, in a tight, sweaty grip.

But hey, she'd rather be hot than cold.

Nothing was going to spoil her day. Absolutely nothing.

She pulled on the shirt, then with a quick glance at the door to make certain she was alone, did a

fast, hip-shaking boogie to the AutoChef for another hit of coffee. A glance at her wrist unit told her she

had plenty of time if she wanted breakfast, so what the hell, she programmed it for a couple of blueberry

pancakes.

She went back to the closet for her boots. She was a tall, lean woman, currently wearing khaki-

colored pants and a blue tank. Her hair was short, choppy in style, and brown, with lighter streaks teased

out by that mean and brilliant sun. It suited her angular face, with its wide brown eyes and generous

mouth. There was a shallow dent in her chin—a feature her husband, Roarke, liked to trace with a

fingertip.

Despite the heat she'd face when she stepped outside the big, blissfully cool bedroom, outside the

big, blissfully cool house, she pulled out a lightweight jacket. And tossed it over the weapon harness she

had draped over the back of the sofa in the sitting area.

Her badge was already in her pocket.

Lieutenant Eve Dallas grabbed her coffee and pancakes out of the AutoChef, plopped down on

the sofa, and prepared to enjoy a luxurious breakfast before clocking in for a day as a murder cop.

With a feline's psychic sense when food was involved, the fat cat Galahad appeared out of

nowhere to leap on the sofa beside her and stare at her plate with his dual-colored eyes.

"Mine." She forked up pancakes, and stared back at the cat. "Roarke may be an easy mark, pal,

but I'm not. Probably already been fed, too," she added as she propped her feet on the table and continued

to plow through her breakfast. "Bet you were down in the kitchen at dawn sidling around Summerset."

She leaned down until they were nose to nose. "Well, there won't be any of that for three

beautiful, wonderful, mag-ass weeks. And do you know why? Do you know why?"

Overcome with joy, she caved and gave the cat a bite of pancake. "Because the skinny, tight-

assed son of a bitch is going on vacation! Far, far away." She almost sang it, riding on the bliss of

knowing Roarke's majordomo, her personal nemesis, wouldn't be there to irritate her that night, or for

many nights to come.

"I have twenty-one Summerset-free days ahead of me, and I rejoice."

"I'm not sure the cat shares your jubilation." Roarke spoke from the doorway where he was

currently leaning on the jamb watching his wife.

"Sure he does." She scooped up more of the pancakes before Galahad could nose his way onto the

plate. "He's just playing it cool. I thought you had some interstellar honcho transmission to take care of

this morning."

"Done."

He strolled in, and Eve added to her considerable pleasure by watching him move. Smooth, long-

legged, graceful in a way that was pure and dangerous male.

He could give the cat lessons, she mused. Grinning at him, she decided there wasn't a woman

alive who wouldn't be thrilled to have that face next to hers over breakfast.

As faces went, it was a masterpiece, carved on one of God's more generous days. Lean, with edgy

cheekbones, with a firm, full mouth that could make her own water. All this was framed by a sweep of

glossy black hair, and highlighted by Celtic blue eyes.

The rest of him wasn't bad either, she thought. All long and rangy and tough.

"Come here, pretty boy." She fisted a hand in his shirt, gave him a yank. Then sank her teeth,

with some enthusiasm, in his bottom lip. She gave it a lazy flick of her tongue before settling back again.

"You're better than pancakes any day."

"You're certainly chipper this morning."

"Damn straight. Chipper's my middle name. I'm going out to spread joy and laughter to all of

mankind."

"What a nice change of pace." There was amusement riding along with the Irish in his voice.

"Perhaps you'll start now by going down with me to see Summerset off."

She grimaced. "That might spoil my appetite." Testing, she polished off the pancakes. "No, no, it

doesn't. I can do that. I can go down and wave bye-bye."

Brow lifted, he gave her hair a quick tug. "Nicely."

"I won't do the happy dance until he's out of sight. Three weeks." After a joyful shudder, she rose

and foiled the cat by putting the plate out of reach. "I won't see his ugly face or hear the squeaky sound of

his voice for three orgasmic weeks."

