Born in Death

by J. D. Robb

  For convenience, she set Tandy’s board next to the one she’d already started on her other case. And on the side with a slick white surface began to handwrite a time line.

  She made lists of names. People she’d already spoken with on one side, those she would contact in the morning on the other. She tacked up Tandy’s ID photo.

  Her first step was to call the contact number of the parking lot. As she expected, she was transferred to an endless menu of choices, and quickly selected operator before the droning litany could bore her into a coma.

  “Courtesy Messaging Service.” The voice was nasal as a trombone and dense with Queens.

  “This is Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD,” Eve began and gave her badge number. “I need information on the Park and Go, Fifty-eighth Street.”

  “For information, please call Customer Service between the hours of eight A.M. and—”

  “I need information now, and I don’t want to talk to some hand-patter at Customer Service.”

  “Well, jeez. This is a messaging service, you know, for, like, twenty businesses in Manhattan alone. I don’t have information about a parking lot.”

  “Put me through to the owner.”

  “I’m not supposed to bother the client with—”

  “Maybe you should give me your name and location. I’ll send a couple of uniforms to pick you up, and you can tell me how you’re not supposed to bother the client when you get down to Cop Central.”

  “Well, jeez. You gotta wait a minute.”

  Eve was put on wait mode while music sweeter than the icing on her cake tinkled in her ear.

  During the ten minutes it played—with periodic computer-generated bulletins assuring her that her call was important—she began a series of probability runs.

  By the time an actual human came back on, she was drinking her second cup of coffee and studying the results.

  “Lieutenant, is it?” The man looked slick and sounded same.

  “That’s right. And you are?”

  “Matt Goodwin. You’re inquiring about the Park and Go on Fifty-eighth?”

  “That’s right. Do you own it?”

  “I represent the corporation that does. What seems to be the problem?”

  “I’m investigating a possible crime in which this lot may be involved. I need the security discs as well as the logs for Thursday last, between eighteen and nineteen hundred hours.”

  “What possible crime?”

  “It’s a Missing Persons matter. I need the discs and the logs as soon as possible.”

  “I believe those discs are dumped every twenty-four, Lieutenant. As for the logs, I assume you have a warrant?”

  “I can get one.”

  “Well, when you do—”

  “And when I do, I’ll see it includes logs for an entire week, as well as a search into the lot’s—and the corporation that owns it—standards and practices. I’ll have to bring you and your client into Central for questioning. Or, you can get me the logs for that single hour of that single day.”

  “Of course my client would want to cooperate with the authorities.”

  “Good for your client.”

  “I’ll have to contact my client, and with their permission, arrange to have the logs you specified copied and made available to you.”

  “You do that. Relay to me at this number where the logs can be picked up. By nine A.M. tomorrow morning.”

  “Lieutenant, it is the weekend.”

  “I’ve heard that. Nine A.M., or I get that warrant.”

  She clicked off, went back to studying her probability results. Even with the sparse data at her disposal, it was running in the mid-nineties that Tandy Willowby had been target specific.

  Tandy had no criminal record on either side of the Atlantic, no known association with criminal elements. She had a small, tidy nest egg that jibed with someone who lived carefully on the salary she’d pulled in since the onset of employment. Her parents were dead, and from the basic data Eve could access without a warrant, her stepmother and stepsister had no wealth. Middle-income salaries.

  There were no suspicious deposits or withdrawals in Tandy’s accounts that indicated blackmail on either side.

  On the surface it appeared the only thing of true value Tandy owned was what she carried in her womb.

  Playing a hunch, she contacted the owner of the White Stork.

  “Lieutenant Dallas. You’ve found Tandy.”

  “No.”

  “I just don’t understand this.” Liane Brosh was a youthful sixty, with a face strained with concern. “She must have just taken a weekend away. Maybe a quick trip to a spa to rev up before the baby comes.”

  “Did she talk about doing that?”

  “No, not really. I suggested it a couple times, but she always said she was already revved.” Liane smiled weakly. “We had a little shower for her here at the store, and I gave her a gift certificate to a day spa in the city. She said she was saving it until after the baby. But I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she just wanted to get out of the city for the weekend.”

  “Does that strike you as something she’d do?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Liane sighed. “It doesn’t sound like her at all. I’m so worried.”

  “Can you tell me if anyone came into the store to see her specifically, to speak with her?”

  “Tandy worked with several expectant parents. All the staff is available for personal shopping, for helping with registries, decor, layettes.”

  “How about someone she might’ve worked with, or who might have frequented your shop whose expectations weren’t realized. Miscarriage, for instance.”

  “It does happen. I can’t think of anyone offhand, but I can certainly check the records, ask the other girls.”

  “I appreciate that. Did she ever speak about the baby’s father?”

  “In general, and vaguely. No specifics, and since she didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t press.”

  “If you think of anything, even if it doesn’t seem important, I want you to contact me. Twenty-four/seven.”

  “I will. We love Tandy. All of us will do anything we can to help.”

