Revenant in Death

Chapter 18

by Technomad

Rayleen Straffo

For the next few days, Rayleen subsumed herself completely into the persona of Jane Mollenbeek, mild-mannered ex-con turning her life around and living a law-abiding life as Mame Burnside's personal assistant. Sometimes she found herself thinking of herself as "Jane," and almost forgetting who she really was.

Mame, and her rich friends, were busying themselves helping victims of the explosion in Davis Park. Between them, they'd easily raised a good deal of money to help with the expenses of those who needed it, and made sure that the best surgeons and doctors in Greater New York were working on the injured. They were also making arrangements for those who would no longer be able to work due to their injuries, ensuring that they would be taken care of.

Rayleen was deep in the work of setting up the relief efforts. She ran errands, spent hours on the computer, and was at Mame's elbow from morning to night. Agnes Gooch took over the day-to-day running of the Burnside household while Mame and Rayleen concentrated on the charity work.

Finally, a respite came. Sitting back in her office chair, Mame heaved a long sigh. "Jane, darling, you've been an absolute treasure. Why don't you take the rest of today, and tomorrow, off? I've been working you like a galley slave, and you deserve a break. Go take in a show, sleep as late as you want tomorrow, and don't let me see you till the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, Mame," Rayleen said. Outwardly, she was her usual deferential self, but underneath, she was exulting. This would give her a lot of time to plot with Willow about their next move!

She hadn't seen any signs that the investigation had picked up Willow's trail, or hers. Even so, though, she planned to avoid the apt she had rented where her "deniable" computer was set up, at least for a while. She had ways to know if the police had been sniffing around there. If they had found that apt, and found her computer, she planned to lay very, very low for a while, at least unless or until she got wind of them giving up the hunt.

With an afternoon and whole day to herself, she made excuses to Agnes Gooch, who apparently didn't mind being on full-time duty, and headed out the door with a spring in her step. She was planning to get together with Willow and plot out their next moves.

Roarke

Roarke was stymied. He'd obtained all the security videos from the Davis Hotel, and was going over them with his son, Danny Reagan, and Summerset helping. But they could not for the life of them find what they were looking for.

"We've been over the video, again and again, and nobody went into or came out of that room for hours before the explosion, or after it, either," Roarke said.

"We have the videos of the other floors as well, and maybe we should look at them for comparison," Sean pointed out. His father nodded, and they started calling up the videos of the other floors in the Davis Hotel, watching them carefully.

After several videos, Danny spoke up: "Just a second, here. See the window at the end of that hall?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"You shouldn't be able to see nearly that far from that window. That floor is only three stories off the ground, and that view's from the top floor!"

"Really?" Roarke focussed on that part of the video. Sure enough, he could see a long way away, much farther than he should have been able to from the third story up. "Have these been switched around somehow?"

"Could just be," Danny replied. "Now, I wonder how that was done?"

"If someone had got into your computers, could they have rearranged the input so that input from, say, the fourth floor seemed to be from another floor entirely?" asked Summerset.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "Could just be. Let's look at each of these, and compare the view out that window to a known view from the end of that fourth-floor corridor."

Soon, they were checking every video carefully, concentrating on the view out of that window. After several hours' hard work, comparing what the videos showed to a picture of what could actually be seen from the fourth-floor window at the end of the hall, they were able to narrow things down.

"This looks very like the fourth floor," Danny remarked. "That slight flaw in the carpet's a dead giveaway. We should have paid that more attention before."

"Don't sweat it," Sean said. "Now let's focus in on the room where the explosion happened, and see who goes in and comes out."

The four of them watched carefully. For hours before the explosion, nobody left or entered. At one point, there was a meal delivered from room service, but whoever was in the room did not step out into the hall to be recorded on the security cameras.

"Clever, clever," muttered Roarke. "But I think we're more clever still."

"Whoever did this had to have some serious computer skills, to spoof our security systems," Danny said. "We've got those guarded. If for no other reason, in our line of work, we need to be able to keep track of guests and others in our hotel."

"True," Roarke said. "Wasn't there some sort of device found in that room? They couldn't tell just what it was for, but if it was intended to jam or confuse your security cams, it apparently did its job. At least long enough for the perp to get away and set his bomb."

"Whoever did this must have been planning it for a long time," Sean said, his expression darkening. "He must have hated Mom with a passion, to go to so much trouble, even after she'd retired."

"There's a lot of people who had good reason, in their own twisted minds, to hate your mother," Roarke told his son. "But you're right. This wasn't just some random nut who got a chance. This took planning. And money."

"Maybe we should go down the list of people who might have a grudge against Mom and see who's in a position to do something like this."

"I'll contact the NYPSD and see if we can get a list of people she's arrested who're back out on the street," Roarke said.