"Why do I think he's probably thinking something very similar about you?" Sighing, Roarke

pushed to his feet. "I'm as sure about that as I am that both of you will miss sniping at each other."

"Will not." She picked up her harness, strapped on her weapon. "Tonight, to celebrate—and make

no mistake, I'm going to celebrate—I'm going to lounge around the living room and eat pizza. Naked."

Roarke's eyebrows winged up. "I'll certainly enjoy that."

"Get your own pizza." She shrugged into her jacket. "I have to wave bye-bye now. I'm due at

Central."

"Practice this first." He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Have a good trip. Enjoy your vacation."

"You didn't say I had to speak to him." She blew out a breath at Roarke's calm stare. "All right, all

right, it's worth it. Have a good trip." She stretched her lips into a smile. "Enjoy your vacation. Asshole.

I'll leave off the asshole, I just wanted to say it now."

"Understood." He ran his hands down her arms, then took her hand. The cat darted out of the

room ahead of them. "He's looking forward to this. He hasn't taken much time for himself in the last

couple of years."

"Didn't want to take his beady eyes off me long enough. But that's okay, that's all right," she said

in a cheerful voice. "Because he's going, and that's what's important."

She heard the cat screech, the curse that followed, then a series of thuds. Eve was fast on her feet,

but Roarke beat her to the stairs, and was already sprinting down there to where Summerset lay in a heap

along with scattered piles of linen.

She took one look at the scene at the bottom of the stairs and said, "Oh, shit."

"Don't move. Don't try to move," Roarke murmured as he checked Summerset for injuries.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Eve crouched. Summerset's always pale face was bone-white

and already going clammy. She read shock in his eyes, along with considerable pain.

"It's my leg," he managed in a voice gone reedy. "I'm afraid it's broken."

She could see that for herself by the awkward angle it took below the knee. "Go get a blanket,"

she told Roarke as she pulled out her pocket-link. "He's shocky. I'll get the MTs."

"Keep him still." Moving fast, Roarke whipped one of the tangled sheets over Summerset, then

dashed upstairs. "He could have other injuries."

"It's just my leg. And my shoulder." He closed his eyes as Eve called for medical assistance. "I

tripped over the bloody cat." Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and did his best to smirk at Eve though

the heat of the fall was rapidly turning to a cold that made his teeth chatter. "I imagine you think it's a pity

I didn't break my neck."

"Thought crossed by mind." Lucid, she thought with some relief. Didn't lose consciousness. Eyes

a little glassy. She glanced over as Roarke came back with a blanket. "They're on their way. He's

coherent, and pissy. I don't think there's any head injury. Take more than a spill down the stairs to crack

that stone anyway. Tripped over the cat."

"For Christ's sake."

Eve watched Roarke take Summerset's hand, hold it. However she and the skinny baboon dealt

with each other, she understood the man was more Roarke's father than his own blood had been.

"I'll get the gates, clear the MTs through."

She headed to the security panel to open the gates that closed off the house, the expansive lawns,

the personal world Roarke had built, from the city. Of Galahad there was no sign, nor Eve thought sourly,

would there likely be for a while.

Damn cat had probably done it on purpose to spoil her good time because she hadn't given him

enough pancakes.

So they would hear the sirens, she opened the front door, and nearly staggered against the wall of

heat. Barely eight, and hot enough to fry brains. The sky was the color of sour milk, the air the

consistency of the syrup she'd so cheerfully consumed when there'd been joy in her heart and a spring in

her step.

Have a nice trip, she thought. Son of a bitch.

Her 'link beeped just as she heard the sirens. "Here they come," she called to Roarke, then stepped

aside to take the transmission. "Dallas. Shit, Nadine," she said the minute she saw the image of Channel

75's top reporter on screen. "This isn't a good time."

"I got a tip. Seems like a serious tip. Meet me at Delancey and Avenue D. I'm leaving now."

