In Death 22 - Memory in Death

should she? He’d been a blip in her life more than twenty
    years before. But she knew by the way he paled when he saw the woman passed out cold in the hallway, it was Bobby Lombard who had rushed out of the room at the end of the hall.
    She eased the door to four-fifteen closed, and waited.
    “Zana! My God, Zana!”
    “She fainted. That’s all. She’ll be fine.”
    He was on his knees, clutching Zana’s hand, patting it the way people do when they feel helpless.
    He looked hefty, but in the way a ballplayer does, she thought. Strong and solid. His hair was the color
    of straw, cut short and neat. Water was beaded on it, and she could smell hotel soap. He hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt, and the tail was out.
    She had another flash of memory. He’d snuck her food, she remembered. She’d forgotten that, as she’d forgotten him. But sometimes he’d snuck a sandwich or crackers into her room when she was being punished.
    He’d been his mother’s pride and joy, and had gotten away with a great deal.
    They hadn’t been friends. No, they hadn’t been friends. But he hadn’t been unkind.
    So she crouched down, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Bobby.”
    “What? Who …” His face was a sturdy kind of square, and his eyes were the blue of jeans that had
    faded from countless washings. She saw recognition layer over confusion.
    “My God, it’s Eve, isn’t it? Mama’s going to get a thrill. Zana, come on, honey. We had an awful lot to drink last night. Maybe she’s… Zana, honey?”
    “Bobby”
    The elevator opened, and the droid clerk came rushing out. “What happened? Who’s”
    “Quiet,” Eve snapped. “Not a word. Bobby, look at me. Your mother’s inside. She’s dead.”
    “What? No, she’s not. God, almighty, she’s just feeling off. Sorry for herself, mostly. Sulking in there since Friday night.”
    “Bobby, your mother’s dead. I need you to take your wife and go back to your room until I come to talk
    to you.”
    “No.” His wife moaned, but he was staring at Eve now, and his breath began to hitch. “No. No. I know you’re upset with her. I know you’re probably not happy she came, and I tried to tell her so. But that’s
    no reason to say something like that.”
    “Bobby?” With her hand on the side of her head, Zana tried to sit up. “Bobby. I must’ve … Oh, God.
    Oh, my God. Mama Tru! Bobby.” She flung her arms around him and burst into wild sobs.
    “Take her back, Bobby. You know what I do? Then you know I’m going to take care of this. I’m sorry, but I need you to go back to your room and wait for me.”
    “What happened?” Tears swirled into his eyes. “Did she get sick? I don’t understand. I want to see Mama.”
    Eve got to her feet. Sometimes there was no other way. “Turn her around,” she said with a nod toward Zana. “She doesn’t need to see this again.”
    When he had, pressing Zana’s face to his shoulder, Eve eased the door open enough for him to see what he needed to.
    “There’s blood. There’s blood.” He choked and pulled himself up with his wife in his arms. “Did you do that? Did you do that to her?”
    “No. I just got here, and now I’m going to do my job and find out what happened, and who did this to her. I need you to go wait for me.”
    “We should never have come here. I told her.” He began to sob along with his wife as they helped each other back to their room.
    Eve turned back. “Looks like she should’ve listened.”
    She glanced over as the elevator clunked to a stop on the floor. One of the two uniforms responding looked familiar enough to have her nod in acknowledgment.
    “Bilkey, right?”
    “Sir. Howzit going?”
    “Not so good for her.” She jutted her chin toward the open doorway. “I need you to stand by. My field kit’s on the way. I was here on personal, so my …” She hated to say “my husband” when she was on
    the job. But how else did you say it? “My, ah, husband’s gone back to our ride for it. My partner’s
    being tagged. Vic’s son and daughter-in-law are down the hall in four-twenty. I want them to stay there. You can start the knock-on-doors when …”
    She trailed off as the elevator bumped to a stop again. “There’s my kit,” she said as Roarke stepped out. “Start knocking. Vic’s Lombard, Trudy, out of Texas.”
    She took the kit from Roarke, opened it for a can of Seal-It. “You made good time.” She coated her hands, her boots. “Might as well say it so I can