The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [270]
Kept out of trouble—or off the radar, Eve noted. Several short-term employments. Stripping, dancing, club work, bar work.
Then, according to the records, boom.
“I just don’t think so.”
Eve brought up the last known ID image of Marnie Ralston, split-screened it with Zana’s. Brown hair on Marnie, worn short and straight, she mused. And there was a hard look to her, a kind of edge that said she’d been there and done it, and wouldn’t mind doing it all again.
She toyed with the idea of calling in Yancy or another police artist, but decided to fiddle awhile on her own.
“Computer, magnify eyes only, both images.”
When the task was complete, she sat back, studied. The eye color was nearly the same—and any variant could be attributed to fluctuations in the imaging, or the subject’s enhancements. The shape was different. Downturned on Marnie, wide, more rounded on Zana’s.
She tried the eyebrows—more of an arch on Zana’s. The nose—more narrow, slight uptilt.
Was it reaching, she thought, to see those changes as improvements? The sort a vain woman might pay for if she believed they’d make her more attractive? Especially one who might want to change her appearance for other reasons?
But when she tried the mouths, her own curved up. “Oh, now, I guess you liked your lips. Computer, run comparison of current images. Are they a match?”
Working . . . Current images are a match.
“Changed your hair, your eyes, your nose. Planed down the cheeks, but you left your mouth alone. Put on a few pounds,” she said aloud as she checked height and weight. “Softened yourself up. But you couldn’t do anything about your height.”
She wrote it up, exactly as she saw it, listed all supporting evidence. She was going personally to the PA, to a judge, and pressing for the warrants.
Her ’link signalled on her way down the steps. “Dallas, talk fast.”
“Hey, I’m back, I’m here. You’re not. We had—”
“Contact the PA’s office,” she interrupted Peabody’s cheerful greeting. “Get Reo if you can. She’s their golden girl right now.”
“What—”
“I need a consult ASAP, and their recommendation for a judge who’ll be most apt to sign a couple of warrants.”
“For who? For what?”
“For Zana. Search of the hotel room, her belongings. Suspicion of murder, suspicion of attempted murder. That’ll start the ball.”
“Zana? But—”
“Do it, Peabody.” She grabbed her coat from the newel post, swung it on as she walked by Summerset. “I’ll run the game for the PA. You want to catch up, read the reports I sent to your desk unit. I’ve got to run this by the commander. I’m on my way in.”
“Jeez, every time I take a day off, something happens.”
“Get it moving. I want her in Interview this morning.”
She disconnected. Her car was, like her coat, already waiting. At the moment, she decided she was just juiced enough to be grateful for Summerset’s annoying efficiency.
Her blood was up. Maybe it was running hotter than it should, but she’d analyze that later. Right now she knew she was on track. She’d have surprise on her side; something she thought she could use with an opponent like Zana. Like Marnie, she corrected. It was time to start thinking of her by that name.
She was going to close this down, then it would be over. Something she would set aside and forget. Trudy Lombard and all those awful months, locked away again where they belonged.
And when it was done, she thought, as she slid into traffic, sure, she’d take a few days off with Roarke. Go to their island, run around naked as monkeys, screw each other brainless in the sand. Grab some sun and surf and gear up for the long, cold winter to come.
Her ’link signalled again. “Dallas, what?”
“Hey, hi! Did you have a magolicious Christmas?”
“Mavis.” Eve had to switch her mind, do a mental one-eighty. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m heading to work. Why don’t I tag you later?”
“Okay, no prob. Just mostly wanted to be sure you and Roarke remember the coaching classes. Coming up in