"Hold on, hold on, I'm not going down to the Lower East Side because you—"

"I think somebody's dead." She shifted so Eve could see the images on the printouts she'd spread

over her desk. "I think she's dead."

It was a young brunette in various poses, some candid from the looks of them, others staged.

"Why do you think she's dead?"

"I'll fill you in when I see you. We're wasting time."

Eve motioned in the MTs as she scowled at the 'link. "I'll send a black-and-white—"

"I didn't give you a heads-up so you could fob this, and me, off on uniforms. I've got something

here, Dallas, and it's hot. Meet me, or I check it out alone. Then I go on the air with what I've got, and

what I find."

"Fucking A, what a day this is turning into. All right. Stand on the corner, get a bagel or

something. Don't do anything until I get there. I've got a mess to clean up here first." Blowing out a breath

she looked over to where the MTs examined Summerset. "Then I'm on my way."

She clicked off, jammed the 'link back in her pocket. She walked back to Roarke, and couldn't

think of anything to do but pat his arm while he watched the medicals. "I've got a thing I've got to check

out."

"I can't remember how old he is. I can't quite remember."

"Hey." This time she gave his arm a squeeze. "He's too mean to be down for long. Look, I'll ditch

this thing if you want me to stay around."

"No, you go on." He shook himself. "Tripped over the goddamn cat. Could've killed himself." He

turned, pressed his lips to her forehead. "Life's full of nasty surprises. Take care, Lieutenant, I'd as soon

not have another one today."

***

Traffic was mean, but that suited the ruination of her mood. A maxibus breakdown on Lex had

everything snarled from 75th, as far south as she could see. Horns blasted. Above, traffic copters clipped

and hummed among the air traffic to keep the rubberneckers from jamming the sky as well. Tired of

sitting in the sea of commuters, she flipped her siren, then punched into a quick vertical. She cut east, then

headed south again when she found some clear road.

She'd called Dispatch and informed them she was taking an hour personal. No point in reporting

in that she was following the crooked finger of an on-air reporter, without authorization or any clear

reason.

But she trusted Nadine's instincts—the woman's nose for a story was like a beagle's for a rabbit—

and had tagged Peabody, her aide, with orders to detour to Delancey.

There was plenty of business being done on the street. The area was a hive of delis, coffee shops,

and specialty stores that crowded along on sidewalk level and served the inhabitants of the apartments

above them. The bakery sold to the guy who ran the fix-it shop next door, and he'd diddle with the

AutoChef for the woman who ran the clothes store on the other side, while she ran across the street to buy

fruit from the stand.

It was a tidy system, Eve imagined. Old and established, and though it still bore some scars from

the Urban Wars, it had rebuilt itself.

It wasn't a sector where you'd want to take a stroll late at night, and a couple of blocks south or

west you'd find the not-so-tidy communities of sidewalk sleepers and chemi-heads, but on a sweltering

summer morning, this slice of Delancey was all business.

She pulled up behind a double-parked delivery truck, flipped up her On Duty light.

With some reluctance, she left the cool cocoon of her vehicle and stepped into the hot, wet wall of

summer. The smells hit her first—brine and coffee and sweat. The more appealing hint of melon from the

fruit vendor was overpowered by the rush of steam gushing out of a glide-cart. It carried the distinct odor

of egg substitute and onions.

She did her best not to breathe it in—who ate that shit—as she stood on the corner scanning.

She didn't spot Nadine, or Peabody, but she did see a trio of what she took to be shopkeepers and

a City Maintenance drone having an argument in front of a green recycle bin.

She kept an eye on them while she considered calling Roarke to check on Summerset. Maybe

there'd been a miracle and the medical techs had glued his bone back together and he was, even now, on

his way to transport. As a result of the morning trauma, he wasn't taking three weeks vacation. But four.

And while he was gone, he'd fall madly in love with a licensed companion—who would have sex

with that freak unless she was paid for it—and decide to settle down with her in Europe.

No, not Europe. It wasn't far away enough. They'd relocate in the Alpha Colony on Taurus I, and

never again return to this planet called Earth.

