Visions in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “Good, fine.” After a brief hesitation, Eve pulled credits out of her pocket. “Do me a favor? Get me a Booster Bar.”

  “All right.” But she waved Eve’s credits away. “My treat.”

  “Thanks.” Eve stuck them back in her pocket, jiggled them. “I’m avoiding contact with machines unless absolutely necessary. It’s an experiment.”

  “Hmm. Fake fruit or fake caramel?”

  “Fake caramel. Did you have time to read the report on Napier?”

  “Only to scan it, I’m afraid.” Mira made the selection, and the machine—in what Eve considered particularly snotty tones—raved about the Booster Bar’s delicious flavor, energy snap, and on-the-go convenience before reciting the ingredients and nutritional data.

  “There ought to be a mute feature on these things. There really should.” Eve ripped the wrapper, bit in. “Do you need more time to study the case file?”

  “I’ll certainly take it, but I can tell you what you’ve probably already concluded. He’s escalating. Since he killed again so quickly, it’s logical to assume he’s already selected and stalked more targets. Your on-site indicates no defensive wounds, and a more violent beating premortem.”

  “She was smaller than Maplewood. Sort of delicate. And he clocked her in the face first off, I’d say. Broke her jaw. Didn’t have any fight in her.”

  “From the premortem injuries, my conclusion would be he was more angry, more frustrated, by the fact this victim didn’t fight. He can only truly demonstrate his superior strength and power if his victim struggles.”

  “Beating on somebody’s not much fun if they can’t feel it.”

  “In this case, I’d agree with that. She would have been somewhat of a disappointment to him.”

  “If he’s disappointed, he may kill again more quickly. He may need the satisfaction.” Eve took another bite of the bar, paced up and down the corridor while Mira waited patiently.

  “I’ve got a media conference coming up. Do I tell women with long brown hair to stay off the streets after dark? Jesus. I feel like I’m building a box around him. I feel that, but I haven’t got all the sides steady in place yet. While I’m getting them, while I’m looking for the goddamn lid, he’s going to get another one.”

  “Yes, he probably will.” Mira spoke with complete calm. “He may very well kill more than one before you finish the sides of that box and close the lid. And those deaths will be his doing, his responsibility. Not yours.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “But it’s hard for you to think there’s a woman out there, going about her day, her life, unaware that someone’s planning to end it, violently. Horribly. It’s hard for you to know he may succeed despite everything you’re doing.”

  “While he’s planning it, I’m going to a fricking dinner party tonight.”

  “Eve.” Mira took her arm, eased them a little farther away from the traffic pattern in the corridor. “There was a time you did nothing but the work.”

  “Dinner party.” Eve held her hands out like scales, juggled the right. “Stopping a killer.” And dropped the left as if with great weight. “No-brainer.”

  “It’s not that simple or clear-cut, and you know it.” The stubborn set of Eve’s jaw had her pushing the point. “I’ll tell you now that I estimated you had two, maybe three more years before you burned out. Before you couldn’t stand over another body and keep your sanity. That would’ve been a tragedy, for you, for this department, for the city.”

  Even the thought of it rolled ice into Eve’s gut. “I wouldn’t have let it happen.”

  “It’s not a choice. Two years ago February,” Mira said quietly. “You came in for standard Testing after terminating a suspect.”

  “Suspect’s a little vague description-wise when the guy was holding the bloody knife with the kid he’d just ripped apart in the blood pool at his feet.”

  “You almost didn’t make it through Testing. Not because of the termination, which was justified and necessary, but because of the child. You got through it on sheer will. You know it, and so do I.”

  She remembered. She remembered perfectly the way she’d raced up the stairs, the screams tearing through the air, tearing through her head. And what she’d seen when she’d broken in the door. Too late.

  She’d looked like a doll. A tiny, staring doll in the hands of a monster.

  “I can still see her. Her name was Mandy.” Eve eased out a breath. “Some hit you harder than others.”

  “I know it.” Unable to prevent herself, Mira laid a hand on Eve’s arm, rubbed lightly from elbow to shoulder. “You did the job, but couldn’t save the child. And it hit you, very hard. You’ve had others, will have others, that hit you equally. And the fact that you’ve opened your life, that you will go to a dinner party tonight, even if the job is still circling in part of your mind, may or may not make you a better person, a better cop, but I can promise you it’s given you more years. A great many more years on the job.”

  “There was a time what you’re saying would’ve just pissed me off.”

  A smile quirked Mira’s lips. “Something else I know.”

  “Since it doesn’t—much—maybe you’re right. It’s just dinner. You gotta eat.” She looked down at the wrapper in her hand, gave a half laugh. “Eventually.”

  “I’ll read the case file more thoroughly. If there’s anything else, I’ll contact you right away. And I’m going to red-flag this investigation. I’ll be available to you for consult anytime. Day or night.”

  “Thanks.” She rolled the wrapper into a ball, pitched it into a recycler. “And thanks for the boost. All around.”

  She stopped off in the bathroom to splash ice water on her face. And pulled out her communicator as she dried off.

  “Peabody.”

  “Sir!”

