by J. D. Robb
“Understood. The name of your sensitive sounds familiar to me. I may have met her at some time or other. Socially. I’ll check with my wife, who has a better memory for that sort of thing.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want me to wait to speak with Ms. Sanchez again until you’ve done so?”
“No. This is your call. Detective, your opinion on this matter?”
Peabody’s spine snapped straight. “Mine, sir? Ah . . . I might be more open to extrasensory gifts, Commander. We have sensitives in my family.”
“Would you be one of them?”
She relaxed enough to smile. “No, sir. I just have the basic five. I believe, as Lieutenant Dallas believes, that Celina Sanchez is worth at least a follow-up interview.”
“Then talk to her. If and when the eyes leak to the media, we’ll see this case blasted on and through every media outlet. We need to close it before the circus comes to town.”
Celina lived in a section of SoHo that ran to high-end art, trendy restaurants, and tiny one-room boutiques. It was the land of young, well-heeled, well-dressed urbanites who liked to hold intimate, catered brunches on Sunday mornings, voted Liberal Party, and attended esoteric plays they only pretended to understand, much less enjoy.
Street artists were welcome, and coffeehouses were abundant.
Celina’s two-story loft had once been part of a three-story sweatshop that had produced massive amounts of cheap, designer knockoff clothing. It, like other similar buildings in the sector, had been revitalized, rehabbed, and reclaimed by those who could afford the real estate.
From the street, Eve noted the windows were as wide as shuttle ports, and a long, narrow terrace with an ornate iron railing had been added to the third floor.
“You sure you don’t want to call for an appointment?” Peabody asked.
“She ought to know we’re coming.”
Peabody approached the sidewalk-level front entrance beside Eve. “That’s sarcasm, sir.”
“Peabody, you know me too well.” Eve rang the buzzer for Celina’s loft. Moments later, Celina’s voice drifted through the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”
There was another sound. It might have been a sigh. “Please come up. I’ll release the door and the elevator. Just ask for two.”
The little security light over the door went from red to green. Locks snicked open. Eve stepped inside the entryway, scanned and observed three first-level apartments. To her left, an elevator door opened. They stepped in, requested two.
When the door opened again, Celina stood on the other side of an ironwork gate. Her hair was up today, in some twisty coil that was secured by what looked like a couple of fancy chopsticks.
She wore skin-pants that were cropped a few inches above the ankle and a snug tank that left her midriff bare. She wore no shoes, no facial enhancements, no jewelry.
She opened the gate, stepped back. “I was afraid you’d come. We might as well sit down.”
She gestured behind her to a wide space furnished with a generous S-shaped sofa the color of good red wine. There was an oversized table on each curve, and on one stood a long, shallow bowl filled with what appeared to be rocks. Beside it, a tall pillar candle rose out of a hammered cup.
The floor was the original wood, by Eve’s guess, and had been sanded, sealed—whatever people did with old, original wood—to turn it into a glossy, honey-toned sea. Brightly patterned rugs were scattered over it, as brightly patterned art was scattered over the pale green walls.
Through archways, she spotted the kitchen, a party-sized dining area. There were open-tread, metal steps, painted a deeper green than the walls and boasting a railing that was fashioned to resemble a slim, slithering snake.
“What’s that?” Eve nodded toward the only door, shut and secured.
“My consultant space. It has another entrance. I like the convenience of working at home when I can, but I also value my privacy. I don’t take clients in this part of my house.”
She gestured again, toward the sofa. “Can I get you something to drink? I cancelled my consults today. I don’t think I’d do anyone any good. You caught me in the middle of a yoga session. I’d like some tea myself.”
“No, thanks,” Eve responded.
“I wouldn’t mind. If you’re making it anyway.”
Celina smiled at Peabody. “Have a seat. It won’t take long.”
Rather than sitting, Eve wandered. “You’ve got a big space here.”
“Yes. I need open spaces. I’d go crazy, for instance, in your office. You spoke with Louise?”
