Naked in Death - J. D. Robb [71]
Nadine popped in the disc, handed Eve the PPC. There was little use in swearing, Eve decided as she watched her own reports flick on-screen. Brooding, she let the disc run over Code Five data, through official medical reports, the ME’s findings. She stopped it when the videos began. There was no need to check out death over a meal.
“Is it accurate?” Nadine asked when Eve passed back the computer.
“It’s accurate.”
“So the guy’s some sort of gun freak, a security expert who patronizes companions.”
“The evidence indicates that profile.”
“How far have you narrowed it down?”
“Obviously, not far enough.”
Nadine waited while their food was served. “There’s got to be a lot of political pressure on you—the DeBlass end.”
“I don’t play politics.”
“Your chief does.” Nadine took a bite of her chicken. Eve smirked as she winced. “Christ, this is terrible.” Philosophically, she shifted to the fries. “It’s no secret DeBlass is front runner for the Conservative Party’s nomination this summer. Or that the asshole Simpson is shooting for governor. Given the show this afternoon, it looks like cover-up.”
“At this point, publicly, there is no connection between the cases. But I meant what I said about equality, Nadine. I don’t care who Sharon DeBlass’s granddaddy is. I’m going to find the guy who did her.”
“And when you do, is he going to be charged with both murders, or only with Starr’s?”
“That’s up to the prosecuting attorney. Personally, I don’t give a shit, as long as I hang him.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Dallas.” Nadine waved a fry, then bit in. “I want it all. When you get him, and I break the story, the PA’s not going to have a choice. The fallout’s going to keep DeBlass busy for months.”
“Now who’s playing politics?”
Nadine lifted a shoulder. “Hey, I just report the story, I don’t make it. And this one’s got it all. Sex, violence, money. Having a name like Roarke’s involved is going to shoot the ratings through the roof.”
Very slowly, Eve swallowed pasta. “There’s no evidence linking Roarke to the crimes.”
“He knew DeBlass—he’s a friend of the family. Christ, he owns the building where Sharon was killed. He’s got one of the top weapon collections in the world, and rumor is he’s an expert shot.”
Eve picked up her drink. “Neither murder weapon can be traced to him. He has no connection with Lola Starr.”
“Maybe not. But even as a periphery character, Roarke sells news. And it’s no state secret that he and the senator have bumped heads in the past. The man’s got ice in his veins,” she added with a shrug. “I don’t imagine he’d have any problem with a couple of cold-blooded killings. But . . .” She paused to lift her own drink. “He’s also a fanatic about privacy. It’s hard to picture him bragging about the murders by sending discs to reporters. Somebody does that, they want publicity as much as they want to get away with the crime.”
“An interesting theory.” Eve had had enough. A headache was beginning to brew behind her eyes, and the pasta wasn’t going to sit well. She rose, then leaned over the table close to Nadine. “I’ll give you another one, formulated by a cop. Do you want to know who your source is, Nadine?”
Her eyes glittered. “Damn right.”
“Your source is the killer.” Eve paused, watching the light go out of Nadine’s eyes. “I’d watch my step if I were you, friend.”
Eve strode off, heading around behind the stage. She hoped Mavis was in the narrow cubicle that served as a dressing room. Just then, she needed a pal.
Eve found her, huddled under a blanket and sneezing into a tattered tissue.
“Got a fucking cold.” Mavis glared out of puffy eyes and blew like a bullhorn. “I had to be crazy, wearing nothing but goddamn paint for twelve hours in goddamn lousy February.”
Warily, Eve kept her distance. “Are you taking anything?”
“I’m taking everything.” She gestured to a tabletop littered with over-the-counter drugs