Calculated in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “I am busy working a murder. Make that murders.”

  Nadine shifted to reporter mode without mussing a hair on her streaky blonde head. “They’re connected. The two this morning? And to Judge Yung’s sister-in-law.”

  “The dots line up. How come I haven’t done an interview on my excitement and anticipation of tomorrow’s premiere?”

  “Is that a trick question?” Those eyes narrowed again. “What have you got in mind?”

  “I’m thinking about inviting one more person to the premiere.”

  “And that would be?”

  “The killer. Get over here with a camera, and we’ll issue the invitation.”

  Eve clicked off, sat back. It could work. Risky, sure, but workable. She started to reach for the comm to call Peabody in, then Roarke stepped up to the now open door.

  “Alone again.”

  “Not anymore. Thanks for taking Marlo out.”

  “Easy enough as I wanted to speak with Feeney and McNab in any case. She’s blissfully happy, and very grateful you agreed to stand up for her at the wedding.”

  “I couldn’t find the wiggle room out.”

  “Didn’t have the heart to wiggle hard.” He tapped her chin, then set a go-cup from Vending on her desk.

  “What’s that?”

  “Soup, as I wager you’ve had nothing since breakfast.”

  “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “As I’ve heard.” He stepped over to her board. “Not cold and controlled any longer, but mean and bloody. Is the dog off the leash?”

  “Maybe. Mira thinks so, in a lot of ways. She thinks killing opened up his taste for violence, and for killing. I’m with her on that. She sees him as a coward. Right there with her. Escalating, enjoying his work. Yeah. She also thinks that combination makes him more dangerous. She could have a point.”

  “A frightened animal’s bite is as deadly as an emboldened one, but less predictable.”

  “Okay, that’s her summary, or close enough. She figures I’m the fly in his lotion.”

  “Ointment.”

  “Same thing. He screwed up with me, so he needs to fix that so he feels good about himself. Plus the endlessly rolling vid of the flying baby damaged his internal rep.”

  “He’d hope to lure you into a trap or ambush.” Roarke wasn’t the department’s top shrink, but he knew his wife. “And now you’re planning one for him with yourself as bait.”

  “I wouldn’t call myself bait in this case. More . . . an incentive. If we ID him before, we’ll go scoop him up. If not, I’ve got an idea, and following Mira’s profile, I can’t see him resisting it.”

  He took a disc from his pocket. “I think you’ll find everything on here to arrest and charge Sterling Alexander with multiple cases of fraud, embezzlement, and misappropriation of funds, with a side of tax evasion.”

  “You nailed it down?”

  “Easily enough, once the dominoes started to fall. It’s also easy enough to connect him to several other companies, some merely shells, and to individuals in those companies who would also be guilty of fraud.”

  “Does anything in there tie him to three murders, and attempted murder of a police officer?”

  “It’s easy, again, to draw the lines from his company, the other companies, to the recently dead accountant and the equally if more messily dead money manager. Were they alive, they’d have a lot of questions to answer.”

  “So we could say Alexander had them killed so they couldn’t answer any questions. But without the trigger, we can’t prove it. We get him on fraud, and push him for conspiracy to murder, he can claim he didn’t have anything to do with it, had no idea.”

  She held out her hand for the disc. “I’ll take it to the commander, and the prosecutor. And ask them to give me a couple days to cage him in on the murders. It’s good work, Roarke. Thanks.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t looked at it.”

  “Because it’s your work.”

  He flipped a finger down her hair. “You’re trying to soften me up so I won’t make an issue of your . . . incentive to a murderer.”

  “That doesn’t make it less true.”

  He sat in her miserably uncomfortable visitor’s chair. “I suppose you’d best eat your soup and tell me what you have in mind.”

  Eve took off the lid, sniffed. “What kind of soup is it?”

  “It was billed as minestrone, but it’s your Vending.”