As long as she didn't call, she could hold on to the silver threads of that little fantasy.

But she remembered the pain in Summerset's eyes and the way Roarke had held his hand.

With a mighty sigh, she pulled out her pocket-link. Before she could use it one of the shopkeepers

shoved City Maintenance. Maintenance shoved back. Eve saw the first punch coming even if

Maintenance didn't, and he ended up on his ass. She shoved the 'link back in her pocket and headed down

the sidewalk to break it up.

She was still three feet away when she smelled it. She'd walked with death too many times to

mistake it.

The living were currently rolling around on the sidewalk, being cheered on or berated by the

people who popped out of storefronts or stopped their hike to work to watch the show.

Eve didn't bother with her badge, but simply hauled the guy on top up by his shirt, and planted

her foot on the chest of the one still on the ground.

"Knock it off."

The shopkeeper was a little guy, and wiry with it. He jerked away, leaving Eve with a handful of

sweaty shirt. The blood in his eye was from temper, but his lip was sporting the real thing. "This is none

of your business, lady, so just move before you get hurt."

"That's Lieutenant Lady." The guy on the ground seemed content to stay there. He was paunchy,

he was winded, and his left eye was already swelling shut. But as she didn't have any love for anyone in

any sector of maintenance, she kept her boot weighted on his chest as she flipped out her badge.

The smile she sent the shopkeeper showed a lot of teeth. "You want to take bets on who's going to

get hurt here? Now back off, and shut it down."

"A cop. Good. You ought to throw his sorry ass in a cage. I pay my taxes." Shopkeeper threw up

his hands, turning to the crowd for support like a boxer circling the ring between rounds. "We pay out the

wazoo, and dickheads like this screw us over."

"He assaulted me. I want to file charges."

Eve spared a glance at the man under her foot. "Shut up. Name," she demanded, pointing at the

shopkeeper.

"Remke. Waldo Remke." He fisted his bruised hands on his narrow hips. "I want to file charges."

"Yeah, yeah. This your place?" She gestured toward the deli behind her.

"Been mine for eighteen years, and my father's place before that. We pay taxes—"

"I heard that part. This your bin?"

"We paid for that bin twenty times over. Me, Costello, and Mintz." While sweat ran down his

face, he jerked a thumb toward two men standing behind him. "And half the time it's broken. You smell

that? You fucking smell that? Who's gonna come in our places to do business with that stink out here?

This is the third time one of us has called for repair in the last six weeks. They never do shit."

There were mutters and murmurs of agreement from the crowd, and some joker called out: Death

to fascists!

With the heat, the stink, and the blood already spilled, Eve knew the harmless neighborhood

crowd could turn into a mob on a dime.

"Mr. Remke, I want you, Mr. Costello, and Mr. Mintz to step back. The rest of you people, get

busy somewhere else."

She heard the rapid clop behind her that could only be cop shoes on pavement. "Peabody," she

said without turning, "move this crowd along before they find a rope and lynch this guy."

A little breathless, Peabody jogged up beside Eve. "Yes, sir. We need you people to disperse.

Please go about your business."

The sight of the uniform, even though it was already wilting in the heat, had most of the crowd

sidling away. Peabody adjusted her sunshades and her hat, both of which had tipped during her jog up the

sidewalk.

Her square face was a bit shiny with perspiration, but behind the tinted lenses, her dark eyes were

steady. She shifted them to the bin, then to Eve. "Lieutenant?"

"Yeah. Name," she said and tapped her boot on the city worker's chest.

"Larry Poole. Look, Lieutenant, I'm just doing my job. I come out here in response to a repair

call, and this guy's up my ass."

"When did you get here?"

"I ain't been here ten minutes. Son of a bitch didn't even give me a chance to look at the bin

before he's in my face."

"You're going to look at it now. I don't want any trouble from you," she said to Remke.

"I want to file a complaint." He folded his arms, and curled his lip when Eve helped Poole up.

"They dump all kinda shit in here," Poole began. "That's the problem, see? They don't use the

proper slots. If you dump organic in the nonorganic side, it stinks up the whole business."