Rayleen Straffo

Rayleen stepped out down the sidewalk with a song in her heart and a spring in her step. The weather was clear, and it was a great day to be alive, free and back on the streets of her old home town. She had told Willow that she was on the loose until the day after next, and asked if her old cellie wanted to go out somewhere. The response had been enthusiastic, and she was looking forward to spending the day with her long-time best friend.

They'd have to be careful, of course. Agnes Gooch was jealous, at least of other women, and Rayleen wanted to keep her sweet and on-side as much as possible. Rayleen was always aware of the precariousness of her position, and while she was fairly sure that her cover would stand up to some scrutiny, there was always the chance that something or other she hadn't noticed could trip her up and send her back to the hell she had escaped from.

However, Agnes was probably going to be tied up dealing with Mame all day long, which meant that she'd be deep in Manhattan. As long as Rayleen and Willow stayed out on the peripheries of the great metroplex, the chances of an unforeseen encounter were close to nil.

The Greater New York public transpo system was as efficient as ever, and soon she was standing at the door of her apt, knocking the coded knock that told Willow that Rayleen had come. The door opened, and Willow, back in her usual look, welcomed her inside.

As always, Willow had made sure to have a spread of snacks available. Both women had healthy appetites, and after years of prison food, they relished the luxury of eating what they wanted. With 2090s medicine available to them, they didn't have to worry about their weight.

After they'd satisfied their appetites, Rayleen leaned back in her chair and said: "Well, Willow, it was a real good try. By all rights, it should have worked perfectly. But the unforeseen got in our way."

"I know. Damn it!" Willow grumbled. "Murphy showed up just at the wrong time!"

For a second, Rayleen wondered how she would have known that the autograph hound who had distracted Dallas at just the wrong time had been named "Murphy," before she got the point. "Murphy's Law affects us all, Will. We'll just have to go back to the drawing board and come up with another plan."

"I know," mourned Willow, "but this one was so wonderful! It played to my strengths, and let me have the shot at that goddamned Eve Dallas that I've longed for since I was fourteen!"

"Can't be helped, Will," said Rayleen, calling on the cold practicality that had helped her survive in prison, and had been of enormous use to her in her plans to regain her freedom. "In the meantime, the sun's shining, the weather's clear, and we're both free to move about as we damn well please, without saying 'Mother, may I?' to some damn hack. Let's go out and enjoy ourselves!"

"Sounds like a plan!" With that, Willow collected her coat, and the two women headed out to enjoy a day of just being together.

Eve Dallas

Eve did not enjoy being in the hospital. Not at all. She'd always been used to being in charge of her own life, and having to take orders from nurses young enough to be her daughters grated on her nerves.

Nonetheless, she gritted her teeth and did as she was told. She suffered through the physical therapy sessions, sweating with the effort, and submitted quietly to the injections and other ministrations that the medicos did to her.

When she was told that she'd be released, she felt her heart leap with joy. On the big day, she was very happy to see who had come. Roarke, Sean, Summerset, Peabody, Mavis, and Belle had all shown up to give her an escort of honor out of the hospital.

She was used to riding in a wheelchair by that time, but still, having the people she loved best around her warmed her heart. As she rolled down the corridor toward the main exit, she waved goodbye to all the doctors and nurses who'd taken such good care of her.

"Goodbye, Lieutenant Dallas!" called her primary physician, a slight, dark woman. "Glad to see you're leaving us!" She dimpled. "Don't take that wrong!"

"Glad to be leaving," Eve replied. "I hope that if I see you again, it'll be socially and not professionally!" She paused for a second. "In either of our professions!"

"Hear, hear!" The medical people clapped and applauded as she was rolled out the front door and into Roarke's waiting automobile.

Getting back into Roarke's mansion, Eve felt a huge weight rolling off her shoulders. She had come to depend on this place as her safe place, the place where she could relax and be herself. Roarke had anticipated her arrival home, and had made sure to lay on a sumptuous feast. "I thought you'd be tired of hospital food, Eve," he said, as he wheeled her into the dining room.

Eve looked at the food and smiled. "You read my mind, darling. As always." With that, everybody tucked into the meal. She noticed that Sean was bolting his food, which wasn't really like him.

"Are you in a hurry, darling?" she asked. "Got someplace else you need to be?"

"Sorry, Mom," he answered, swallowing convulsively. "Got a hot date tonight!"

"Oh, really?" Mommy instinct rose up in Eve, rather to her amusement. "Does this 'hot date' have a name?"

"You've met her, Mom. Deborah Morgan. She's on the Homicide squad, just like you were."

Now, this was interesting! Eve had noticed how taken her son and Deborah had been with each other, before she'd been distracted, first by that autograph hound, and then by the explosion. "Well, I'm sure your father would like to meet her, too. Maybe you can bring her around here sometime?"

