Eve saw the flash of sun off water, heard the lap of waves, the jingle of music and laughter.
She could all but smell the sunscreen and coconut.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m on the beach, on the lovely island of Nevis, where I took a gorgeous piece of eye candy entirely too young for me to ring in the new. Just got here this morning, and I swore I wouldn’t pick up my ’link, my comp, my anything but this lovely and refreshing mai tai. Several of these lovely and refreshing mai tais.”
“You’re on vacation.”
“I’m taking seven incredible days to do nothing but sit, have sex, drink many tropical drinks. It’s cold there, isn’t it? Cold and crowded and noisy. And here I am with warm island breezes, white sand, and my mai tai. But enough bragging – until I begin again. What’s going on?”
“It can wait.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” With a laugh, Nadine turned, smiled a sultry smile. “Bruno, darling, would you get me another?”
“Bruno? Seriously?”
“He’s built like a god, is a Viking in bed, and – not that it would matter considering those two attributes – can actually hold interesting and intelligent conversations. He’s twenty-eight, or will be next month. I’ve robbed the cradle, and I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. Now, what’s up?”
“Leanore Bastwick.”
“The ice queen of criminal defense attorneys,” Nadine began, then her eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. Dead?”
“As in doornail. Whatever the hell that is.”
“That’s a story – but the team can handle it. I’m having sex with Bruno. Very shortly now.” But she tipped down her gold-tinted sunshades, and her eyes were foxy and keen behind them. “You’re primary.”
“Yeah. The killer left a message. For me.”
“You?” Now Nadine straightened, pulled off the sunshades, and the smug smile vanished. “A threat?”
“No. This is off the record, Nadine, we’re keeping the lid on it as long as we —”
“Shut up. ‘Off the record’ is enough. What sort of message?”
“What you could call fan mail, indicated he or she killed Bastwick because Bastwick wasn’t nice to me.”
“When was the last time you and Bastwick went a round? How was she killed? What exactly did this message say? When —”
“Nadine, throttle it back. I’m tagging you to work the angle of crazy person who’s got an obsession through the Icove stuff. The book, the vid. You get correspondence.”
“Sure, on both, and a lot of it.”
“We’re going to want to cross-reference yours with mine, see if we can pinpoint someone who’s contacted, or tried to contact, us both, who rings a bell for Mira. If you clear somebody who works for you to give us copies, we’ll work that. Just don’t tell them why.”
“Done. I want to see the message. Off the damn record, Dallas. I want to see it because it might ring for me. If there’s a connection, what it says, how it says it might set off a bell.”
It might, Eve considered. And when it was off the record Nadine was a vault. “All right. I’ll send it to you. Don’t share it with Bruno.”
“I’ll be sharing other things with Bruno. I’ll get you the correspondence, you get me the message. And Dallas, watch your back.”
“I intend to.”
She started to dive right back in, but heard footsteps. Male, she concluded, brisk. Resigned, she swiveled to face the door. “Yeah, what?” she said in answer to the knock.
Kyung, media liaison, opened the door. “Lieutenant, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“Had to happen.”
“It did.” He stepped in, a tall, attractive man in a perfectly cut slate-gray suit. After one dubious glance at her visitor’s chair, he eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “Commander Whitney filled me in.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll also be speaking with Dr. Mira, in the event there’s anything we should be handling from the psychological or profiling end for public consumption. And I’ve just spoken with Detective Peabody.”
“Okay again.” He wasn’t an asshole, she reminded herself. “I expected to have some tags from reporters, but I’m clear there so far.”
“I’ve had all inquiries from media rerouted to my office.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You can do that?”
“I can.”
“Why don’t you always do that?”
“Because there are only twenty-four hours in a day. We could go Code Blue,” he continued, speaking of complete media blackout, “but with a victim as prominent in the media as Bastwick, that would only pique interest. Our line, at this time, is you and Peabody are fully immersed in the investigation, pursuing all leads, and can’t take time away for statements or interviews – but will do so,” he added before she got too happy about it, “when there is something salient to report. Meanwhile we will filter all inquiries.”
“How long do you expect that to last?”
“We’ll be lucky if it lasts until tomorrow. Someone will leak the message. A cop, a tech, civilian support.” He shrugged his shoulders elegantly. “But it buys you some time to do what you do without the media focus shifting onto you. It will shift onto you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“And your statement would be?”
She huffed out a breath. “The full force and resources of the NYPSD will be utilized in the investigation of Ms. Bastwick’s murder. As primary investigator I will diligently pursue all leads in order to bring her killer to justice.”
“And when they ask, and they will, why you think the killer claims, in writing, to have killed Ms. Bastwick on your behalf?”
“Unless they pin me, I’m going to flick off that, keep it on her, off me.”
“Good. If you’re pinned, what’s your statement?”
“Crap.” She could get pinned, she admitted. “This will be an area I will actively pursue. It’s a question that must be answered even as the individual responsible must answer for Leanore Bastwick’s death.”
Kyung nodded, curled a finger. “More.”
“Shit.” Now she pushed up, stood, circled the tiny office. “I didn’t know Ms. Bastwick on a personal level, but a professional one. In doing our jobs, fulfilling our duties, we were opposed on the Jess Barrow criminal case. Cops and lawyers often stand on opposite sides of the line. Cops and killers always do. I stand for Leanore Bastwick as I stand for any victim – as does the New York Police and Security Department, and we will, again, use every resource available to bring Ms. Bastwick’s killer to justice.”
“Repeat it, again and again. Every resource available, bringing her killer to justice. Dance off the message left at the scene, and stay on your own message.”
“I don’t know why the fuck her killer left that message.”
“But you intend to find out.”
“Damn right.”
“And there you are.” He spread his hands. “I don’t have to tell you Roarke should also cover this. His own media people should have this in hand, quickly.”
“No, you don’t have to tell me,” she said – and thought: Shit. “I’ll take care of it.”
“All right. If you need anything from me, I’m available to you twenty-four/seven. I realize I’m not a part of the investigation, Lieutenant, but I need to know as soon as possible if you receive any communication from the killer, or anyone purporting to be the killer.”
“I’ll add you on.”
He straightened, stepped to the door, paused. “Dallas? Take care.”
She brooded a moment, looked around her office. She needed to go home, where she could work without interruption – and where she could speak to Roarke. She didn’t want to do that by ’link or text.
Besides, she realized as she glanced at her wrist unit, she would already be late getting home.
She gathered everything she needed, pulled on her coat.
She found Peabody still at her desk in the bullpen.
“Take it home. Tell McNab I want whatever he gets as he gets it. I’ll be working from home.”
“I’ll go up to EDD, see if I can hook up with him. The others on the list check out, travel-wise. None of them were in New York at the time of Bastwick’s murder. One thing? We talked how Bastwick’s murder looked professional. Maybe one of these people, or a coworker, Stern, her family – one of them hired it out. And ordered the message.”
“It’s an angle. We’ll check financials, see if anything looks off. Take it home,” Eve repeated, and walked out to do the same.
But on the way she stopped by the crime scene.
She broke the seal, walked through and into Bastwick’s bedroom.
And spent a long time reading the writing on the wall.