Calculated in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Tomorrow night, at Five Star Theater.”

  “It’s probable he knows I’ll be there. I want to remind him, toss it in his face, and give it some gloss so the idea of taking me down there is irresistible.”

  “You talking about the gloss, the glitz, the glam?” Angling her head, Nadine gave Eve a dubious study. “It’s going to come off out of character.”

  “You play up that end. I’m about looking forward to seeing the investigation I headed hit the screens. You could ask—”

  “Uh-uh.” Nadine held up a finger, wagged it back and forth. “If I’m going to run this, we play by the rules. I can’t lay it all out for you, practice what I say, you say. It’s an interview or it’s not.”

  “Okay. That’s fair.”

  “And if this interview helps you catch your killer, you come on Now, do a segment.” Nadine ticked her finger again before Eve could object. “That’s fair, too. I’m going to have to juggle to get this—what by all appearances is a fluff piece—on air tonight.”

  “Fine. Done. Deal.”

  It didn’t take long. Nadine angled Eve at the office window in a way that would give the illusion, on screen, of a bigger space, and a wide view of the city.

  “Lieutenant Dallas,” Nadine began, “are you looking forward to the premiere of The Icove Agenda tomorrow evening?”

  “I am. It was a difficult case, a far-reaching case. The kind that sticks with you as a police officer. I’m very curious to see how the vid interprets reality.”

  “You had very little involvement in the production, by your own choice.”

  “I figure people like Mason Roundtree don’t tell me how to run a murder investigation, and I won’t tell them how to create a vid. I want to see how it turned out, how it angles. Your book got it right. I’m pretty confident the vid based on it will, too.”

  “Thanks. While you’ve been known to attend glamorous events as Roarke’s wife in the past, this event centers on you.”

  “On the case,” Eve said, instantly and obviously uncomfortable.

  “On which you were primary. How do you feel about that end of it? The red carpet, the fashion—and commentary—the celebrities?”

  And it would be out of character, she realized, to pretend any excitement or interest in fashion and glitz.

  So she’d play it straight.

  “The actors are just people doing a job as far as I can see. From what I saw when I visited the set, they did a good job. Actually, I just spoke with Marlo Durn today, and look forward to seeing her and the rest of the cast and crew tomorrow night.”

  “Rumor has it you’ll be wearing something designed especially for you and the event, by your favored designer, Leonardo. Any hints on the dress for our audience?”

  Eve was reasonably sure Nadine could have held a stunner to her throat and she wouldn’t be able to describe the dress. “I’ll only say Leonardo’s favored for a reason. He never misses, so all I have to do is put on what he makes. Tomorrow—well, it’s sort of a fantasy, isn’t it? Fancy clothes, fancy people, red carpets, theater, a major vid. It’s a break from what I do every day, a chance to step into the fantasy for one night before going back to the reality of the next case.”

  Nadine pitched a couple more soft balls, changed the camera angle, then wrapped.

  “That’ll work. Not bad, Dallas.”

  “The more air it gets, the better.”

  “I’ll do what I can do.”

  Satisfied with that, Eve gathered what she needed to set up a briefing, walked out to Peabody. “Anything from EDD or Yancy?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let’s get set up.”

  “For what, exactly?”

  “I’ll tell you while we set up.” As they went out, Eve dug for credits.

  “Here, get me a tube of Pepsi, and get whatever you want.”

  “You’re really back on a Vending boycott?”

  “It’s safer for everybody. If we get leads on the hacker and the muscle, solid ones that lead us to them, this briefing will just be an exercise.” She took the tube Peabody handed her, cracked it as they walked to the conference room.

  “Otherwise, Mira believes, and I agree, he’s going to try to take us out again—you and me.”

  “Well, that’s not happy news.”

  “It is because we can work that. Did you get me the theater layout?”

  “Right here. I wasn’t sure if you wanted it on your unit or a hard copy.”

