Calculated in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “That’s a good one.”

  “Don’t toss it out until he wheedles, and make it like you’re going to have to pry it out of me. He’ll think it’s a bigger deal. I’ll check with Morris, then meet with Mira. If we’re lucky either Yancy or Dickhead will hit, and we can go after this bastard before he buys a skill saw.”

  “Eeww.”

  Eve couldn’t argue.

  “Feeney and I caught a hacksaw job a few years back, before you. Before he took over EDD. This guy killed his wife—she threatened divorce, and she was the money train. So he bashed her with this brass statue of a mermaid, then oh shit, she’s dead, what do I do? He sawed her up into small pieces with a hacksaw he had in his little workshop, put it all in big waste bags, then dumped her in the river.”

  “I repeat. Eeww.”

  “It wasn’t pretty. He told everybody she’d gone to Europe. But, oops, one of the bags got caught in this other guy’s boat hook thing. It took awhile to put her back together, and not long to hook the husband. He tried the temporary insanity, diminished capacity, fugue fucking state bull crap. But since we had the saw, and CI determined it would take about six sweaty hours to cut her into the more compact and portable pieces, that didn’t fly.”

  Peabody said nothing for a moment. “Do we lead interesting lives or really disgusting ones?”

  “Both, depending. Out,” she said as she swung toward the curb near the lab. “Get me prints.”

  SHE FOUND MORRIS, WITH SOME SORT OF bass-heavy rock bumping out of his speakers, working on the seriously bludgeoned Jake Ingersol. Parzarri, chest still wide open, lay on a second slab.

  “Two slabs,” Morris said as he poked around in Ingersol’s chest. “No waiting.”

  “I bet they’d have been happy to.”

  “No doubt. Your accountant had a standard mix of painkillers and relaxants in his system. He would’ve been quite happy before having his air supply so rudely cut off. Manually, and with a large hand.”

  “Any chance of prints?”

  “Sorry, no. We can give you a reasonable reproduction of the size and shape of his right thumb and forefinger from the bruising, and estimate the size of his hand. I believe you’ll be able to say with confidence, it’s the same hand that bruised the first victim’s face.”

  “That couldn’t hurt.”

  “This second vic’s hands and feet were restrained during the attack, and despite the drugs, the victim had a strong survival instinct. He struggled hard as you can see from the bruising on his wrists and ankles. As for the third victim, he never had a chance to struggle at all.”

  Morris, his hair in a long, sleek tail today, offered Eve microgoggles. “Your observation at the crime scene was correct. You can see the discoloration from a stun stream, mid-body. A full charge from the look of it. He never felt what came after.”

  “I want to hear Mira’s take, but I don’t think he stunned him unconscious to spare him pain. He was dealing with a man this time, and not one hurt, doped up, or restrained. So he put him out.”

  “Taking no chances? Careful then, and you could say cowardly.”

  “I do.”

  “A careful coward with this much rage? A dangerous combination.”

  “Maybe. Rage, sure, but fun, too. Knees, groin—that one’s personal—chest, face, head, hands.”

  “My analysis is the hands were crushed rather than broken.”

  “Crushed. More stomped on than hammered?”

  “I believe so.”

  “He really didn’t like this guy. He took Parzarri’s travel case and Ingersol’s briefcase and ’link and appointment book. And he left four hundred in cash on Ingersol, and a fistful of credit cards, a six-figure wrist unit. He didn’t care about making this one look like a robbery. What’s the point? And still, leaving the cash, the wrist unit . . . it tells me the hacker was most likely the one to take the cash out of the safe at Brewer’s, and he either wasn’t inside when this happened, or he’s a little too delicate to root around in the blood and gore for profit.”

  She tucked her thumbs in her front pockets. “This is about money, more of it, greed for more. These two died for it, but money’s not the killer’s god.”

  “These two will have some explaining to do if and when they meet theirs.”

  “Yeah. It’s tough to buy your way past those gates. I wonder how they, it, he, she, whatever keeps track.”

