by J. D. Robb
“Not even remotely.”
“Someone could’ve given Sommers the droid. We’ll need to check with the friends she had dinner with after the play. It’s also possible somebody lost the thing in the park before Sommers came along, and she saw it, picked it up. Not so easy to check that out. If we crap out with the friends, we start checking the retail outlets for purchases, and try to match any with the lists EDD is already running on the chance the kitty cat was his.”
“Sounds like a plan. Start running with that,” Eve said as they started back to Central. “I need to check with Feeney on EDD’s progress, then get to Mira’s for the you’re-beginning-to-feel-sleepy hour.”
“You think he’ll hit again tonight?”
“I think if we don’t lock some names in, if Celina doesn’t have a breakthrough, and women don’t stay the hell out of the parks in the middle of the damn night, Morris is going to be hosting another guest real soon.”
On her way up to Feeney, she snagged a drone from Illegals and had him pump her out a tube of Pepsi from vending. She thought her new method was working out well. The machines didn’t balk, and she wasn’t tempted to beat them into rubble.
A good deal all around.
She spotted McNab doing the standard EDD pace, dance, chatter when she swung in. He saw her and pranced in her direction. “Hold program,” he said, and tipped down his headset. “Hey, Lieutenant. Where’s your curvaceous partner?”
“If you refer to Detective Peabody, she’s working. Most of us do.”
“Just wondering if you’re figuring to split end of duty. We’re hoping to finish up with pack-it-up mode tonight and start the haul-it-over mode tomorrow.”
He looked so damn happy, she couldn’t work up any sarcasm. Any minute, she suspected the words would float visibly out of his mouth in the shape of little red hearts.
Was it something in the air? Peabody and McNab, Charles and Louise, Mavis and Leonardo. It was like a smooch epidemic.
Come to think of it, she and Roarke hadn’t had a single spat, skirmish, or spew in . . . well, days. “Can’t say when we’ll clock out. She’s tugging a couple lines right now, and after I talk to Feeney, we’ll have more, so . . . What?”
He’d winced. Just a quick flicker, but she’d caught it.
“Nothing. No thing. Man, I gotta get back to this or my ass’ll be in the flames. Continue program.”
He pranced off, double-time.
“Shit.” Eve muttered to herself, and made a beeline for Feeney’s office.
Feeney had a headset, and was also running two comps simultaneously, biting out orders, tapping screens or keys in a method she supposed she’d have admired if she understood it. She thought he looked a little like one of those orchestra conductors, in charge, focused, and slightly mad.
Today’s shirt was the color of egg substitute, but to Eve’s relief was showing some wrinkles and a little coffee stain bloomed between the third and fourth button.
When she stepped into his line of sight, she caught the same flickering wince she’d seen on McNab’s face. She said, “Goddamn it.”
“Pause all programs.” He pulled off the headset. “Doing another run, all data, but what I’m going to tell you isn’t going to make you happy.”
“How can there not be matches?” She opened the soft-drink tube, violently.
“We got a few—from residential to craft shop, from residential to gyms. But we get nothing on the shoe. None of the purchases of your shoe were made by names on the other lists.”
She dropped into a chair, drummed her fingers on the arm. “What about the other matches?”
“Got a couple residents—male, within age parameters, who made purchases at one of the craft shops within the last twelve months. Can’t put the red cord in their hands, but they’ve patronized the establishments. Got you a few more who use or have used the gyms. But we don’t get any dupes—no name or names that pop in both places, and none on record as purchasing the shoe.”
“Well, he did it all. Ribbon, shoe, gym. I know it.”
“Doesn’t mean he paid for the murder weapon or the shoes come to that. Guy who rapes and strangles and cuts out eyes isn’t going to blush over some shoplifting.”
“Yeah, I’ve considered that. Could be on the murder weapon. Tougher sell on the shoes. Not a snap to slip a pair of shoes the size of airboards out of a store. Hell, he could’ve lifted them off a delivery van. He might drive a damn delivery van. Had to have transpo to take out Kates and Merriweather. Could’ve gotten the ribbon the same way.”
