Revenant in Death
Chapter 19
by Technomad
Eve Dallas
Eve was very interested in what her men had uncovered. "You're exactly right. We need to investigate the Davis Hotel's guest list very thoroughly. Whoever did this had to have been planning it for a long time. We can't take any names we find at face value."
"Let's get started!" With that, Roarke fired up his main computer, inputting the list of names of people known to have been in the Davis Hotel at the time of the attempt on Eve's life. "I'm including hotel employees, and any non-guests who were known to have been present. We can't eliminate anybody."
"Good point." Roarke tied his hair up behind his head, and bent to his task. Eve, for her part, started in trying to trace where that sniper laser had come from, and how it had come to be where it had been found. "Sniper lasers aren't common," she remarked to Sean, who was watching his mother at work, "and I may well be able to trace this one's journey from an Army armory to the Davis Hotel."
"Great!" said Sean. Eve gave her son a long, searching look...what he called her "cop look." He looked suspiciously self-satisfied. She sniffed. That was definitely perfume she smelled, and she knew very well that her son, like his father, did not wear any such thing.
"Have you been out with that Deborah Morgan?" she asked, with a knowing smile. His nod and happy smile in response told her what she needed to know. "I take it all went well?"
"Deborah's wonderful!" Sean gushed. "She's smart as can be, and really good at her job! She was telling me about a lot of the murderers she's caught down in Miami! Her brother helps her out a lot. She says he's all but got a sixth sense about what makes some murderers tick, and she relies on that a great deal."
"That sounds useful!" Eve cocked her head to one side. "Dare I hope that you'll bring her and her brother around sometime? Maybe to dinner with me and your father? I'd like to get to know her better, if you're getting serious about each other."
"That would be great! But her brother, Dexter, is still in the hospital. He got hurt badly protecting his sister from that damned explosion." Sean looked thoughtful. "He's pretty quiet, usually. He's a blood spatter technician by trade, and damned good at it. I got a look at his record in Miami, and he's done some impressive work there in his own right."
"Her brother sounds like a wonderful person, to protect his sister like that. Even though he should know that as a cop, she's going to be in danger and he can't always be there for her. Once he's back on his feet, though, we should invite him here to get to know him and his sister, both."
"That would be great! From what she says, she and her brother love all kinds of food. She speaks French, and he speaks Spanish, so they go out to various ethnic restaurants together and try new kinds of food."
"They sound like interesting people."
"Oh, they are!" Eve smiled to herself. She had long wondered just what kind of woman would capture her elusive son. She had long known that he was quite straight, just like his father and her, but until then, he'd never become serious about any woman. He would date, but never more than a few dates with anyone, and would break it off before too long. This was a new development, and she welcomed it. While she loved her son, she was quite willing to share his heart and life with the right partner. And, a secret inner part of her added, maybe grandchildren one day, before she and Roarke were too old to enjoy them?
Rayleen Straffo
After her day out with Willow, Rayleen got back into the rhythm of her job. Mame had many projects going at any given time, and Rayleen helped her coordinate them. She began to learn the markets, and how to predict which stocks would go up and which would go down.
"Buy when everybody's eager to sell, Jane," Mame would say, "and sell when everybody's panting to buy. It's hard to go wrong that way."
Rayleen nodded deferentially. She had read some financier's description of his secret of success, during her years of incarceration: "Buy when blood's running in the streets," and thought that it was excellent advice.
She had also read Lucky Luciano's purported memoirs, and while she doubted their veracity on all points, she remembered "Luciano's" lament that, right after the Crash of 1929, he had not been able to convince his fellow mobsters to invest heavily in real estate. At that time, buildings had been going all but begging, and the syndicate, thanks to years of Prohibition and the authorities' foolish laws against gambling, was quite cash-rich. If the mobsters had followed "Luciano's" advice, they could have owned much of New York.
Rayleen knew that was how Roarke had got his start in real estate. Before the Urban Wars, he had made a good deal of money illegally, and, unlike most criminals, he had salted it away in safe bank accounts. The Urban Wars had left many areas mostly or completely ruined, and the owners were often willing to sell their "unusable" property for cash in hand, at very low prices.
Once Roarke had had unquestioned ownership of those properties, and the fighting had definitely ended, he had begun renovating or rebuilding. Housing, office space and retail space were all greatly in demand, and he could pick and choose his tenants. As he grew wealthy, he was able to manipulate law to make it easier for him to evict problem tenants, which also helped. He used a lot of his wealth to buy more properties, which he put through the same process as the ones he already owned. While he had wisely diversified his investments, he had expanded his real estate holdings until he was one of the largest landowners in the country, if not the world.