  “The higher power? Of the dead?”

  “Yeah. I mean, think of the number of dead just you and I deal with. And we’re just two people and one city. Then expand that pretty much by infinity. It’s a lot. It makes you wonder if there’s a bunch of people up there with ledgers, checking people off. Okay, John Smith from Albuquerque, too bad about that shuttle crash. Follow the green line to Orientation. And what if two John Smiths from Albuquerque happened to be in the same crash? It could happen. Plenty of room for clerical error there.”

  And over death, Morris smiled at her. “Entirely too much room. Let’s hope the system’s a bit more sophisticated.”

  “Yeah, but it makes you wonder.”

  She put existential musing aside and headed into Central.

  She heard rolls of laughter as she approached Homicide, noted a small clutch of uniforms—that weren’t hers—crowding the doorway of the bullpen.

  “Has crime taken the day off, Officers?”

  They scattered quickly, making a hole for her to go in.

  She saw the reason for the party atmosphere in the person of Marlo Durn—vid star, celebrity darling, and the actress playing Eve in The Icove Agenda.

  She’d let her hair grow and had gone blonde again, a vague relief to Eve as they no longer resembled each other closely. She sat on the edge of Baxter’s desk, obviously in full flirt mode as she entertained the detectives and uniforms currently not doing any work.

  Baxter looked like he’d been hit with a heart-shaped stunner.

  Peabody spotted her first, dropped the cowboy boots she’d propped on her desk to the ground. “Hey, Dallas. Ah, look who’s here.”

  “Dallas!” Wreathed in smiles, Marlo jumped off the desk and rushed to catch Eve in a hard, bouncing hug. “It’s so good to see you. Matthew and I got into New York late last night, and I took a chance I’d be able to see you. We’re all so excited about the premiere tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. It should be something.”

  “You’d rather be out looking for a killer than walking the red carpet, but it will be fun. Peabody said you’re in the middle of a multimurder investigation now.”

  Peabody hunched her shoulders as Eve slid her a stony stare. “You’ll have this in Homicide. In fact, I’d wager every cop in this room has a case that needs attending to on his or her desk. Right now.”

  Immediately cops shifted, shuffled, opened files, picked up ’links.

  “And you’re busy. You wouldn’t have just a few minutes?”

  “I’ve got a few. Peabody, Dickhead?”

  “On it. Bitchily, but on it.”

  With a nod, Eve gestured Marlo toward her office.

  “I’ve missed it,” Marlo began. “All this. I know it was just a set, but I miss the feel of the place. And—” She paused as she saw the murder board. “You are in the middle. I think about K.T., and all that happened. Matthew and I don’t talk about it much, but it’s there. Hovering, I guess. I’ve talked with Julian a few times. He’s in rehab, taking a couple of days out now for the premiere, but plans to go back, finish the full program.”

  She turned away from the board. “I know it seems we’re in and out of rehab like a boutique in our world, but I really think he’s better. What happened with K.T., nearly dying himself, it pushed him to evaluate. It’s terrible to say, but all that horror was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to him. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow.”

  “
I’m glad to hear it. Do you want coffee?”

  “No, but thanks. The trial, the scandal, Joel—a major producer, a Hollywood icon like Joel Steinburger a murderer? It’s dominating the media back on the Coast, and of course, by association Marlo Durn, Matthew Zank, Mason, Connie, and the rest of us. It’s a relief to be away, though I expect we’ll deal with some of that here, too.”

  “It’ll pass,” Eve said as Marlo wandered her office.

  “Yes, it will. It’s actually, in a terrible way, bumping up promotion for the vid, even for the studio. It’s depressing, and I refuse to be depressed because—I wanted to tell you—Matthew and I are going to get married.”

  “Congratulations.” Eve thought of the charming actor who’d played geeky McNab.