  Eve took the disc. “This for now. Go ahead and set up a board, standard for the current investigation.”

  As Eve loaded the disc, brought the layout on screen, and Peabody set up the board, Eve filled her in on the basics of her proposed operation.

  “At the premiere?” Peabody interrupted. “Really?”

  “Don’t whine about it.”

  “I got a new dress. And shoes. I spent more for the shoes than the dress. And Trina’s got this idea for my hair, and this whole new eye pallet to . . .” Trailing off, Peabody cleared her throat and got very busy with the board.

  “I know about Trina. You bitch.”

  Shoulders hunched, Peabody carefully pinned up murder. “It’s a special night. You’ll look really good, and you won’t have to do it all yourself. We won’t want the NYPSD to fall short of the Hollywood crowd, right? Team pride!”

  “Rah fucking rah.”

  “Really, Dallas, it’ll be good, it’ll be chilly, and we’ll look abso-mag by the time . . .” She trailed off again, face lighting up. “We will look mag. And if we take down this killer at the premiere, with cams everywhere, it’ll be all over the screen like the flying baby. And we’ll look completely frosted.”

  “It’s so good you’ve got your priorities in place, Detective.”

  “Catching killers, that’s what we do. But if we get to do it at a big celeb event, there’s no downside to looking most totally excellent. That’s why you wanted Nadine and a camera. You wanted to push on this.”

  “She’ll get me on screen, talking about looking forward to the premiere. Odds are it’ll give him a nudge to try for us there—which playing the odds he’d try to do anyway—if we haven’t taken him before. I need to set it up,” she continued as she studied the layout. “Who sets up the carpet crap, the route, that stuff?”

  “They have their publicist work with the theater’s publicist.” Peabody left the board, picked up a laser pointer. “They’ll block off the street to vehicular traffic here, and here. They’ll have pedestrian barricades along here, and down through here. Those with media passes can—”

  “How do you know this?” Eve interrupted.

  “Oh, well, I asked if I could have a copy of the setup, the schedule, and so on. So I could sort of practice, sort of get the feel for it. It’s my first time,” she said defensively.

  “If the information wasn’t so useful, I’d pity you. Run me through it.”

  “Okay. They’ll let our limo through this block for the drop-off at the main entrance. People who want to catch a glimpse, try for autographs, take their own vids, they’ll be behind barricades in these areas. The publicist thinks high volume there because the lead actors are A-list, the story’s New York, we’re New York, and because K. T. Harris was murdered during the filming. The house will be filled—SRO—invite only, but they issued a lot of VIP tickets. There’ll be security for the producers, personal security, theater security, and an NYPSD presence.”

  “More than they know,” Eve murmured.

  “So, we get dropped here, and the red carpet goes right from the curb, down this way. At this point the media—those who obtained passes—can line up to take vids, stills, ask questions, try for quick interviews. And that goes all the way into the theater lobby.”

  “It’s a big one,” Eve commented, studying the layout.

  “Yeah. M
cNab and I went there a couple weeks ago to scope it out. It’s not one of your standard vid houses. It’s like a palace. It has two full bars, and a little café, and—”

  “We’ll get to all that.”

  “Well, there’ll be more media in the lobby. It’s like a pecking order. The schedule calls for us to be there by seven-fifteen so we can do the red carpet, talk to reporters, do this mix and mingle. Then we’ll have escorts take us to our seats. We’re down front because we’re V-VIPs.”

  “Security at all exits? And in each section?”

  “I didn’t ask about that—not knowing at the time somebody might try to kill me—but you have to figure it. They don’t want people trying to sneak in. And if you really have to pee, they’d want security nearby because the media’s allowed to stay in this smaller viewing room for the vid. If you want a drink or snack, each seat has an order plate. You key in what you want, they deliver it to you. No charge for us because—”

  “V-VIPs. What happens when the vid’s finished?”