  “It won’t be magic.” But she sampled it. “It’s not horrible. So, Nadine should be here before too long to do a quick interview with me about—woo-hoo—fun and excitement, glamour and glitter at the premiere tomorrow night. A premiere of the vid that’s based on the case I cracked like a rotten walnut. Though modesty will prevent me from playing my own fiddle—”

  “Tooting your own horn.”

  “What’s the difference? They both make noise.”

  “I stand, if not corrected, forced to agree.” In a futile attempt to find comfort in the chair, Roarke stretched out his legs. “You want to manipulate a confrontation with a violent killer at a public event?”

  “I’m going to manipulate a killer into the open at an event he won’t be able to resist because not only am I attending, I’m getting media play from it. It’s splashy, and it comes right on the heels of his own media humiliation in the form of flying baby.”

  “And you see no downside to rubbing his face in it.”

  “I see that as a side benefit. Listen,” she continued, knowing his reservations, “how’s he going to lure me into an ambush? Maybe he tries to hit me when I’ve driving home, or into Central, or when Peabody and I are in the field. We can take precautions on all that, but for how long? Or he goes at Peabody first when she’s walking to the subway, or in the market for a bag of chips.”

  “All right, it’s too open, too unpredictable.”

  “Exactly, and this narrows it down to a point. Tomorrow night, when I’m raking in the attention, he shows me—shows everyone, and more himself if Mira’s on it—he can do the job.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic, or her strategy to ambush the ambusher. “And there’ll be cops at the event, covering the event.”

  “Lousy with cops,” she assured him. “And we should have a better description of him by then. It may be we’ll be able to get him prior, but if not, we’ll throw the net over him tomorrow.”

  And he’d be beside her, start to finish, Roarke thought.

  “And when you have him, you believe you’ll get him to turn on Alexander?”

  “I will turn him, and they both go away.”

  “Well then, it promises to be an interesting evening.”

  “I need to clear it with Whitney, brief the men.”

  “And you can put any fine points on it, adjust as need be, consider more angles while Trina’s dealing with your hair and makeup tomorrow evening.”

  “What? What? Why?”

  “Lieutenant, for someone so clever, you really should have known that was coming.”

  “I know how to put the face gunk on.”

  “You’ll have Mavis and Peabody for moral support. Not my doing,” he added, holding up his hands. “And really, darling, if you can so courageously face down a killer, you should be able to tough out an at-home salon treatment with friends.”

  “Just another ambush,” she muttered. “What kind of friends ambush you?”

  “Your kind. And think how much more irresistible you’ll be to your quarry when you’ve been glamorized.”

  She opened her mouth, shut it. Hummed. “That doesn’t make up for it, but it’s a point.”

  She glanced toward the door when she heard the sound of footsteps. “Prancing. McNab,” she said moments before he bounced to her doorway.

  “Lieutenant. I think I’ve got your hacker.”


  She forgot the misery of hair and face by Trina. “Who is he? Where is he?”

  “His name’s Milo Easton aka Mole. Milo the Mole, he’s pretty famous in hacking circles. Have you heard of him?” McNab asked Roarke.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Young, isn’t he, not twenty-five, and responsible for hacking into the NSA mainframe—still a teenager then. Draining the bank account of an Internet magnate he considered a rival, manipulating the odds boards before the Kentucky Derby.”

  “That’s Milo,” McNab confirmed. “He’s only been caught once, and that was early on. He was only about fourteen, so they went easy on him. Big mistake as he stopped doing it for fun, and started doing it for profit. He burrows,” he told Eve. “Himself—which is why he’s hard to pin—and his work. He lost a lot of his shine in the community when it got out he’d tapped into retirement accounts. Going after big money from big companies or people, that’s one thing. Sucking from regular joes? No frost on that. It’s his fingerprint on the first vic’s unit, and on the safe at the accounting firm. I’m sure of it.”

  “Where do we find him?”

