Imitation in Death Read Free

high life, Eve thought, to the sexual kinks of the wealthy and discreet. Coming down to Chinatown must've been like landing on Venus for her.
    "She's up against the wall." Eve could see it, see it perfectly. The dark, spiked hair shimmering with silver, the come-on-big- boy red of the halter. "And she's thinking she needs the fee, to make the rent, or she hopes he hurries because her feet hurt Jesus, they had to be killing her in those shoes. She's tined, but she'll take one more mark before she calls it a night.
    "When he slashes her throat, she's surprised more than anything. It had to be quick and clean. One quick slice, left to right, straight across the jugular. Sprayed blood like a son of a bitch. Her body's dead before her brain computes it. But that's only the beginning for him."
    She turned back, scanned the dresser. Cheap jewelry, expensive lip dye. Perfumes, designer knockoffs, to remind you that you'd been able to bathe in the real thing once, and damn well would again.
    "He arranges her, lays her out, then cuts the woman out of her. Had to have a bag somewhere to put what he's taken from her. He cleans his hands."
    She could see him, too, the, shadow of him crouched in the filthy alley, hands slick with blood as he tidied up.
    "I bet he cleaned his tools, too, but he certainly cleans his hands. Takes the note he's written, sets it, neatly on her breasts. He had to change his shirt, or put a jacket on. Something, because of the blood. What then?"
    Peabody blinked. "Ah, walks away, figuring job well done. He goes home."
    "How?"
    "Um, walks if he lives close enough." She took a breath, pushing herself out of the alley and into her lieutenant's mind. Into the killer's mind. "He's on top of the world, so he's not worried about being hassled by a mugger. If he doesn't live close by, he's probably got his, own ride because, even changing, or covering up, there's too much blood on him, and there'd be a smell. It'd be a stupid risk to take a cab' or the subway."
    "Good. We'll check the cab companies for pickups around the crime scene during our time frame, but I don't think we'll find anything. Let's seal this place up, canvass the building."
    Neighbors, as was expected from neighbors in such places, knew nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. The landlord operated out of a storefront in Chinatown, between a market that was running a special on ducks' feet and an alternative medicine joint that promised health, well-being, and spiritual balance or your money back.
    Eve recognized Piers Chan's type, the beefy arms in shirt sleeves, the pencil mustache over thin lips. The humble surroundings and diamond pinky ring.
    He was mixed-race, with enough Asian to have him set up in the business bustle of Chinatown, though she imagined his last ancestor to see Peking might have been at his prime during the Boxer Rebellion.
    Just as she imagined Chan kept his home and family in some upscale suburb in New Jersey while he played slumlord of the Lower East Side.
    "Wooton, Wooton. While two silent clerks busied themselves in the back, Chan flipped through his tenant book. "Yes, she's got a deluxe single on Doyers. "
    "Deluxe?" Eve repeated. "And what makes it deluxe?"
    "Got a kitchen area with built-in friggie and AutoChef. Comes with the package. She's behind. Rent was due a week ago. She got the standard reminder call a couple days ago. She'll get another today, then an automatic evict notice next week."
    "That won't be necessary as she's changed her address to the city morgue. She was murdered early this morning."
    "Murdered." His eyebrows lowered into an expression Eve interpreted as irritation rather than sympathy or shock. "Goddamn it. You seal the placer'
    Eve cocked her head. "And you ask because?"
    "Look, I own six buildings, got seventy-two units. You got that many tenants, some of them are going to croak one way or another. You get your unattended death, your suspicious death, your misadventure, and your self-termination." He