In Death 22 - Memory in Death

New Yorkbig, bad city where anything can happen to anybody. Mark’s running a scam that just makes it easier. It’s like she’s putting herself on a platter. Weapon’s right there, easily used, easily disposed of. Gotta go out the window, but that’s no trouble. Room next-door is empty. She had to wash up somewhere, and it wasn’t in her own room or Trudy’s. Had to be there, in the empty room.”
    She pushed up again. “Shit, shit. She stowed the weapon there, her bloody clothes, the towels. It’s perfectopportunity again. Stow the stuff, go back to your own room clean, where Bobby’s sleeping. He’d never know the difference. And who’s right on the spot the next morning, knocking on a dead woman’s door?”
    “Then you walk in.”
    “Yeah, she’s not expecting that, but she adjusts. She’s quick and she’s smart. Patient, too. Ducks out
    the next morning, gets the stuff from the empty room. She could’ve ditched it anywhere, any recycler from the hotel to the bar where she staged the abduction, left her purse to add a flourish. Gone now.
    Son of a bitch. We didn’t canvass that far, not for the weapon or bloody clothes.”
    “Keep going,” he said when she paused. “I’m fascinated.”
    “It’s speculation, that’s all it is. But it feels right.” For the first time since the beginning, it felt exactly
    right. “Now she has the cops out looking for some guy, and chasing down an account that doesn’t exist. Gives her time. Now she’s a victim. She’s got Trudy’s discs. The case files, and the record Trudy made of her injuries.”
    Yes, she could see it, Eve thought. Gather stuff up, take what you need, what you want, don’t leave
    any trace of yourself behind.
    “Does she keep the discs? Hard to toss away that kind of opportunity for a future date. You could try
    the squeeze down the road.”
    “She didn’t squeeze now, when it’s ripe for it,” Roarke pointed out. “Anonymous delivery of a copy
    of the recordingif it existsan account number and instructions.”
    “It’s too ripe. Yeah, too hot. Why push her luck? She needs time to think that angle through. Is it worth taking on a cop and a guy with your resources? Maybe not. Maybe later. But if she’s smart, and she is, she checks, sees if we’re alibied tight for the times in questions. And we were. Could’ve hired somebody to do it, back to that, but she’s going to think if that’s going to fly. If we’re going to pay big piles of
    money over it or tough it out. More, go after her with a vengeance.”
    She paused. “Waiting’s smarter. Isn’t that what you’d do? It’s what I’d do.”
    “I’d have destroyed the camera and the discs. Anything that tied me to that room. If it could be tracked
    to me, I’m in a cage.” Roarke poured coffee for both of them. “Not worth it, especially not when I’m going to rake in whatever Trudy’s socked away.”
    “There’s that. Of course, you’d get it all if Bobby’s gone. More important, if he has an accident, fatal or otherwise, the cops’re going to investigate, looking for that invisible man again. Meanwhile, you play it like it was an accident altogether. Gee, it had to be an accident, and it’s all my fault for making him go shopping. I spilled my coffee. Boo-hoo.”
    He had to laugh. “You really dislike her.”
    “From the get. Just one of those itches between the shoulder blades.” She moved them now as if to relieve it. “Now you’ve got Bobby in the hospital, and everyoneincluding himis all there. So you’re center, just where you deserve to be. Taken a backseat to that bitch long enough, haven’t you?”
    She looked back at him. Jeans and a sweater today, she thought. Day off, easy does it. Well, hell.
    “Listen, I’m going to ask, and it’s crappy to ask, but I’m going to. The record from the tail. I’ll be lucky
    to get them on it tomorrow. If I could just hear it clean, individual voices, tones, separate the sounds.”
    “Computer lab.”
    “Look, I’ll make it up to you.”
    “How? And be specific.”
    “I’ll play that game with you. Holo-mode.”
    “There’s a start.”
    “I’ll wear the getup.”
    “Really?” He expanded the word, lasciviously. “And to the victor will go the spoils?”
    “Which would be me.”
    “It’s medieval at the moment. You’ll have to call me Sir Roarke.”
    “Oh, step back.”
    He laughed. “That may be going too far. We’ll see how it goes.” He pushed to his feet. “Where’s