  “He burrows,” McNab repeated. “You pop an ID on the guy, and you get one stream of data. Pop it again, you get another. All of them bogus. I’ll work on it, but I can’t pin his location yet.”

  “I think I can help with that.” Roarke smiled at Eve. “It’s, again, knowing people who know people. Then there’s the money stream.” Roarke nodded toward the disc on Eve’s desk. “He’s been paid. However he might funnel the money, however he might route it, that route has a beginning and an end.”

  Now he smiled at McNab. “Won’t it be fun to find it?”

  “Find Milo the Mole?” Sheer delight blasted over McNab’s pretty face. “Fun doesn’t begin. If we do that I’m King of the Hackers. Emperor of EDD.”

  “Let’s go and get you that crown.” Roarke rose, stepped over to kiss Eve’s head. “I’ll be playing with my friends.”

  And she’d better play with hers, so to speak. She contacted Whitney’s office to ask for a meeting.

  By the time she arrived she had a basic outline of her operation. She’d refine it, she thought as she stepped inside the commander’s office. Nail down any loose ends, refine the layout.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Sir. I wanted to update you. Detective Yancy is working with the witness who sold the UNSUB the hammer used to murder Jake Ingersol. EDD, with McNab heading, has identified the man we believe served as the hacker on Dickenson’s office unit, building security, and the hospital communications.”

  “Who?”

  “He goes by Milo the Mole. Apparently if you’re a geek, that name means something. They’re working now to find his hole. We’ll run Yancy’s sketch for face recognition. If we can locate and bring in either or both of these individuals, we’ll push them to roll on Alexander.”

  “I’ll be attending Marta Dickenson’s memorial later today. Judge Yung will have questions.”

  Stickier, she thought, and fortunately not her call to make.

  “I don’t know how much you feel appropriate to tell her, sir, but Roarke’s compiled enough evidence through the copies of Dickenson’s files re Alexander and Pope to bring them in on multiple counts of fraud and misappropriation of funds, tax evasion. There’s money laundering in there, too.”

  “You’ve got him?”

  “I haven’t yet personally reviewed the data, but—”

  “If Roarke verifies, it’s so,” Whitney finished.

  “I will submit copies to you and the forensic accountant, but yes, sir, Roarke was confident. With time we should be able to follow that data and if payments to the killer and the hacker were drawn from any of the accounts therein, expand the charges to conspiracy to commit murder, murder for hire. As there will be issues of tax fraud and tax evasion, I expect federal agencies will take a strong interest in the actions of Sterling Alexander and in his company.”

  Whitney leaned back. “And you’d like to delay informing those federal agencies in these matters.”

  “Three people are dead. In addition an attempt was made on the lives of two NYPSD officers. I’d prefer he answer for that before the money matters.”

  “How long?”

  “Thirty-six hours, at the outside. If we can ID and locate, we can bring in the killer and the e-man. If, however, we’re unable to ID or unable to locate expediently, I have a contingency plan.”

  Leaning back, Whitney linked his fingers. “Go ahead.”

  “The New York premiere of The Icove Agenda has generated a lot of media interest and attention. It’s well reported that Peabody and I will be attending. I believe, Commander, following the pattern, Doctor Mira’s updated profile, and a ninety-six-point-six probability ratio the UNSUB will also attend in some fashion in order to complete the objective he failed to complete yesterday.”

  “You believe he’ll try to get to you and/or Peabody at the premiere? With the crowds attending or watching the attendees arrive, the cameras, the security?”

  “I do, not despite that but because of it. He failed, and was humiliated, on screen, with the replay of the baby catch.”

  “That was impressive,” he agreed.

  “Thank you, sir. The increase in the violence of his kills today—in his more personal involvement in those kills—indicates a growing taste for murder, and a passion that lacked with Dickenson. He’s a coward, Commander, who needs to prove his ability, his strength. Every kill has been an ambush. This time, we’ll turn that around.”

  “And ambush him?”