  “I know it’s fast, and that’s another perception. Actors, always falling in and out of love, especially with other actors. But I do love him, so much. We’re only telling a few people. We don’t want a splash or the media hype. We went away for a while after the vid wrapped, after everything. It was good for us, good to be away, be together, have time to talk it all through. We love what we do, and despite all the shine, we live and work in a hard, stressful world. You understand hard, stressful worlds, and making a life, a real life inside one.”

  “I guess I do. As well as anybody can.”

  “I wanted to tell you because being you, so to speak, helped me understand and evaluate and decide on priorities. On what’s really important. Good work, yes, in whatever you do. But when you find someone, the one, it changes everything. It changes you, and you’re better for it. I have friends I can say that to, and they’d understand, but not the way you can. Because of that, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

  “Okay.”

  “Matthew and I are going to have a small, private wedding at Mason’s and Connie’s here in New York, the day after tomorrow. Will you stand up for me?”

  “What?”

  “Will you come—you and Roarke—and will you stand up for me? If you can. If you’re not working.”

  “Marlo, you have to have people, friends you’re tight with, someone—”

  “I do, and I thought about it.” Reaching out a hand to take Eve’s, Marlo flashed her megawatt smile. “I want you, if you will, if you can. When I make promises to Matthew, I want someone beside me who really understands how important those promises are. We want to keep it simple, private. Later we’ll have some big, crazy party back home, but this part—the promises—we want to keep the rest out of it.”

  Eve remembered when she’d understood, really understood that’s what marriage meant. Promises, making them and keeping them.

  “All right. Sure, if—”

  “I know the ifs.” Marlo looked back at the board. “And if one comes up, that’s okay. Thank you, so much.” She gave Eve’s hand a grateful squeeze. “I was nervous to ask you. I feel much better now. Any time you need a favor, just ask.”

  “I could use two VIP tickets for tomorrow. I had to bribe someone.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Just let me—and hello.” The flirt went back on as Roarke stepped into the doorway. Then Marlo laughed, moved to him for a friendly kiss. “I didn’t expect to be able to see both of you when I came in. This is an extra treat.”

  “How are you, Marlo?”

  “I’m just about perfect. Dallas will fill you in as I’ve interrupted her work long enough. We’re all looking forward to the after-party tomorrow. Plenty of time to catch up there.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. Marlo! How nice to see you.”

  When Mira came in, Eve thought: What next? A brass band?

  Now she had to wait for all the how are yous, you look wonderfuls, and blah, blah, blah with people crowded into her office sucking up her oxygen.

  Roarke sent Eve an amused look over Mira’s head. “Marlo,” he began, “I was about to go up to EDD. Would you like to come along, have a little look around?”

  “I’d love to, and then I can fill you in myself. I’ll see both of you tomorrow. And thank you, Dallas. Again. I’ll take care of those tickets.”

  “Thanks.”

  When Roarke led Marlo out, quietly closed the door, Eve let out a huge breath. “God! Why are there so many people?”

  “She looks happy,” Mira commented. “You look impatient.”

  “She is. I am. I was coming to you as soon as I updated my book and board.”

  “I read the reports, studied the recording Peabody sent me, and I wanted to speak with you right away. He’s evolving, Eve.”

  “I got that much.”

  Mira shook her head. “Update your board. Put this morning’s victims and crime scenes up.”

  “Okay.” She went to her unit to load the recorder, make the prints.

  “I’m programming coffee,” Mira told her.

  “I’ve got some of that tea stuff you like stocked in there.”

  “I want coffee.” While Eve worked, Mira programmed two cups.

  “You see the first victim,” Mira began. “A clean, quick kill, and the attempt to disguise murder as mugging.”

  “It was a job. He didn’t know her. Business.”

  “I agree, as we discussed before. The second murder is unnecessarily cruel, would have caused suffering, and was done face-to-face.”

  “More personal. I get it,” Eve repeated. “He knew the guy, and he’s got a little taste for it.”