“She contacted you?”
“No. But you strike me as a thorough woman. I assume you checked my license, my record, my background, and spoke with Louise before deciding to talk to me again. You’d consider it necessary.”
“Louise said you were the black sheep.”
Celina came out, carrying a tray with a squat white pot and two fragile-looking white cups and saucers. She shot Eve a wry smile. “Yes, that’s accurate. My family disapproves, and is mildly embarrassed not only by my gift but that I choose to make a living from it.”
“You don’t need the money.”
“Not for financial security.” She crossed the room to set the tray on the table. “But for personal satisfaction. In your circumstances, Lieutenant, you hardly need the salary the police department pays you. But I imagine you collect it just the same.”
She poured two cups of tea, passed one to Peabody. “I can’t stop thinking about Elisa. I don’t want to think of her. I don’t want to be part of this. But I have to.”
“The NYPSD may hire and attach, at the primary’s request, expert consultants, civilians.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Celina arched one dark eyebrow. “And did I pass the audition?”
“So far. If you’re willing and able to serve as such on this matter, you’ll be required to sign a contract. The contract will include a gag order, preventing you, by law, from discussing any aspect of the investigation.”
“I’ve no desire to discuss any aspect of the investigation. If I agree to do this, I require you to sign a document ensuring that my name, my association with the investigation, will not be given to the media.”
“So you said before. You’ll be paid a fee—standard rate.” Eve held out a hand to Peabody, waited while Peabody took documents out of her bag. “You’ll want to read these over. You’re free to consult a lawyer or legal representative before signing.”
“You’re giving your word, I’m giving mine. I don’t need a lawyer for that.” But she crossed her legs, settled back, and read each document carefully. “I don’t have a pen.”
Peabody pulled one out, offered it. Celina signed both documents, handed the pen off to Eve.
“Well, that’s that, isn’t it?” Celina let out a breath after Eve scrawled her name on each contract. “That’s that. What do I do?”
“Tell me again exactly what you saw.” Eve laid a recorder on the table. “For the record.”
She went through it again, closing her eyes from time to time as she repeated details. Her hands didn’t shake, and her voice stayed strong and steady, but Eve watched her pale, degree by degree as she recounted the murder.
“And where were you when you saw this happen?”
“Upstairs. In bed. My security was on, all night, as always. I have full alarms, and cameras on all doors. You’re welcome to take the discs into evidence, check them.”
“I will. It covers both of us. Have you had any visions since night before last?”
“No. Just a . . . a sense of dread, and a feeling of anticipation. That could be my own nerves.”
“Peabody? Evidence bag.”
Saying nothing, Peabody took out a length of red corded ribbon, sealed. “Do you recognize this, Ms. Sanchez?”
“Celina.” Even her lips had gone white. “It looks like what he used on her.”
Eve unsealed the bag, held the ribbon
out. “Take it. Tell me what you see.”
“All right.” Celina set down her cup, then rubbed her palms nervously on her thighs. She breathed slowly, then took the ribbon.
She ran it through her fingers, kept her gaze fixed on it. “I don’t . . . nothing comes, nothing clear. Maybe I need time to prepare, maybe I need solitude.” Baffled frustration ran over her face. “I thought . . . I expected more. I was so sure that I’d get something since I had this connection. I know he used this to kill her. They both touched it, but I get nothing.”
Eve took the ribbon, resealed it, handed it back to Peabody. “Why do you think you didn’t see his face that night? You saw hers.”
“I don’t know. My connection must be with the victim. Maybe Elisa didn’t see him clearly.”
“Possible. Maybe you could try again, with the ribbon.”
“I don’t know what difference it would make. Maybe if you left me alone with it,” she began as Peabody took out an evidence bag.
“I can’t do that. Chain of evidence.”
“It doesn’t give off anything. Not for me, in any case.” Still, Celina reached out for it when Eve unsealed the bag.
