Page 64 of Concealed in Death

His voice rolled out, as ripe and fruity as a basket of oranges. He practices, she thought: the rhythm, the punch words, the gestures, the expressions, the pause for a bit of laughter or approving applause.

He wore a three-piece suit, directly between the shades of the room’s walls and table linen. She wondered if he’d had it made for just that purpose, along with the tie of pale gray chevrons on navy.

Too perfect a match for happenstance, which was usually bullshit anyway. And a man who’d order his wardrobe to coordinate with a speaking arena, or vice versa, had a towering ego, a tsunamic vanity.

She didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way his eyes glinted, his voice rolled, his suit matched. Didn’t like the sense that he was on the same level as one of those pay-as-you-pray evangelists who banged the good-looking faithful on the side, and scammed the money from susceptible old women.

But not liking him didn’t make him a murderer.

She listened with half an ear. He talked of not just overcoming his addictions, his flaws, what he called the dark child inside him—he’d triumphed over it. And the audience could, too. They could all lead strong, productive lives (that included world travel, Eve supposed, and fancy suits), could counsel others, even the darkest inner child, to win the desperate personal battle.

The answers, the solutions, the checklists were all handily contained in his latest book package, which included a disc compilation of homilies and highlights. And all that for the bargain price of a hundred and thirty-eight dollars, only twenty bucks more for the autographed package.

A steal, Eve thought. Oh yeah, Frester was robbing people blind, and not one of them appeared to mind a bit.

Her ’link signaled. She pulled it out, found a voice mail from Roarke, switched it to text only.

I’m between meetings, briefly, and assume you are as well. Mavis and her family will be coming over tonight for drinks and a casual dinner. It’ll do us all good. I’ve put it on your calendar, but as we both know I might as well write it on air.

Take care of my cop until I see you, then I’ll look out for her.

She had a moment of wondering why he’d asked their friends over when she was in the middle of a very ugly case, then remembered they’d talked of it the night before.

But that was then, with all the Christmas and champagne haze.

Still, she decided, it probably would do her good. Especially since Mavis had been a street kid, living on the grift for several years. An expert consultant, she decided, and immediately sent a text to her friend, asking if they could come maybe a half hour earlier and for Mavis to come up to her office.

Couple questions on a case I’m working. Street kids. Want to poke in your memory for more insight. See you tonight. Dallas.

So, she’d combine hanging with friends with work. The perfect, for her, compromise.

She did a little more multitasking while Frester took questions, sending an e-mail to Mira, with DeWinter’s findings on COD attached.

Waiting to interview a possible suspect. Question. Murder by drowning, multiple cases—very likely in the tub of The Sanctuary dorms. Not a practical method, comparatively. Possible kill thrill—hands on, face-to-face. But possibly symbolic? Washed clean maybe. Submerged. Listening to asshole speak on submerging dark inner child, makes me wonder about that angle.

Some sort of ritual maybe?

Would you explore this area, or am I going off?

Dallas

Before putting it away, Eve began the laborious—to her—process of using her ’link to order her office comp to begin researching ritual drownings and submerging.

Then she walked to the side of the ballroom to work her way down toward the stage as the time slotted for the Q&A section ran down.

A hard-eyed female security type in a snug suit that set off an impressive rack stepped in front of her. Eve merely held out her badge, returning hard eye for hard eye.

“You’re not cleared. Mr. Frester is engaged directly after this event. You’ll need to contact his first assistant or his lawyer.”

“Or I can make a cop scene right here, in the middle of said event. I bet that’ll cut into the sales of the inspirational packages.”

“I’ll need to speak directly with your superior.”

“Here and now I am my superior. Now step aside or I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police officer in the course of her duties, with a side of obstruction of justice and a sprinkle of being a pain in my ass.”

Hard eye grew harder. “We’re going to take this outside.”

She clamped a hand on Eve’s arm.