Rayleen despised Roarke, if only for the woman he had married, but she saw nothing wrong with learning what he could teach her. She planned to diversify her own holdings, living as frugally as she could while amassing money. Her salary was generous, and on top of the monies she'd already had when Mame had hired her, Rayleen had accumulated a tidy nest egg already. Her expenditures on her project of ridding the world of one Eve Dallas had not dented it appreciably.
Eve Dallas
Eve was squirming with anticipation. Sean had invited his new girlfriend, Deborah Morgan, to dinner with his parents. At last, she thought, she would get to meet this woman! She had seen Deborah and Dexter Morgan before, but only for a few minutes before the explosion.
The Morgans turned up exactly on time, and Summerset showed them in to where dinner was being served. Roarke rose, politely greeting them. "Please excuse my wife. She can stand, but it's very strenuous for her since her accident."
"No problem, sir," Deborah Morgan answered. "We understand, don't we, Dexter?" Her brother nodded. While he was up, he was still on crutches and had his head bandaged. Eve couldn't help but sympathize.
Once they sat down, the conversation commenced. "So. You're from Miami? I've never been there. What's it like?" asked Eve.
Both Morgans grinned rather ruefully. "Crazy," said Dexter. "They do say that they tipped up the country, and all the nuts rolled south into Florida."
"You've heard of 'Florida Man,' I take it?" asked Deborah. "We had to deal with him." She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of the wine. "All the time!"
"You'll feel right at home here in New York, then," Sean put in eagerly. "We have enough craziness here to supply the world!"
"That's certainly the truth!" Eve agreed wholeheartedly. "I've arrested killers who weren't in their teens yet, and killers old enough to be grandparents!"
"I take it the really young killers were gang members? We've got endless problems with gangs in Miami," Dexter said. "Some of them recruit very young, use them in various capacities, and count on the courts' leniency with youthful offenders to get them light sentences."
"Well…" Eve said, reminiscently, "that's not always true by any means. One of the very youngest I ever arrested, who was a serial killer to boot, was an upper-class girl from a very good family. Straight-A student, and to meet her, you'd think she was the sort of daughter every family wants."
"A twelve-year-old serial killer?" Both Morgans leaned forward, professionally interested. "Tell us all about her!"
Nothing loath (she did love to reminisce) Eve launched into her tale. As she spoke, she could see both Morgans leaning forward, drinking in every word. She found herself focussing on Dexter, for some reason.
Ostensibly, she could see nothing wrong with Dexter Morgan. He seemed to be a personable young man, quiet and polite. With her sharp cop's eye, she could see little if any familial resemblance to his sister. "Excuse me, Mr. Morgan, but I can't help noticing that you don't look much like Detective Morgan. Are you blood relatives?"
"No, we're not," Dexter said, as Deborah nodded. "I was adopted at age three, after being orphaned."
"My father, Harry Morgan, found him after his mother had been murdered. He was young enough to not have been affected. His older brother went into the foster care system." A shadow passed across Deborah's face. Eve noticed that Dexter also looked rather sad. She decided that this was a subject best not looked into too closely.
"So tell me, Detective Morgan. How'd you decide to go into police work?" asked Roarke.
"My father. He was a cop for many years down in Miami, and a good one, if I do say so myself. I always wanted to follow in his footsteps," Deborah said, smiling reminiscently. "I never fit in well with the other girls at school. They struck me as impossibly frivolous. I got along a lot better with my dad, and his colleagues. When I finished school, I went straight to the police academy, and was hired on the Miami-Dade Police Force immediately after I graduated the academy."
"I wished Dad had been there to see it," Dexter said. "After Mom died, he and Deb formed a close partnership. He encouraged her in her ambitions. A lot of fathers would have tried hard to see that their daughters didn't go into the police. He told her what to study in high school and college, and for the most part, she did as she was told." Dexter grinned suddenly. "About the only way she defied him was in her foreign-language elective."
"What do you mean?" asked Eve. She herself spoke nothing but English. She knew Roarke knew Irish, although how he had learned it growing up in an Anglophone Dublin slum was a mystery to her. She just figured that Roarke could do whatever he set out to do. For whatever reason, he had decided to learn Irish, so he had done it.
"Miami's a two-language city. English and Spanish. A lot of the new arrivals there don't speak English at all. As it happens, I took Spanish." Dexter paused for effect. "Deb took French."
"French?" Eve couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Why French?"
Deborah gave her brother a scowl. "I don't honestly know myself. Maybe I thought I was asserting my individuality. French was very much the second-choice language at our school. Or I thought it was 'romantic' or some such foolishness."
"Well, you'll run into people from all over the world here," Roarke said, with a grin. "I'm from Ireland myself, as you can hear every time I open my mouth. Your French may well come in handy yet."