  Eve could see her white face, her startled eyes, in the dim light of the crib. “On your feet, soldier. Media conference in fifteen. One Police Plaza.”

  “Got it. Just let me slap myself around and wake up. I’m on my way.”

  “Get there now. I’ll slap you around.”

  “You sweet-talker.”

  Eve’s lips twitched as she broke transmission. Maybe it wasn’t such a hardship to open up her life—here and there.

  In the grand scheme, Eve considered media conferences more of an ache in the ass than an actual pain. It was an annoyance, like a mild digestive disorder.

  She could see the politics of the setup—using the steps of Central to make it a cop deal, rather than a mayoral one. Having the mayor make a brief statement before stepping back and giving the podium to the chief.

  Tibble was terse and to the point, as she expected from him. He looked powerful and concerned and angry. All the traits you’d want in the city’s top cop when a killer was brutalizing innocent women in the public parks. He wore a dark gray suit with a somber blue tie, and a small gold NYPSD badge in the form of a pin glinting on his lapel.

  A formal and distinguished look, Eve supposed, that fit him like a glove. He took no questions but, like the mayor, issued a statement.

  We’re in charge, Eve concluded. But we’re not in the trenches. We work for order, and send our soldiers out to maintain it.

  It was a good theme, a strong stand, and a wise move to yield the podium to Whitney.

  It all took time, and though no new information was really dispensed, it gave the media bones to gnaw on, and let the public know their top officials were on the job.

  It was a good city, tightly run, Eve thought. For all its dark corners and jagged edges, it was a good city. That was important to remember. You didn’t want to lose sight of the value and the strengths because you spent too much time wading through the wastes.

  So she could stand here, in the bright light of a September afternoon on the steps of her house, and know there was murder and meanness and casual cruelties, and still it was a good city.

  A good city, and the only home she’d ever had.

/>   “As primary on this investigation, Lieutenant Dallas will take more questions.” Whitney turned to her. “Lieutenant.”

  Pecking order, Eve thought, and on impulse, took Peabody’s arm, ignored the shocked jerk from it, and drew her to the podium.

  “My partner, Detective Peabody, and I have little to add to the previous statements and the answers Commander Whitney has already given. This investigation is our priority. It is ongoing and active, and we are pursuing any and all leads.”

  Questions spewed out like a geyser of hot air. She let them wash over her, then picked one out of the flood.

  Both victims were mutilated. Do you believe these to be cult killings?

  “None of the evidence we’ve accumulated during this investigation indicates cult involvement. We believe Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier were both killed by one individual, acting alone and on his own volition.”

  Can you give us the nature of these mutilations?

  “Due to the nature of the investigation, our desire to apprehend this individual with dispatch, and the necessity of building a strong case to bring said individual to justice, we can’t reveal specifics as pertains to said investigation.”

  The public has a right to know.

  Did they never tire of swinging that splintered bat? Eve wondered.

  “The public has a right to be protected, and we’re doing everything in our power to do so. The public has a right to be confident that its police force and city officials will work diligently to identify, apprehend, and prosecute the person responsible for the deaths of Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier. The public does not have a right to all the salient and sensitive details of this case.”

  And you, she thought, don’t have the right to clock up your ratings by slathering over the dead.

  What connection is there between the two victims?

  “Peabody,” Eve murmured, and heard her partner gulp.

  “They were both killed by the same method,” Peabody stated. “They were both female, in the same age group, the same racial group. They were both in public parks at the time of the attacks.”

  What other connections? What are your leads?

  “We’re not able to disclose or discuss specific details of the investigation for reasons already stated.”

  Do you consider him a sexual predator?

  “Two women,” Eve began with what she considered Herculean patience, “were brutalized, raped, and murdered. I think you can draw your own conclusions.”

  Do you believe he’ll kill again?

  Can you describe the murder weapon in more detail?

  Do you have any suspects?

  Do you expect to make an arrest soon?

  Will you close more parks?

  Was the mutilation sexual in nature?

  “I wonder.” Her eyes had been flat and cold, but now hints of temper glinted in them. Eve interrupted the barrage of questions, and this time there was an edge in her voice. “I sincerely wonder which part of ‘we will not disclose or discuss specifics’ you fail, as a group, to comprehend. I wonder why you insist on wasting your breath and our time asking questions we cannot and will not answer. So let me save us all the effort and tell you what I know.”

  They quieted, as if she were about to reveal a new set of commandments. “Two women, and let me repeat their names in case you’ve forgotten them. Because I haven’t forgotten who they were, nor has my partner, nor has any member of this department forgotten them. Their names are Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier. These women’s lives were violently and unrightfully taken. They were taken near their own homes, in our city. It is their rights that were violated in the most heinous way. It is their rights we will seek to defend as we continue our investigation. We will continue this investigation, with all the resources available, until such time as the individual who violated them is identified, apprehended, and incarcerated. I work for Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier, and now I’m going to get back to it.”

  She turned away, strode back into Central, and ignored the questions hurled at her back.

  The moment she was back in, a handful of cops, drones, and civilian liaisons broke into applause.

  “Shit” was all Eve said, and that was under her breath.

  “I thought you were brilliant,” Peabody said from behind her. “Sincerely.”