“We can start looking at the delivery services and drivers.”
“Yeah, Christ. I’ll start that. You still up for some fieldwork?”
“Get me up from this desk? Sure.”
She drank contemplatively. “We could split up the matches we’ve got. Have to check them out. Split them up, move faster through them.”
“I can help you out in a couple hours. Got some things to finish up.”
“Good. Peabody’s running something else. I’d want her with experience if she hits on our guy. She can handle herself, but it’d be better if she had somebody with her who’s clocked more field time. You partner with her for this?”
“Sure. What about you?”
“I’ll see if my personal expert consultant, civilian’s got some time. I’ve got a session with the psychic and the shrink. Depending on how it goes, I may have a little more data to input.”
She pushed to her feet. “Feeney,” she said before she started out. “Why would anybody buy a droid cat?”
“Litter box issue?”
“Huh. That’s a point.”
“I’m a little nervous.”
Celina lay back in a sleep chair, with the lights dim and a whisper of music Eve thought sounded like water flowing into a pool.
She’d left her hair loose and curling lavishly. Around her neck was a silver chain that dangled with several crystals in wand shapes. She wore a dress today, a long straight column in severe black that stopped inches above her ankles.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair.
“Try to relax.” Mira moved around the chair, checking, Eve supposed, the subject’s vital and brain wave patterns.
“I am. Really.”
“We’re recording this, you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve voluntarily agreed to undergo hypnosis.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve requested that Lieutenant Dallas be present during the session.”
“Yes.” Celina smiled a little. “Thanks for making the time.”
“It’s okay.” Eve ordered herself not to shift in her chair. She’d never witnessed a session, and wasn’t sure she was going to like it, even as an observer.
“Are you comfortable?”
Celina breathed slowly, in and out. Her hand relaxed on the arms of the chair. “Yes. Surprisingly.”
“I want you to continue to breathe, slow and deep. Picture the air coming inside you, soft and blue, expelling, clean and white.”
Mira lifted a small screen, and Eve could see the silver star on a deep blue background. The star pulsed, gently, like a quiet heartbeat. “Look at the star. Your breath comes from the star, returns to it. The star is your center.”
Uneasy, Eve looked away from the screen, pushed her thoughts back to the case to block out the soothing tone of Mira’s voice.
She didn’t think you could get hypnotized by accident, but why risk it.
Time drifted—the liquid music, Mira’s quiet voice, Celina’s deep breaths.
When Eve risked a glance back, she saw the silver star now filled the screen, and that Celina’s gaze was riveted on it.
“You’re floating toward the star now. It’s all you see, all there is to see. Close your eyes now, and see the star inside you. Let yourself float with it. You’re very relaxed, light as air. You’re absolutely safe. You can sleep now, and while you sleep you’ll hear my voice. You’ll be abl
e to speak and respond. You’ll keep the star inside you, and know you’re safe. I’ll count, and when I reach ten, you’ll sleep.”
As she counted, Mira set the screen aside, and once again moved around Celina to check her medicals.
“Are you sleeping, Celina?”
“Yes.”
“And are you comfortable?”
“I am.”
“You can hear my voice, and respond to my voice. Will you lift your left arm?”
When she did, Mira nodded to Eve. “And lower it. You’re safe, Celina.”
“Yes, I’m safe.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Celina Indiga Tereza Sanchez.”
“Nothing can hurt you. Even when I take you back, when I ask you to see something difficult to see, to tell me something difficult to tell, you’re safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I’m safe.”
“Go back to the park, Celina. To Central Park. It’s night, a cool night, but comfortable. What do you see?”
“Trees and grass and shadows, streetlights glowing through the leaves.”
“What do you hear?”
“Cars passing on the street. Music, a little music through an open window as one goes by. Neo-punk. It’s harsh. I don’t care for it. Footsteps. Someone’s crossing the street. I wish she wouldn’t come here.”