  “Face-to-face,” Mira said again, “but a victim in a drugged state, and the restraints. You believe the killer is a big man, a strong man, yet he restrained the smaller, weaker man.”

  “He’s a coward at the bottom of it.”

  “Yes, he is. The third victim, all but on the heels of the second, fast work, and in the last case, extremely violent. You believe the victim was stunned prior to the bludgeoning.”

  “Confirmed by Morris, yes.”

  “And that he lay in wait, lured the victim in, incapacitated him, then beat him violently. It’s a very quick escalation, an experimentation in methods, perhaps, but more it’s an embrace of that violence, one that, to escalate so quickly, has always been there. A big, strong man, capable of snapping a woman’s neck, both physically and mentally. And yet a coward, and the cowardice, even more than the strength and violence, makes him very dangerous.”

  “Because he’ll ambush, come from behind.”

  “It’s more than that. Despite the relative ease of the first killing, he failed. It wasn’t judged a mugging, and it turned the spotlight on his employer. The reaction to that?”

  “Try for me and Peabody.”

  “Yes. Impulsively, and without any consideration for people who might have been hurt. And his cowardice is clearly shown—and has been touted all over the media—by using a child as a shield and weapon. Again, he failed, and this time he’s been called a coward, a monster, while you’re cheered as a hero.”

  “I caught the kid,” Eve began. “It wasn’t heroic, it was a good catch.”

  “I disagree, and so does the very vocal public. But the point is, he’s termed a coward. You’re termed a hero.”

  “All right. That’d be a pisser for him.”

  “Do you believe his employer ordered, or expected him, to carry out these two killings today with increasing violence? With no attempt at all to mask them?”

  Eve shook her head. “Probably not. I expect the order was just, Take care of this. I don’t think Alexander thinks things through any more than his muscle.”

  “No. Impulse, carelessness, cowardice, violence unleashed. He may not, very well may not, wait to be ordered before killing again. He’ll see his last two murders as successes. He committed them his way, released that violence. Enjoyed it. He’ll want that feeling again, that accomplishment, that release. And his first kill was a failure due to you, and Peabody. His second attack, on you and Peabody a fail
ure.”

  “So he’ll want to correct that mistake.” Considering, Eve sat on the corner of her desk. “Okay.”

  “Need to correct it. He lost considerable face, considerable pride when those vids of you snatching that baby out of the air hit the media, the Internet. He was able to offset that by these kills, rack up success, feel accomplished, and enjoy the act. Increasingly. Whether or not his employer directs him, circling back to you will be imperative.

  “And now you’re calculating how you can use that threat to your advantage.”

  She wasn’t the department’s top shrink for nothing, Eve mused.

  “If I can’t, if I can’t figure out a way to outsmart and stop this moron, I should be in another line of work. I figured if he got ambitious, he’d kill the hacker next.”

  “And he may. But he’s feeling good about himself at the moment. The only fly in that ointment is you. You exposed him as a coward. He has to end you to prove he’s not.”

  “So I draw him out. He won’t want to wait long. Alexander may figure, incorrectly, that he’s covered now. No loose ends, which would mean no fresh kills for his boy. If he kills the hacker, he’d have to explain why. But if he can get me, it’s just cleaning up old business. I can work with this.”

  “He won’t be controlled. He won’t be logical. He will be vicious and violent, and he won’t care who else may be harmed in his attack on you.”

  “So, I pick the time and place and circumstances. I can’t just walk around the city hoping he’ll make a move. I have to draw him a map. I think I have one. If I need it. We may be able to ID him today, then this is moot.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Eve. His impulse and unpredictability could work in his favor.”

  Maybe, Eve thought when Mira left her. But she believed cunning, experience, and a little manipulation would work in hers.

  She contacted Nadine Furst.

  “Ready for tomorrow night?” Nadine asked her.

  “That’s why I tagged you.”

  Nadine’s cat-green eyes narrowed. “Don’t pull the ‘I’m too busy working a murder’ card.”