In Death 22 - Memory in Death

corner dog in Manhattanwhich is what she said it was, what decided them on the cart. Oh, gee, I’ve never had
    one before, it’d be fun. Bitch is lying.”
    “I won’t argue, but it could easily have been a slip of the tongue.”
    “Could, but isn’t. Resume play.”
    She listened, talk of hats, scarves, of just a little longer. Have to cross the street. Spilled coffee.
    Concern, just a hint of fear in his voice, the relief.
    Now screams, shouts, horns, brakes. Sobbing.
    Jesus, Jesus, somebody call an ambulance. Lady, don’t move him, don’t try to move him.
    Now Baxter moving in, moving fast, identifying himself, dealing with the mess.
    “Okay, what I want is just the two of them. No background noises, from the time they get the dogs
    until Baxter’s on-scene.”
    Roarke set it up, hit play.
    Conversation again, easy, breezy. Indulgent on his part, Eve thought. Then the little gasp, his immediate response. Irritation in her voice. Then the screams.
    “His,” Eve ordered, from the coffee spill on.
    She watched the graphic readout as wellbreathing, volume, tone. “There, there, did you hear it?”
    “Breath sucked in. Expected as he’s falling into the street.”
    “A second before. An instant. Maybe a slip, sure, but maybe a push, too. Now hers. Same sequence.”
    She leaned forward, and she saw it, heard it. “Deep breath in. Quick, fast. Just a second before the
    record shows his. Then that little hesitation before she squeaks his name, starts screaming.”
    Eve’s gaze was flat and hard. “She helped him into the street. I’d bet on it. Opportunity. Of the moment again. Let’s go through the background voices, the noises, individuallythat same sequence. See if anything else pops out.”
    It was tedious, but she listened to every variant before she was satisfied.
    “It’s building up,” she stated coldly. “Building for me. Can’t charge her. The PA’d laugh me out of his office, if I got this past Whitney. But I know what I know. Now it’s how to make it stick to her.”
    “He loves her.”
    “What?”
    “He loves her,” Roarke repeated. “You can hear it in his voice. It’s going to level him, Eve. This on top
    of his mother. If you’re right, and I have to believe you are, it’s going to take him out at the knees.”
    “I’m sorry. But better he take a shot than be duped every day by a murderer.”
    She couldn’twouldn’tthink how this would hurt him. Not now, not yet.
    “I didn’t get far on my checklist, but I’ve already found one handbag missing. I’ll get a full description of it, and anything else that doesn’t check, tomorrow. We’re going to find them in Zana’s possession. I’m bringing her into Interview. That’s where I’ll get her on this. Interview. I’ve got no proof, scattered piles
    of circumstantial. So it’s going to be me against her in the box, and that’s where I’ll turn it.”
    He was studying her face as she spoke. “You have, on occasion, commented that I can be scary. So, Lieutenant, can you.”
    She smiled, hard and thin. “You’re damn right.”
    [“20”]20
    SHE STARTED THE MORNING POKING, PRODDING, bitching, and bellowing at the lab. She thought about bribing, and had courtside Knicks tickets as backup. But fear brought her quicker results.
    The minute it started to signal, Eve leapt toward her comp. “Computer, display incoming data on-screen, and produce hard copy.”
    Acknowledged. Working …
    She skimmed, then punched a fist into her palm. “Got you, bitch.”
    “I’ll take that as good news.” Roarke leaned on the jamb of the door between their offices. “Let me say first that the unfortunate lab tech is going to need therapy. Possibly years of therapy.”
    “It lit up.” She had to hold herself back from doing a victory dance.
    “Blood on the bedroom carpet, bathroom floor, shower of the empty room at the time in question.
    They haven’t typed it yet, but it’s going to be Trudy’s.”
    “Congratulations.”
    “Haven’t bagged her yet, but I will. Even better than the blood, so much betterneither Zana nor Housekeeping did what you could call a thorough cleaning job. I’ve got a print on the inside windowsill. And it’s hers. Another on the door leading to the hall.”
    “Pays to be thorough, or in her case, it doesn’t pay not to be.”
    “Yeah, you got that. Didn’t think that far ahead. Didn’t think we’d look there. Why bother when she’d
    left that nice blood trail leading down the