“Do you see the woman? The woman coming toward you. She has a little dog on a leash.”
“Yes. Yes, I see her. It’s a little white dog, silly little dog trotting along. She laughs at the dog.”
“What does the woman look like?”
“She’s pretty. A homey sort of pretty. She has brown hair, light brown hair, straight to her shoulders. Her eyes are . . . I can’t see the color, because it’s dark. They might be brown, too, but it’s too dark to tell. She’s white, and looks very fit and healthy. She looks happy as she walks the dog. She talks to the dog. ‘Just a quick walk tonight,’ she says. ‘You be a good doggy now.’ ”
Her breath hitched, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “There’s someone there. There’s someone watching.”
“It’s all right. He can’t hurt you. He can’t see you or hear you. Can you see him?”
“I . . . It’s dark. Shadows. In the shadows, watching her. I can hear him, breathing—fast—but she can’t. She can’t hear him. She doesn’t know he’s watching. She should go back now, go back into the lights, away from the shadows. She needs to go back! But she doesn’t. She doesn’t know he’s there until he . . . No!”
“He can’t hurt you, Celina. Listen to my voice. Nothing can hurt you. You’re safe. Breathe in the blue, breathe out the white.”
Celina’s breathing evened, but her voice continued to shake. “He’s hurting her. He jumped at her, hit her, and the little dog ran away, trailing his leash. He’s hurting her, hitting her. She fights. Blue, her eyes are blue. I see them now, and they’re afraid. She tries to run, but he’s too big. He’s too fast! She can’t scream, can’t scream when he’s on top of her. Crushing her.”
“Celina. Can you see him?”
“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to. He might see me. If he sees me, he’ll—”
“He can’t see you. You’re floating, and he can’t see you. You’re safe, and floating.”
“He can’t see me.”
“That’s right.”
“There’s nothing I can do.” She shifted restlessly in her chair. “Why do I have to see this? I can’t help her.”
“Yes, you can. If you look at him, if you tell me what you see, it will help her. Look at him, Celina.”
“He’s big. He’s very big. Strong. She can’t push him away, she can’t fight. She—”
“Look at him, Celina. Just him now.”
“He’s . . . Black, he’s wearing black. Like the shadows. His hands . . . his hands are pulling and tearing at her clothes. He calls her a whore. ‘See how you like it now, whore. It’s your turn now, bitch.’ ”
“His face, Dr. Mira,” Eve murmured. “Give me his face.”
“Look at his face, Celina.”
“I’m afraid.”
“He doesn’t see you. You don’t have to be afraid of him. Look at his face. What do you see?”
“Rage. Rage. Contorted. His eyes are black, black and blind. I can’t see his eyes. He’s wearing something over them. Shades, shades over his eyes, with a strap around his head. His head shines. His face shines. Horrible. He’s raping her. Grunting and slamming himself into her. I don’t want to see.”
“Just his face.”
“There’s something over it. A mask? It shines. Not a mask. Something shiny and slick. Not white. Not white under the shine. Brown. Tanned. I don’t know.”
Her breathing went rapid, thready as she turned her head side to side. “His face is wide, wide and square.”
“Eyebrows,” Eve prompted.
“Do you see his eyebrows, Celina?”
“Very dark and thick. He’s killing her now. Pulling the red ribbon tight, tighter. She can’t breathe. We can’t breathe.”
“I have to bring her out,” Mira said when Celina started to gasp for air. “Celina, turn away now. Turn away from them now and look at your star. Watch your star. Can you see it?”
“Yes, I . . .”
“It’s all you see. Only the star. It’s beautiful, it’s peaceful. It’s guiding you back now. Bringing you home. You’re floating down now, very slowly. You feel relaxed, refreshed. When I tell you to open your eyes, you’ll wake up, and you’ll remember everything you saw, everything we talked about. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I want to wake up.”