When her fingers closed over it, her eyes went huge and blind. She dropped it to the floor, as if it had burst into flame. And her hand closed over her own throat as she choked.
While Eve only eyed her narrowly, Peabody sprang up, took Celina firmly by the shoulders and shook. “Snap back!” she ordered.
“Can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can. It’s not you. Take the air in, let it out. There, in and out again.”
“Okay. Okay.” She let her head fall back, closed her eyes as a single tear slid down her cheek. “Give me a minute.” She kept breathing, kept her eyes shut. “You’re a cold bitch, Dallas.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Testing me. The first ribbon was a blind, meant nothing. Just a test.”
“Bought it yesterday. Sealed up before I bagged it.”
“Smart. Thorough.” She had her breath back, and her color—and what might have been respect in her eyes. “Well, I suppose if I’d been murdered, I’d want a cold bitch looking for my killer.” Frowning, she looked at the ribbon Eve had picked up off the floor. “I wasn’t prepared. That’s why it hit so hard. I can prepare myself, to an extent anyway.”
She held out her hand, and Eve let the ribbon flow into her palm.
“She suffered. Terror and pain. She doesn’t see his face, not really. She’s dazed and afraid and hurt, but she fights him. God, he’s strong. Big, tough, strong. It’s not his face. I think it’s not his face. The rape is quick, almost mercifully quick. He’s in her, panting, pounding, when she feels this tighten around her neck. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she’s going to die. And she thinks: Vonnie. She thinks last of her child.”
“Tell me about him.”
She sat straighter, breathed slower. “He hates her. Fears her. Reveres her. But not her. So much rage, so much hate, rage, excitement. It’s hard to get more than that. It’s like blows raining down on my psyche. It’s hard to get through the madness. But I know he’s done this before.”
“Why does he take her eyes?”
“I . . . She needs to be in the dark. I don’t know, except he wants her in the dark. I’m sorry.” She handed the ribbon back to Eve. “It’s hard, and I can’t handle the ribbon for long. It’s too much. I can do it in short sessions.”
Eve nodded, noting the sheen of perspiration covering Celina’s face. “I see that. I need you to come with me to the crime scene.”
Celina pressed a hand to her belly. “I’d like to change first.”
“We’ll wait.”
After Celina had gone upstairs, Peabody let out a low whistle. “You gotta admit, she’s got stones.”
“Yeah. She stands up.”
“And from where I’m sitting, she’s the real deal.”
“Looks like.”
Restless, Eve got up. She liked the space, not just the amount of it, but the use of it. She admired the way Celina had held out her hand for the murder weapon.
“Is it the civilian or the psychic aspect you don’t like?”
Eve flicked a glance over her shoulder at Peabody’s question. “Little of both. I don’t like attaching civilians to an investigation, and don’t bother reminding me how often Roarke ends up that way. It’s bad enough he does, bad enough I’m getting used to it. And the psychic thing. How much good is that really going to do?”
She turned back to Peabody. “What did she tell us? He’s big and strong and out of his fucking mind. That’s no bulletin.”
“Dallas, it’s not like she’s going to give us a name and address. This stuff doesn’t work that way.”
“Why the hell not?” Irritated, she jammed her hands in her pockets. “If you can see stuff, why can’t you see salient details? The killer is Murdering Bastard who resides at 13 Homicide Drive. That would be useful.”
“Frosty. Just think of how quick we’d close a case. Then the department would hire a whole team of psychics—the, ah, the SDD—Sensitive Detective Division—and . . . You know what, I don’t like it after all. We’d be out of a job.”
Eve shot a dark glance toward the stairs. “And I don’t like the idea that she could start poking around in my head.”
“She wouldn’t do that, Dallas. Legitimate sensitives respect privacy. They don’t intrude.”
Peabody’s father had, Eve remembered. Inadvertently, but all the same. And there, she admitted, was the core of her bias.
“I like her,” Peabody added.