He limped to the bin, then took his time strapping on his filter mask. "All they gotta do is follow

directions, but no, they'd rather complain every five fricking minutes."

"How's the lock work?"

"Got a code. See they rent it from the city, and the city keeps the codes. My scanner reads the

code, then . . . Crap, this one's busted."

"I told you it was busted."

With some dignity, Poole straightened, and stared at Remke with his blackened eyes. "The lock

and seal's busted. Kids do that sometimes. It ain't my damn fault. Who the hell knows why kids do the

shit they do? Probably busted it last night, dumped some dead cat inside from the smell of it."

"I'm not paying because your locks are defective," Remke began.

"Mr. Remke," Eve warned. "Save it. It's unlocked, unsealed?" she asked Poole.

"Yeah. Now I'm gonna have to call a crew down here for cleanup. Damn kids." He started to pry

up the lid, but Eve slapped a hand down on his.

"Would you step back, please. Peabody?"

The smell was already making her queasy, but Peabody knew it was about to get worse. "Wish I

hadn't had that egg pocket on the way here."

Eve got a grip on the lid, shook her head at her aide. "You eat that crap? What's wrong with you?"

"They're pretty good, really. And it's a quick fix." She sucked in a breath, held it. Nodded.

Together they pushed up the heavy lid.

The stench of death poured out.

She'd been crammed into the organic side of the bin. Only half her face showed. Eve could see

her eyes had been green—a sharp, bottle green. And she'd been young, probably pretty.

Death, spurred on by the heat, had bloated her obscenely.

"What the hell did they put in there?" Poole pushed up, looked inside. Then immediately

stumbled away to retch.

"Call it in, Peabody. Nadine's on her way. She got hung up in traffic, or she'd be here by now. I

want you to keep her and her camera back. She'll give you lip, but you keep this block clear."

"Somebody's in there." All the anger had drained from Remke's face. He simply stared at Eve

with horrified eyes. "A person."

"I'm going to need you to go inside, Mr. Remke. All of you. I'll be in to speak with you shortly."

"I'll look." He had to clear his throat. "I might—if it's someone from the neighborhood, I might

know . . . If it'll help, I'll look."

"It's hard," she told him, but gestured him over.

His face was pale, but he stepped up. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, then set his teeth,

opened them. Even the faint hint of color drained out of his cheeks.

"Rachel." He fought not to gag, and stumbled back. "Oh God. Oh God. It's Rachel—I don't know

her last name. She, Jesus, Jesus, she worked at the 24/7 across the street. She was a kid." Tears began to

track down his white face, and he turned away to cover it. "Twenty, twenty-one, tops. College student.

She was always studying."

"Go inside, Mr. Remke. I'll take care of her now."

"She was just a kid." He swiped at his face. "What kind of an animal does that to a kid?"

She could have told him there were all sorts of animals, animals more vicious, more deadly than

anything in nature. But she said nothing as he walked to Poole.

"Come on inside." He laid a hand on Poole's shoulder. "Come inside where it's cool. I'll get you

some water."

"Peabody, field kit's in the car."

Turning back to the body, she clipped the recorder onto her lapel. "All right, Rachel," she

murmured. "Let's get to work. Record on. Victim is female, Caucasian, approximately twenty years of

age."

***

She had the barricades up, and the uniforms who responded keeping the curious behind them.

Once she had the body, the bin, the surrounding area on record, she sealed up and prepared to climb into

the bin.

She spotted the Channel 75 van at the end of the block. Nadine would be steaming, Eve thought,

from more than the humidity. She'd just have to wait her turn.

The next twenty minutes were grisly.

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Thelightofthebodyisintheeye—NewTestamentAmotherisamotherstill,Theholiestthingalive.—SamuelColeridgePrologueWebegintodiewithourfirstbreath.Deathisinsideus,tickingcloser,closer,witheverybeatofourheart.Itistheendnomancanescape.Yetweclingtolife,weworshipitdespiteitstransience.Orperhaps,becauseofit.Butal...

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