“You’re waking up now, coming up through the layers of sleep. Open your eyes, Celina.”
She blinked them open. “Dr. Mira.”
“Yes. Just stay still for a moment. I’m going to get you something to drink. You did very well.”
“I saw him.” She turned her head, looked at Eve. “I saw him, Dallas.” A smile trembled onto her lips, and she reached out a hand.
Eve rose, gave Celina’s hand a brief squeeze, since it seemed called for, then stepped back so Mira could give Celina a cup.
“Would you recognize him?” Eve asked.
“His face.” Celina shook her head and sipped. “It’s hard. The shades hid his eyes, and whatever was on his face—over it?—distorted it. I know the body type as I’d told you before. I know now he’s either mixed race, dark skinned or tanned. And the shape of his face. He’s bald. Smoothly, like a man who removes or has his hair removed. I don’t understand what he had on his face.”
“A sealant, most likely. Thickly applied. What about his voice? Any accent?”
“No . . . No. It was guttural, but that might have been the rage. He didn’t shout, though, not even when he . . . He kept his voice down.”
“Rings, jewelry, tats, scars, birthmarks?”
“I didn’t see anything. Didn’t notice. Can we try again, and I’ll—”
“Absolutely not.” Mira brought up the lights. “I won’t authorize another session until tomorrow evening, soonest. I’m sorry, Eve. This sort of thing can’t be rushed.”
“I feel fine,” Celina protested. “Better, in fact, than I did before we started.”
“And I want you to continue to feel fine. You’re to go home, relax, have a meal.”
“Can that meal include a really big glass of wine?”
“Certainly.” Mira patted Celina’s shoulder. “Do what you can to keep your mind off this, and we’ll take the next step forward tomorrow.”
“I feel like I did take a step. It won’t be as hard tomorrow. Are there photos I can look at?” she asked Eve. “Before the session tomorrow? I might recognize him if I saw his picture.”
“I’ll see what I can put together by then.”
“Well.” Celina set the cup aside. “I’m going to go have that wine.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Mira’s admin was closing up for the d
ay, and a check of the time told Eve it was nearly six. Time to get moving.
“Maybe when this is over, we can have a glass of wine together.”
Eve led the way to a glide. “Sounds good. This hypnosis thing, does it make you feel like somebody slipped you a tranq? You know, so you’re out of yourself?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. But you’re tethered, if you know what I mean. There’s some part of you that’s aware you’re being held safe, and you can come back.”
“Hmm.”
“It was a little strange, but not really unpleasant. The process, I mean, not what I saw during it. Where I had to go was very unpleasant, so I think that colors it somewhat. But, essentially, it’s not that different than having visions.”
“You got that part nailed.”
“I certainly should. I’m hoping this is a one-shot, this turn my gift’s taken. But if it’s not, I’ll handle it better next time.”
“You’ve handled yourself. You find your way out of this maze from here?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got to head back.” She gestured toward her sector.
“Haven’t you been on since early this morning?”
“That’s how it goes.”
“You can keep it,” Celina said sincerely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at Mira’s? Let me know if you want me to come in earlier and look at pictures.”
“You’ll hear from me.”
Eve peeled off, wound her way back to Homicide. She detoured by Peabody’s desk, thumped on it, gestured, and headed to her own office. “Got a basic description. Added to ours, he’s a really big son of a bitch. Mixed race or—”
“She said white before.”
“Sealant threw her off. Sounds like he coats it on thick, probably uses one that’s not completely clear. “Mixed race, brown skin or tanned. Bald—smooth dome. Square face, dark, thick eyebrows. No distinguishing marks that she made this time out. He wears dark shades when he does them.”
“Jesus.”
“Could be something’s wrong with his eyes, could be another symbol or part of his pathology. We’ll research eye diseases or sensitivities.”
“Funky-junkies are light sensitive.”
“He’s not on the funk. Steroids, maybe, to give the body a boost. What do you have for me?”