Reunion in Death

«I've always felt fucking's overrated and so demeaning to both parties. What is it, really, but a woman allowing herself to be plundered, penetrated. Invaded. And a man plunging away as if his life depended on it. And as we know, with the men I fuck, their lives do depend on it. For a short time, anyway. Killing is so much more exciting than sex. You've killed, so you know. Deep down, you know. I wish we had the time and opportunity to talk, really talk, but I don't think that's going to happen. You want to stop me, to put me back in a cage. Remember what you said to me? Remember what you said? You'd have left me there if it had been up to you. Left me to spend the rest of my life caged like an animal. Then you turned your back on me like I was nothing. You didn't get your way, did you? But I got mine. I always get mine. You'd better remember that. You'd better respect that. »

Her voice had risen, her breath had quickened. Now she drew in a long stream of air, fluffed a hand over her hair as if composing herself. «I thought of you when I killed Pettibone and Mouton. I've been thinking of you for a very, very long time. How does that make you feel, to know they died because of you? Does that upset you, Eve? Does that make you angry?»

Julianna tipped her head back and laughed. «Payback's a bitch, and I haven't even started. I want what I've always wanted. To do what pleases me and to live very, very well. You took eight years, seven months, and eight days from me, Eve. I'm going to balance the scales. I can and I will, tossing the bodies of silly old men at your feet. So you know how simple it is for me, here's a tip. The Mile High Hotel, Denver. Suite 4020. The man's name is Spencer Campbell. I'll see you again soon. Very soon.»

«Yeah, you will,» Eve retorted as the screen went blank. «Peabody, get me that hotel on the 'link. I want head of security.»

The suite had been reserved in the name of Juliet Darcy, who had checked in the night before, securing the room for two nights with cash.

«The victim is Spencer Campbell, of Campbell Investment Consultants. The top man.» In the conference room at Central, Eve brought his image on-screen. «Age sixty-one, divorced, currently separated from wife two. He had an appointment scheduled for a personal consult with Juliet Darcy in her hotel suite. Breakfast meeting, eight hundred Denver time. About the same time I was kicking in the door here in New York. She's very fucking cocky these days. Campbell had been dead less than thirty minutes when security broke in. Julianna didn't bother to check out, just grabbed her overnight bag, set the do not disturb light on the door, and waltzed out. Autopsy and lab reports will confirm that Campbell's coffee was poisoned.»

«She goes all the way to Denver to off this guy.» Feeney dragged a hand through his wiry hair. «What's the point?»

«To prove she can. He was nothing to her. Just an easily sacrificed pawn to show me she can keep racking them up, when and where she wants, while I scramble around trying to find her. She breaks pattern again, because she wants to show me she's unpredictable.»

And, Eve thought, she doesn't want me to sniff out that she's looking at Roarke. For victims she'd stick with what she'd called silly old men. Killing them as decoys to disguise her ultimate goal.

They died because of you.

Eve blocked out the voice, and the guilt. Most of the guilt.

«She had potential targets selected before she went down, and may have continued to select and research from inside.»

«Did some electronic surveillance and research on Pettibone and Mouton from the prison office units,» Feeney confirmed. «We dug out bits and pieces of it. Nothing on this guy or any others at this point. Nothing on personal business financials, real estate, travel inquiries.»

«She used her personal for that.» Supervisor Miller, she thought in disgust, would have a lot to answer for before she was done with him. «Most likely diddled on the office machines early on, but made sure she had a personal for data she couldn't risk having traced.»

She took a pass around the room. «She's got grease, and plenty of it. My personal grease expert states that it's most likely she stashes it in various numbered accounts in various locations. We've got no line to tug to the money. Loopy claims Julianna told her she had her own place here in New York. She's stuck to that during Interview with the Chicago cops, but can't or won't expand. My guess is she doesn't know the location. Julianna might have passed the time chatting with her, but wouldn't give her anything traceable.»

«We're running private residences through EDD.» Feeney dug out a handful of nuts. «But with no time frame of purchase or lease, no area, no name or names to feed in, we're mostly jerking off there.»