By the end of the meal, Eve found herself approving highly of Deborah Morgan. They had got into a technical discussion of police work, and Deborah had proven to know a few wrinkles that had come into use after Eve's forced retirement. "I always admired you, you know, Lieutenant," Deborah had said. "All of us in Miami watched The Icove Agenda, and read the book it was based on. I never thought I'd get to meet you in person."
"I hope I'm not a disappointment," Eve said, sincerely. She could see that Sean was in love, and hoped that Deborah Morgan would work out well enough to become her daughter-in-law.
She did have an odd feeling about her brother, though. While Dexter seemed to be perfectly nice, there was something about him...something off. He had to have had a good record in Miami to be hired so easily by the New York police, but she wondered about him.
When the Morgans had to leave, they were assured that they'd be welcome back. Eve made up her mind to have a look at the computer records of their service down in Miami. Sean seemed to be sincerely in love, and Deborah apparently returned his feelings fully, but Eve knew that with his family background, there'd be no lack of unscrupulous gold diggers looking to get their hooks into him. And Sean was no less susceptible than most other young men.
Rayleen Straffo
While she was unaware that Eve Dallas had been reminded of her existence, Rayleen knew that there were people she was better off avoiding. Accordingly, she kept a close eye on Mame Burnside's social schedule. When she saw names she remembered from before her arrest, people who might well have known her before her troubles began, she would discreetly "have a headache" or some other such minor malady. Agnes Gooch was more than happy to take over for her, since Rayleen normally took the lion's share of such social duties.
One evening, relaxing in her quarters with an icepack on her forehead (this time, she hadn't been lying about a headache), she gave some thought to pulling some red herrings across the trail that Eve Dallas, damn her eyes, had to be following.
While Rayleen had not dared ask after Eve's health and well-being, Mame knew Roarke and Eve well, and did not think anything of talking about them to her loyal employees. "Oh, Eve's recovering well," Mame said one evening after a visit at Roarke's mansion. "Of course, darling Roarke can afford the best private care for her, but she's a tough cookie."
"Like you, ma'am?" Rayleen asked deferentially. "I mean...you are a combat veteran." Ever since finding out about Mame's record in the Urban Wars, she had been very careful to not do or even think anything threatening about her employer. Rayleen was a multiple murderess, but she did not fool herself that she was any great threat in a one-to-one confrontation. Although Mame was nearly old enough to be Rayleen's mother, she had clearly not lost her edge.
But Mame wasn't the problem that night. Eve Dallas was. Rayleen prided herself on not fooling herself, and she knew that as long as Eve Dallas was alive, she was at risk. Since her head had quit throbbing so badly, she sat up and went over to her computer.
She had found accounts in the news of religious extremists out West, mainly in Utah. The main LDS church condemned them vociferously, but they definitely existed. There had been groups of them that spent a lot of time killing people of whom they disapproved. Usually it was other extremists, over points of doctrine that Rayleen found utterly obscure.
But they had struck at outsiders before. She had not selected "Hyrum Smith" for the pseudonym she'd had Willow use at random. While neither she nor Willow had any use for religion, they had been exposed to missionaries during their confinement who sought to save the souls of the unfortunates confined in prison. And, when things were slower than usual, they had read up on the churches that sent those missionaries, if only because being able to parrot their talking points might score them brownie points with their captors. They had known of other women who'd managed to con parole boards into releasing them by parroting religious talk. While they were too notorious to be able to easily win parole with fake piety, it did help them con the more gullible guards.
She was a skilled hacker, but didn't dare put false information onto the NYPSD's own computers. They were too well-guarded, and she did not want to take any chances on getting their e-geeks on her trail. However, there were other computer networks she could access.
Many police computers in the West were less obsessively well-guarded than the ones in Greater New York. She knew she could access them easily with the computer she still had hidden in her secondary apartment. She knew that apartment, and that computer, had not been touched. Even if her activities were traced that far, nothing connected her with it.
She planned to use that computer to get into the Western states' police databases, and plant references to a "Hyrum Smith" with a track record of sniping people. Making sure that her mythical "Hyrum Smith" was linked to various radical offshoots of the main LDS church, and was known to spend much of his time in their tight-knit communities, where the police were either part of the local cults or ineffective, would make the police waste a great deal of their time chasing a man who didn't exist. And if they were doing that, they would have fewer resources to spare for hunting her and Willow down.
Rayleen nodded to herself. She knew that police resources were limited, even for dealing with an attempted assassination of a heroine on Eve Dallas' level. They had their routine crime level to deal with, and while they'd chase her fiercely for a while, they'd eventually have to put her and the attempt on Eve Dallas' life on the back burner, if only because of lack of manpower and funds. Making them waste time and resources chasing a phantom was very much in her interest.