  Eve tried another hunch and contacted Tandy’s midwife.

  “This is Randa.”

  “Randa Tillas, Lieutenant Dallas.”

  “Tandy.”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Well, damn it.” She was a striking black woman with the faintest hint of the islands in her voice. Her rich brown eyes filled with concern. “I contacted members of her birthing circle, in case she was spending a couple of days with one of them. But no one’s heard from her since Wednesday.”

  “Any member of that circle have a problem pregnancy?”

  “I’ve got one with high blood pressure and another on bed rest, but nothing major, no.”

  “Maybe a birthing coach who’s had trouble conceiving, or carrying to full term.”

  “I don’t have full medical on coaches, but that sort of thing usually comes up during the class. I’d try to discourage coaching by anyone who might be in a dark place. It wouldn’t be good for them, or the mother.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about the baby’s father?”

  “Some, yes. It’s important for me to know as much as the mother is comfortable telling me. For a single mother, more so. Especially one, like Tandy, without family support.”

  “Can you tell me what she told you about him?”

  “I’m treading a line here, but I’m worried enough I’m stepping over it. He was someone she dated for about a year back in London. I think she was very much in love with him. The pregnancy was unplanned, and wasn’t something he wanted or was looking for. She decided it was something she wanted, so she broke things off and moved to the U.S.”

  “Long way to go.”

  “I thought so, but she said she’d wanted everything fresh, and it seemed reasonable. I’d say she’s very resolved to have this baby and to raise it on her own, with no murky feelings to
ward the father. She was very spare on the details about him, but she did slip once or twice and call him by name. Aaron.”

  “That helps. Thanks. Anything else, contact me.”

  “I’m going to go through my file on her, and ask the other members of the team if she spoke to them about anything that seems important. We all want her and the baby back, safe and healthy.”

  14

  SHE WENT OVER THE DATA PEABODY SENT TO her computer on like crimes. IRCCA had popped a few for her. Abductions, abduction/murders, rapes, rape/ murders. Abductions where the baby had been delivered then stolen, and the mother left behind.

  Alive or dead.

  In the majority of the abductions, the woman had known her kidnapper, or had had previous contact.

  Eve separated them into known or unknown, into family strife, cases where the abductor had been mentally ill, and those done for profit.

  She culled out the rapes into a separate file.

  Then she worked them geographically.

  There had been cases in New York with similar elements, and those involving family members of the victim she separated out again. She set aside those cases where the perpetrator was doing time, earmarking those to check other family members, and any possible contact with Tandy.

  She outlined Missing Person cases where the investigator found the woman had gone into a shelter to escape an abusive relationship, or simply walked out. And others where neither mother nor child had ever been found.

  Because Tandy had come from London, Eve moved there next. A smattering of like cases again, but none that had any outward link to hers.

  So she branched out to Europe.

  The most interesting was a case, still open, in Rome where the missing woman had walked out of her regular OB exam in her thirty-sixth week, and poofed. Like Tandy, earlier in the pregnancy she had relocated to another city, moving from Florence three months before she went missing. She was single, had no family in that area. She’d been healthy, and lived alone. Unlike Tandy, this woman had applied for and received paid maternity leave during her second trimester.

  A struggling artist, she had been in the process of finishing a mural of a fairyland on the walls of the nursery she’d outfitted in her apartment.

  Or was it ‘flat’ in Italy, too? Eve wondered.

  Sophia Belego had been missing for nearly two years. Gone without a trace.

  After making a note of the investigator’s name, Eve stewed over the time difference. Italy was another place she couldn’t contact yet.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “What? Huh?”

  “It’s now after two in the morning. New York time.”

  “What is it in London?”

  “Too early.” Roarke laid his hands on his wife’s shoulders, dug at the rocks that had taken up residence there. “And time for both of us to recharge.”

  “I’ve got more in me.”

  “You’ll have more yet after a few hours of sleep.”

  “I’m working something from the data Peabody got from IRCCA.”

  “And how much further can you take it tonight?”

  Nowhere really, she thought. But still. “I haven’t written it all down. I need to put it into a report for the file, and copy MPU.”

  “Which can wait until morning.”

  “If she got snatched, she’s going on better than fifty hours missing. I need the damn data from the parking lot. And I’m not going to get that until morning,” she argued when he only looked at her. “Okay, a couple hours down.”

  Because she was looking glassy-eyed, he moved to the elevator with her.

  “You got anything for me?” she asked him.

  “Nothing concrete. It’s going to take longer without names. With them, I could do more thorough excavating.” And, he thought, make use of his unregistered equipment and avoid CompuGuard’s beady eye if he went down a bit deeper than was technically allowed. “I’ve left a couple of programs running. We’ll see what we get in the morning.”

  “I have to do some digging myself on that.” She pushed her tired brain from possible abduction into murder. “Cavendish to Bullock to Robert Kraus to Jacob Sloan—maybe three generations of Sloans—and from there to my vics. Something there. I think if I squeeze Cavendish right, he’ll spurt.”

