The in Death Collection Books 11-15 - J. D. Robb [163]
“Maybe the closet,” she said. “She starts to walk through again, carrying the used towels, probably dumps them on the floor. She turns down the bed, doing her job, making it nice for the guests. Then he’s on her. Snatches her beeper before she can press an alarm, tosses it over there where we found it.”
The rest was done on the bed, Eve thought.
“He didn’t give her time to try to run. There’s no sign in the suite of a struggle, not that she could have managed much of one against a guy his size. The bed linens got soiled and tangled, but nothing else. Everything else is orderly, so he got her there, did it all there. To music.”
“That’s the creepy part,” Peabody murmured. “The rest of it’s nasty, but the music part’s creepy.”
“When he’s done with her, he checks the time. Hey, didn’t take so long. He washes his hands, probably tsk-tsks about the little scratches she managed to dig into him, changes his clothes, packs up, scooping his amenities into his case. Then the son of a bitch picks up the towels she dropped and carries them out to her cart. Not going to change the sheets, of course, but we don’t want to leave more of a mess than necessary.”
“That’s cold.”
“Oh yeah, it’s cold. An easy job. In and out of a plush hotel in a matter of hours, a good meal, a fresh supply of bath products and a big, fat fee. I can figure him, Peabody. I can figure him, but I can’t figure who pointed him here, or why.”
She stood silent a moment, bringing the image of Darlene French into her mind. And as she did, she heard the sound of the hall door opening. With one hand on her weapon, she signaled Peabody to the side with the other. She moved down the hall quickly, quietly, swung around the corner, weapon in hand.
“Damn it, Roarke! Damn it!” Disgusted, she shoved the weapon back in her holster as he shut the door. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for you.”
“This room is sealed. It’s a crime scene and sealed.”
The seal, she imagined, would have taken him less time to uncode with his clever fingers than it had for her to do so with her master.
“Which is why, when informed you were on the premises, it was the first place I looked. Hello, Peabody.”
“What do you want?” Eve snapped before her aide could answer. “I’m working.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. I assumed you’d want to follow through on some of the interviews you mentioned last night. Barry Collins is at home, but his supervisor’s available at your convenience, as is another maid, Sheila Walker, who was a particular friend of the victim’s. She came in to clear out Darlene’s locker for the family.”
“She can’t touch—”
“And so I told her. Not until you clear it. But I’ve asked her to wait so that you can speak to her.”
She sizzled, sparked, then cooled down to smolder. “I could tell you I don’t need any help setting up interviews.”
“You could,” he agreed, so pleasantly she didn’t know whether to snarl or laugh.
“But, you saved me some time, so thanks. I will say I don’t want you, or anyone else in this room again until I’ve cleared it.”
“Understood. When you’re done you can reach me at zero-zero-one on any ’link.”
“We’re done, for now. Let’s start with Sheila Walker.”
“I have an office set up for you on the meeting room level.”
“No, let me talk to her and the other one on their turf. Let’s keep it informal, keep them comfortable.”
“Whatever you prefer. She’s in the domestic employees’ lounge. I’ll show you.”
“Fine. You might as well hang around, too,” Eve said as she walked through the door he opened. “You’ll make her feel protected.”
Less than three minutes into the interview, Eve saw she’d called it right. Sheila was a tall, thin black girl with enormous eyes. More times than Eve could count she looked toward Roarke for reassurance, direction, and comfort.
She had a beautiful