“Yeah. She’s okay. We’ll take this little field trip, see what comes of it. Then you and me? We’re going back to straight cop work.”
Celina changed into a pair of black pants and a blue, scooped-necked blouse. She wore several crystal drops on a chain around her neck.
“For protection, intuition, the opening of the third eye.” She held them up as they stood at the edge of Central Park. “Not everyone ascribes to their benefits, but under the present circumstances, I’m willing to try anything.”
She adjusted the enormous sunshades that hid half her face. “Pretty day,” she said. “Warm and sunny. The sort of day that brings people outside. I love New York this time of year. And I’m stalling.”
“The applicable areas have been searched, swept, recorded,” Eve began. “From what we’ve learned, the victim walked the dog in this direction, and entered the park approximately at this point.”
Eve started into the park.
“So many people have been through here, I don’t know what I’m going to get. Truthfully, my gift is more direct, contact with someone or something. Usually.”
About ten yards into the trees, Eve stopped. There was no one around, she noted after a sweep. People were at work, in school, at the shops, in restaurants.
It was too close to the street, this tony street, for chemi-head gatherings or illegals transactions.
“It was here, wasn’t it?” Celina took off her shades, pocketed them, stared at the ground. “Where he grabbed her, dragged her deeper into the woods.”
Her breathing was slow and even as she walked. A very deliberate sound.
“Struck her, in the face, knocked her down, dazed her. I can see the ground’s torn up, so this must be where he . . .”
She took another breath, then squatted down and ran her hands over the grass and dirt. Yanked them back again. “God!”
Eve could see her clench her jaw as she touched the ground again. “He raped her here. Control, humiliate, and punish. There’s a name in his mind—not hers. I can’t see it, can’t quite . . . but it’s not her name, it’s not Elisa he’s punishing.”
She drew her hands back again, tucked them under her arms as if to warm them. “It’s difficult for me to get past her, and what was done to her. She’s my connection, and she doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know why this is happening. He’s just . . .”
She lifted h
er head, looked at Eve. “I can see you.”
Eve felt a chill in her belly. “I’m not why you’re here.”
“You’re a very strong presence, Dallas. Strong mind, strong feelings. Strong instincts. You layer over it all.”
With a half laugh, Celina straightened, stepped carefully back and away from the scene. “I’m surprised you’re so resistant and suspicious of sensitives when you have a gift yourself.”
“I don’t.”
Staring, Celina huffed out an impatient breath. “Bull. Do you think what you see and feel and know is just instinct? Only instinct?” Then she shrugged. “Whatever you call it, it’s a gift.”
She rubbed her arms. “He carried her from here. It’s dim because she was already gone. Some part of her is still with me, but it’s thin.”
“She weighed about a hundred and thirty. Deadweight now.”
“He’s very strong.”
“Have to be.”
“Prides himself,” Celina murmured as she began to walk. “Yes, there’s pride. In his body, in his strength. She’s so much weaker than he is now.”
“Not the victim.” Eve fell into step with her. “But who the victim symbolizes.”
“Possibly. Probably.” Celina brushed stray hair away from her face. A trio of interlinked gold circles swung at her ears. “You probably see him more clearly than I do. You’re not as afraid of him as I am.”
She paused to study the castle. “I wonder why he picked this spot. It’s fanciful. A landmark. He could have left her anywhere. It would’ve been easier.”
Eve had her thoughts on that, but kept them to herself. “How tall is he?”
“Well over six feet. Well over. Closer to seven. Thick-bodied, but hard—not fat. Not hard fat. Muscular. I could feel that, when he raped her.”
She sat on the grass. “Sorry. I’m getting the shakes. I’m not used to this kind of work. It’s draining. How do you do it?”
“It’s what I do.”
“Yes. Both of you.” She opened her purse, took out a pretty box. “Blocker,” she said when she selected a pill from it. “Vicious headache. I can’t do anymore today. I’m sorry. Tapped out.”