  “We’re escorted out. Back out the main if we want, or either of these back exits.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  She played it through her head as she walked back and forth in front of the screen. “He can’t wait until it’s over because he won’t be sure which way we’ll go. And he won’t want to wait. He could mix with the crowds behind the barricades, but unless he’s got something more lethal at that distance than a stunner, that’s not going to do the job. He’ll need to get close this time. Security or media, so it’s going to be security. Easier for him to blend there.”

  She studied the screen, changed angles, zoomed in, enhanced, zoomed out.

  “Finish the board,” she told Peabody. “I need to work this out.”

  “If he hits us outside, he gets to do it in front of more people,” Peabody pointed out. “The public.”

  “Yeah, that’s a factor. But inside gives him a better chance of coming in close, and from behind. Smaller space. All those celebrities and VIPs corralled in there, grabbing drinks, showing off for the cameras.”

  She ordered the computer to give her an overlay of that sector, studied that, calculating the most likely escape route. Out of the theater, out of the area.

  She routed the quickest, then routed what she considered the best. She’d run probabilities, but her instinct told her he’d go quickest. She didn’t think he was smart enough to see the advantage of the longer, less direct route.

  As she began to see the structure of her operation in her head, she used one screen for exterior, one for interior of the theater.

  She highlighted potential routes, added highlights to maintenance areas, security areas, offices, employees only. She studied the layout—rest rooms, viewing rooms, bars, café, vending area, food sale area, ticket sale area.

  Mentally she placed cops on sectors, like chess pieces on a board.

  She glanced over as the door opened, turned when Detective Yancy came in.

  “Lieutenant. Baxter said you’d be in here. I’ve got your likeness. Sorry it took so long. Some wits need more time.” He offered her a printout and a disc.

  Eve studied the image—the wide face, squared at the jaw; short, medium brown hair, buzzed at the crown; brown eyes heavily lidded, the slightly hooked nose, the more prominent top lip.

  “How confident are you?”

  “I think we’re close.”

  Yancy slipped his hands into the pockets of comfortably worn jeans. “His overall impression was big, kind of surly, but he started to remember the details as we went along. It’s a strong face. It comes off surly,” Yancy added, “because that’s how the wit saw him. But the features, I think, are close.”

  “Then we’ll go with it. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” When he glanced at the board, his young, attractive face hardened as he scanned Jake Ingersol’s crime scene shot. “You’d have to be pretty damn surly to do that.”

  “Yeah. I think he’s got an anger management problem.”

  With a half laugh, Yancy shook his head. “I hear they have good programs for that on Omega.”

  “We’ll do our best to get him in.”

  “Let me know if you need more. See you around, Peabody.”

  “I had a sex dream about him once,” Peabody said after Yancy left.

  “Oh my God.”

  “It was before McNab. Well, before McNab and I were together. He’s so fatally cute—Yancy, I mean. McNab, too, but—”

  “Shut up now.”

  “It was a really good sex dream,” Peabody said under her breath. “Speaking of,” she added as Roarke walked in the room.

  “One more word, and I’ll get that hammer out of evidence and beat your tongue flat with it. Did you get the hacker?” she asked Roarke.

  “Ian’s nearly there. He asked if you’d excuse him from the briefing until he’s finished.”

  “Yeah. He should stay on it. Why aren’t you?”

  “Because he’s nearly there,” Roarke repeated. “And I want to know what you’re planning as I have a vested interest.” He smiled over at Peabody. “Or two,” he said and made her flush with pleasure.

  “Aw.”

  “Peabody.”

  “Aw’s not a word. It’s a sound.”

  “Stop making sounds. I’ve got his face. Yancy’s confident on it. I’ll be running facial recognition, and I’m going to key in military and sports. If I’m right on either, it may cut back on the time, may bring us a quicker hit.”

  Roarke took the sketch to study it. “You think if he does try to infiltrate, it’ll be as security.”

  “Look at that face.”