"I plan to. I hope finding out how rich Dad is doesn't scare her off." A shadow passed across Sean's face. "I've noticed that a lot of girls I could have liked and related to were scared off by that. They probably didn't want to be seen as gold-diggers."

"That speaks well for them, son," Roarke said, with a smile. "Your mother would love me just as much if I were as poor as a sidewalk sleeper."

"I want to meet her too," Peabody said. "I want to look her over and find out if she's a suitable companion for my honorary nephew!"

"I trust your judgement, Aunt Delia," Sean said. "I'll invite her back here sometime soon. Right now, she's tangled up in a case, though, and she doesn't like distractions." He looked puzzled for a second. "She does like dragging that brother of hers along to cases. I know, he's a blood-spatter technician, but when he's got a spare moment, he's tagging along after her. She says he's all but got a sixth sense about murderers."

"That's odd. But if he really does have something like that, he'd be dead useful on her cases." Roarke smiled as everybody looked at him. The Irish lilt in his voice thickened slightly as he said: "We Irish do believe in the Sight. Maybe he has it?"

"Let's hope he does. He's still laid up in hospital," Sean said. "From what Deborah says, he's not too happy about it. Neither is she. She got out with some nasty cuts and bruises, but he was hurt badly shielding her."

"That, Sean, is a big brother's duty. And privilege," Peabody said quietly.

After dinner, they adjourned upstairs. Eve was surprised and pleased to see a board set up about the Davis Park explosion, just like the old days.

"We knew you'd want to be in on the investigation, so we set this up for you." Peabody explained, smiling. "Just like the old days!"

"Yes, just like the old days," Roarke chimed in. Suddenly, his smile turned feral, and he was again the boy who'd climbed out of the Dublin gutters to found a business and real-estate empire. "Except, this time it's personal!"

Eve Dallas was not normally given to tears. This time, though, she made an exception. And everybody understood completely.

Rayleen Straffo

Rayleen was having a wonderful day. Willow was good company, and, for once, was willing to talk about something other than the merits of various methods of killing people at a distance. The two women went to a show, where they laughed themselves hoarse at a comedian's dirty jokes and flirted with some attractive men at the next table over, and then out to dinner.

Rayleen quietly took charge of ordering the food, since she knew far more about it than Willow did. With her salary from Mame, they could afford the best places, but since they were staying out of Manhattan lest they be seen by Agnes Gooch, they settled for a quiet eatery they had spotted out on the far edges of the metro area.

Willow looked around at the surroundings. "My dad loved the rural areas," she said quietly. "He hoped that he and I could settle somewhere like that."

"I know," Rayleen said. While she hated her birth family for having abandoned her to the judicial system, she envied those of her fellow-convicts who had had supportive families. "He meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Willow replied. Even though the restaurant was not currently crowded, and there was enough of a hum of background noise to muffle what they said, both women knew to keep what they said general enough that nobody would overhear and pick up on things they didn't need to know.

"So, what do we do next?" Rayleen said. "You're the expert here. Our first try failed. What do you think would work?" While Rayleen was a murderess herself, she knew that Willow had far more expertise in assassination than she did. Rayleen's own kills had been up-close and personal, against utterly unsuspecting targets.

"First thing we do, is we lay low for a while. And wait. We make sure that nobody's got any clues about what happened. You say your boss is taking a close interest in this, and I'm sure you know to keep your ears open for anything she might repeat to you."

"I'm already doing that. She trusts me implicitly, and keeps a close eye on events. If anything comes up, I'll notify you, toute suite."

"I know. I'm glad I have those papers you made up for me. 'Hyrum Smith' is gone-I flushed all trace of that down the toilet after burning it. The others, though, should be good-to-go if I need to get out of town fast."

"Probably best to keep schedules of public transpo out of town, just in case. If you do need to move, you'll need to move fast. Pack a bug-out bag and keep it where you can grab it in a hurry."

"Already done. You do know my dad was into that sort of thing."

"Good thing we left all those false leads. The cops...and You-Know-Who, damn her eyes...will be busy chasing those for a long time. We might even get lucky, and have something big come up that'll distract the filth." Rayleen had spent some time with some British convicts while incarcerated, and had found that using their slang, instead of the more normal American idioms she usually used, was one way to keep nosy people from knowing just what she was saying. If she'd been in a British or Commonwealth prison, that wouldn't have worked, but it did in American institutions.

"All we can do is sit tight. And, speaking of sitting tight...here comes dessert!" Both women emitted moans of anticipation and pleasure as the big slices of "Triple Super Chocolate Overdose Cake" were placed in front of them. They were ruthless murderesses, but they shared the common female love of chocolate.

As she took the first bite, savoring every bit of it as much as she did every other pleasure that came her way, Rayleen remembered how much she had missed good chocolate while incarcerated. Yet another reason for her to pay off that score, and settle Eve Dallas' hash once and for all!