  “Doesn’t do any good to get pissed off, or to preach.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think Maplewood’s and Napier’s friends and families will appreciate what you said, and how you said it. Aside from that, I think it sends a message to the killer. Loud and clear. We’re hunting him, and we’re not going to stop.”

  “Yeah. Well, there’s that.”

  “And since I enjoy watching you tear a small strip off the more ass-holey reporters, I can forgive you for tossing me into the deep end of the pool, without so much as a ‘Hold your breath.’ ”

  “You did fine.”

  “I did,” Peabody agreed. Then closed her mouth quickly when Tibble and Whitney entered.

  “Lieutenant, Detective.” Tibble nodded to both of them. “You had considerable to say this afternoon, Lieutenant. Not your usual taciturn self.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well said. Commander?”

  Whitney paused as Tibble strode off. “Mayor’s closing it down. A moment of silence for the victims.” Whitney glanced toward the doors, cynicism in every pore. “An inspired touch and a good visual for the evening reports. Chill down a little,” he suggested, “and get back to work.”

  “I’m as chilly as I’m going to get,” Eve decided after he’d moved off to join Tibble. She checked the time. “It’s early for anyone who was on Napier’s shift, but let’s take a shot at O’Hara’s.”

  Her pocket ’link signaled. “Hell,” she muttered when the readout warned her it was Nadine.

  “I’ve made my statement, answered the questions. I’m done, Nadine.”

  “I’m not calling as a reporter. Give me five minutes.”

  She’d sneak, Eve thought, she’d prevaricate, but she wouldn’t lie.

  “Heading down to the garage. Can you get in there?”

  The smirk twisted her lips. “Please.”

  “Level One, Section Three. I don’t have time to wait for you.”

  She didn’t have to wait. Nadine was already there, and the fact that she was idly buffing her fingernails told Eve she wanted to rub it in a little.

  “I know this is your slot,” Nadine began. “But since when is this your ride?”

  Eve skimmed a hand over the fender of the shiny blue vehicle. Soon, when she was absolutely sure of privacy, she might just kiss it.

  “Since my devious partner used the right bribe on the right person.”

  “Go, Peabody.”

  “It was nothing. A couple vids of Dallas naked in the shower, and we’re cruising.”

  “Very funny. What do you want, Nadine? I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “Breen Merriweather.” There was no smirk now.

  “You have information?”

  “I don’t know that I do. I’ve very carefully asked some questions,” she added before Eve could speak. “I know how to ask questions, and I comprehend all manner of things, including we will not discuss or disclose. Asking questions with the idea that Breen was one of this bastard’s targets puts a different complexion on the answers. She made an offhand comment, a few nights before she disappeared, to some of the tech crew.”

  “What comment?”

  “Coffee-break talk, some of the girl techs. One of them man-hunting. No good men left in the city. No big strong heroes, blah, blah. And Breen said she should come ride home with her some night. There was this big, silent type starting to ride her train. She made some joke about that old horse—you know, the size of a man’s thumbs indicating the size of his equipment. Said this guy must be hung like a bull because his hands were the size of turkey platters.”

  “That it?”

  “No.” She pushed at her h
air. “They were joking around, just chilling. So there was a lot of how big is he, Breen, and your expected lewd conversation. She—Breen—she said she’d pass him to one of the other girls, because he wasn’t her type. She liked men with hair, and he was probably an asshole anyway, because he always wore sunshades. Middle of the night, and he’s wearing sunshades.”

  “Okay.”

  “It had to be him.”

  “A lot of people ride the subway at night, Nadine. Some of them are men. Some of the men are large. But yeah, it’s possible.”

  “Trains have security cams.”

  “Yeah, they do.” It was hard to look at hope, insistent hope, in the eyes of a friend. “And the discs are recycled every thirty days. She’s been gone a lot longer than that.”

  “But you could—”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “The sunshades, Dallas. He’s got a thing for eyes.”

  “I comprehend things, too. I’m going to follow up on it.”

  “All right.” She backed off though Eve could all but see her quiver to say more, to ask more. “You have to promise to let me know.”

  “Soon as I can.”

  Nadine nodded, then shook herself and looked back toward the vehicle. “So, how long you figure before you trash this one?”

  “Shut up.”

  To discourage further conversation, she got in the car. She started it up, reversed around Nadine, and drove out of the garage.

  And immediately contacted Feeney.

  “I’ve got a tip.”

  “Me, too. Let a smile be your umbrella and you’re gonna get your dumb ass wet.”

  “Huh. I’ll remember that. Merriweather, Breen, missing and presumed. She commented to a coworker a couple days before she poofed about a big guy who started riding her train. Made a lot of comments regarding his size. Also described him as bald and wearing sunshades.”

  “Discs are recycled by now, if not destroyed.” He pulled his lip. “We can go to the Transit Authority, cull through until we find discs, if they still exist, for that time period. We can pick through the images, try to find echoes of previous images. Lot of luck involved there, but we might find him.”

  She noticed—tried not to, but couldn’t avoid it—that today’s shirt was the color of lime juice. “I can ask Whitney for the extra manpower and OT you need.”