  “Yes, security’s the most logical.” He turned to the screens, scanned both. “It’s a large building, numerous points of entry and egress on both levels, and more in the basement maintenance and storage areas. The security system is good, but it’s not excellent. There’s relatively little to steal, and there are standard alarms on the doors set during vids to discourage any attempt to break in and watch for free.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I did a bit of research on it after you told me your plan.”

  “I don’t think he’ll break in. He’ll blend in. The hacker could create a pass for him, a badge, whatever he needs. Or he could target someone legitimately on security, take him out, replace him. The security is to keep the public from getting too familiar with the celebrities, to keep them out of the theater, to be present. It’s soft duty. He could bribe somebody, but he’d probably just kill. He’s got a taste for it.”

  “He’ll need to get close to you.”

  “That’s right. He’ll need to get close to kill me, and he’ll need to get close so I can stop him from killing me and catch him. Remember that.”

  Meeting her eyes, Roarke skimmed a hand over her hair. “It’s not something I’d forget.”

  She stepped back as cops began to shuffle into the room.

  Feeney headed to her. “The boy’s nearly got the location. I pulled Callendar off another duty so she can give him a hand.”

  “If he hits, maybe I’ll be wasting everybody’s time for the next half hour.”

  Feeney noticed the screen, pulled at his bottom lip as he studied it, as he understood where it led. “Well, crap. The wife’s really looking forward to this shindig.”

  “Maybe we’ll give her a kind of double feature. Better, we can pull this off quick and quiet. Nobody notices a thing.”

  “Somebody always notices,” Feeney said, but walked off to sit, and hear her out.

  She started to input the sketch disc, but Roarke took it from her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She left him to it, began counting heads. She’d need more, but she knew these cops, knew they’d run the op as she needed it run.

  “Let’s settle down,” she
called out. “Dickenson, Marta; Parzarri, Chaz; Ingersol, Jake. We believe this man . . .” She paused until Roarke flashed the sketch on screen. “. . . killed all three, with rapidly escalating violence. Yesterday, he attempted to kill two police officers.”

  “Hell of a catch, LT,” Jenkinson said, and earned her quick applause.

  She held up her hands, wiggled her fingers. “I have many skills. We’ll be running facial recognition, and we hope to ID this baby-tossing killer. Until then, here’s what we know.”

  She ran it through, quick, thorough, wanting her men to understand, all jokes aside, the target was dangerous, and not to be underestimated.

  “As we have yet to ID him, and factoring Mira’s profile, the very clear evidence, we’re going to expect him to repeat the attempt on two NYPSD officers, if he’s not been detained, at his earliest opportunity. He’s got one, on a platter, tomorrow night.”

  She turned to the screens. “The Five Star Theater.” She outlined the schedule, briefed them on the layout, adding more highlights as she assigned specific officers to specific locations and duties.

  “Each one of you will have a copy of the target’s image. He will be armed. If and when he’s spotted, we’ll move to block off his route, to separate him from civilians. If and when he’s spotted,” she continued, “I’ll move to the least congested area. Contingency one, he’s spotted outside.”

  She outlined the scenario, moved to containing him inside the lobby, inside the theater proper.

  When she decided she’d hit it from every angle, addressed every element she could foresee, she paused again.

  “Questions?”

  Baxter wagged a finger in the air. “I got one, boss. Can I bring a date?”

  “Sure,” Eve said over the expected snorts. “Bring Trueheart. You look really cute together. If the op’s a go, we meet here eighteen hundred tomorrow. Attired as suits assignments. I want those assigned to security or staff detail fully prepped, outfitted, and on site by eighteen-thirty. No later.”

  She gestured toward the board. “Look at what this asshole’s capable of. Don’t get sloppy. Dismissed.”

  “One moment, Lieutenant, if you will.” Roarke pushed off the side wall. “There’s an after-party at Around the Park. Once said asshole is where he belongs, you’re all very welcome to attend. Again, Lieutenant, if you will.”