  As her mind shifted between two investigations, she undressed. “Why does a firm with that kind of—what is it—panache—use a guy like Cavendish to head up its New York branch? Nepotism, maybe, because he’s not as smart as he could be. Bruberry, his admin, she’s smart. But she’s not blood, so you put his name on the letterhead, and let her run it behind the scenes? That’s how it feels.”

  Eve slid into bed. “Copperfield said she was offered a bribe. If I can show contact around the time of the murder between her and Cavendish’s office, I could squeeze from that angle. Or—”

  “Too much coffee for you.” He drew her close. “Turn off that head of yours and go to sleep.”

  And how the hell was she supposed to do that? Because he was right, as usual. She’d poured too much coffee into her system. Her brain was running sloppy loops inside her head, from Copperfield to Byson to Tandy and back again.

  “Might have to go to London,” she murmured. “Huh. Wouldn’t it be a kick in the head if I really did have to be out of the country hunting a criminal mastermind when Mavis goes into labor?”

  “I, my ass. That goes to we or I’ll hurt you.”

  “Yeah, big talk.”

  Since her brain was up, and her body insisted on following suit, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t put both to good use.

  She trailed her fingers up his spine, then down while she angled her head and found his lips with hers in the dark.

  “Are you trying to take advantage of my weakened state?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Just checking.” His lips curved against hers. “Go ahead then. I can’t stop you.”

  “Guess you’ll have to lie there and take it.” She nipped at his jaw, slicked her tongue down his neck. “You could call for help.”

  “My pride prevents me.”

  Chuckling, she slid a hand down, found him already hard. “Yeah, you’re just full of pride.”

  He tasted so good, all warm and ripe, and as her body pressed to his, rubbed bare flesh to bare flesh, she felt his heartbeat kick. She shifted, stretched herself over him so she could press her lips where that heart beat for her.

  More than desire, she thought lazily. Here was knowledge and comfort, and a kind of communion. Turn to me, and I’ll be there. That was the simple answer they could always find together no matter what shadows hung over them. Through the past, through the present, they could always find the answer, and each other.

  She felt his hands on her now, stroking to soothe or to arouse, and succeeding in doing both. For another moment, she stayed as she was, eyes closed, absorbing the sheer and simple pleasure of knowing where she belonged. Then, in the deep dark, in the deep quiet, she slid up him again until their lips met.

  Movement and heat, he drifted into both as she did and rode on the warm current of sensation. The shape of her, the scents and the sounds, were so familiar, and so alluring. She, as no other ever could, reached every corner of his heart. His woman with her long, lean body, her courageous spirit and questing mind. His joy, and his salvation.

  Here it was so clear, so easy, with only the two of them in a dance either could lead, both could follow.

  And the need for her sang through him like a favorite melody.

  She straddled him, laying her hands over his as he took her breast in his mouth. Letting her head fall back as she immersed herself in the next thrill, letting her mind empty of everything but what they gave to each other.

  She took him in, slow, slow.

  He quivered for her, he murmured to her, and at last he filled her. Her body bowed back, a slim white curve in the shadows. Then forward to rock them both breathless in the dark.

  They wrapped around each
other, sliding languidly down from that peak, her leg tossed intimately over his hip. She rested her brow lightly against his jaw until sanity returned.

  “Better than cake,” she said, and made him laugh.

  “So it was. And it was damned good cake.”

  “Mmmm. What time is it anyway?”

  “Ah…somewhere after three.”

  She did the calculation in her head. “Good enough.” She tipped her head up, pressed her lips firmly to his. Then rolled away and sat up.

  “And what are you about, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m about waking up some people in Europe. Light on, five percent. Going to grab a shower first,” she said when the lights glowed dimly. “Wash the rest of the cobwebs out.”

  He folded his arm behind his head. “So I served as a way to use up a bit of time till you determined it was reasonable to wake some poor sod up on a Sunday morning.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I feel so used. Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” She felt clearheaded now, a good second wind. “I’m just going to get some things rolling, then I’ll catch a couple hours down.”

  “Too right you will.” Then he sat up. “A bit longer then.”

  “You don’t have to stay up.”

  “You weren’t singing that tune a few minutes ago.” When she grinned, he walked by her, giving her a quick pat on the ass. “Let’s have that shower, and maybe both of us will be back in bed before dawn.”

  Eve tried Candide Marrow first, and was bumped to voice mail. She left a message, then moved down the list to the stepsister.

  A hoarse, muffled voice said, “Bugger off.”

  “Briar Rose Marrow?”

  “Do you know what bloody time it is?”

  “Where you are or where I am? This is Lieutenant Eve Dallas, from the New York City Police and Security Department. Are you Briar Rose Marrow?”

  The lump in the bed had a mad thatch of black hair streaked with gold, and muttered, “What the fuck is it to you?”

  Since Eve figured she might’ve had the same attitude under the circumstances, she held onto her patience. “Are you Briar Rose Marrow, and do you have a stepsister by the name of Tandy Willowby?”