  “Sir. With an interview with Nadine Furst, I can sweeten the trap, play up my attending, and more, my excitement about it.”

  Something close to a smirk played around Whitney’s mouth. “Are you that good an actress, Dallas?”

  “I can pull it off. He’ll see the shine, not the trap. Moreover, if we don’t close this down prior, Alexander will also be in attendance. He’ll finish this job, in public, and in front of his employer. Commander, I strongly believe if we don’t wrap this up before, he will make that attempt. I want to be ready for him. He killed two people in under an hour today. He’s pumped, and so far he’s only missed once. He needs to rectify that.”

  “There are easier ways to kill a cop.”

  “But none as expedient, or that fits his pattern of impulse. None that brings those cops down at the moment it seems they’re most vulnerable. All dressed up, peacocking around. And all those people who saw his cowardice and humiliation on screen now get to watch his triumph. If we don’t have him in a cage, Commander, he’ll make his move tomorrow night.”

  “I tend to agree. All right, Lieutenant, what’s your plan?”

  STILL NEEDED SOME WORK, EVE THOUGHT AS she walked back down to Homicide. Even with the commander’s input, the op needed a tighter rein.

  Calculating weak spots, soft spots, and dead ends, she stepped into her bullpen.

  “Nadine’s in your office,” Peabody called out. “She said you’d asked her to come in.”

  “Yeah.” She scanned the room. “I want everyone not needed in the field in whatever conference room Peabody can get. One hour. Peabody, get me the layout of Five Star Theater.”

  She left the mutterings behind her, went into her office.

  Nadine paced the small area in skinny heels the color of kiwis that matched the waist-whittling jacket snugged over a black leather dress. She peppered questions and answers through an earpiece. They seemed to deal with timing, editing, and eight o’clock reservations. Nadine’s cameraman sat in Eve’s visitor’s chair, and from the beeps and cheers emitting from his PPC, passed the time with a game.

  When Nadine gave Eve a just-a-minute gesture, Eve turned to the camera. “Give us a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” He hauled himself, his camera, his bag up, and still playing the ga
me, strolled out of the room.

  “If he wants it down to two-forty-three, I want Derrick to make the cuts. No, it has to be Derrick. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. If I knew that, I’d tell you now, wouldn’t I? Push it to eight-thirty. Just do it, Maxie.”

  Obviously steamed, she yanked off the earpiece. “This better be good,” she told Eve. “I’ve got a special in post-production hell, an assistant who can’t seem to put two clear thoughts together this week, and a last-minute fitting on my dress for tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t know if it comes up to the extreme priority of a dress fitting.”

  “Don’t be so snotty. Tomorrow night’s important, and I’m damn well going to look sensational.” She stopped, gave Eve a cold, hard look. “You didn’t drag me down here to tell me you’re skipping the premiere?”

  “Just the opposite. I want you to interview me about attending the premiere, and make sure it gets some splash.”

  “Did you recently suffer some head trauma? From what I saw on the Amazing Baby Catch, you hit your ass. Then again . . .”

  “Keep it up. I can get another reporter over here in ten seconds flat.”

  “Another reporter wouldn’t go along with whatever you want to stir up, and in fact give it just the right stir.” Nadine sat, crossed her excellent legs. “What are you after?”

  “Some media attention, on this specific event. You’ll have your own cameras covering it, right?”

  “You bet your probably very sore ass.”

  “If this plays out, you’re going to get a hell of a story.”

  Nadine flicked a glance at the board, then shifted back to Eve. “What does tomorrow’s premiere have to do with the three murders?”

  “We’ve got some lines, and may very well have that nailed down before the premiere. If not, we could nail it down at the premiere.”

  Nadine pursed her lips and got that reporter’s gleam in her eye. “How?”

  “The how’s up to me and the NYPSD. The lure’s up to you. He tried to take me and Peabody out once. I’m saying he’ll try again, and I’m going to set the time and place.”