by J. D. Robb
“It would hardly be the first of his life.”
“And that I’m asking him to assist in a police investigation.”
“That may very well be a first.”
“Ha. No, I’m driving. I’m all buzzed from the chemicals.”
“Well now, that inspires confidence in your passenger.”
“I gotta do stuff or I’ll just rev. You take anything?”
“Not yet.”
She got behind the wheel. “Talk about more than human.”
“Just metabolism, darling. I’ll likely need something by midday if we’re still at it.”
“You can count on that. Witness lives same block as Peabody. Get me the exact address.” Then she looked over at him as he called up the data. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But this isn’t just for you.”
“No. I know.” Needing the contact, she reached over, gripped his hand as she drove through the gates. “But thanks.”
Chapter 20
She didn’t bother to hunt up a parking space, but doubled beside a clunky solar mini that looked as if it hadn’t moved in six months.
Flipping the ON DUTY light, she stepped out and ignored the shouted “Cops suck!” from the driver of a rusted compact stuck behind her. If she’d been feeling more chirpy, she’d have taken the time to stroll over and have a little chat with him.
Instead, because she couldn’t help herself, she walked across the street and studied the bloodstains on the pavement.
“Laid in wait. That’s his style. Maybe he followed her sometime, tracked her home sometime, and she didn’t make the tail.”
But she shook her head even as she said it. “You can’t just pop a cop’s address out. You work at it, maybe you can finesse it, but there are blocks on cops’ personal data. Had to tail her, or do some heavy hacking.”
She thought about the interview for Nadine, and the media conference. Both times she’d pushed Peabody forward.
“How long would it take a decent hacker to pop a blocked address?”
“Depending on talent and equipment . . .” Roarke was studying the bloodstains as well, and thinking of Peabody. Her steadiness, her sweetness. “Anywhere from an hour to a few days.”
“An hour? Jesus, why do we bother?”
“It’s a shield against the general populace. Tapping into a cop’s data is an automatic flag for CompuGuard. It’s a heavy risk unless you don’t give a bloody damn, or you know how to get around the blocks and guards. You have any reason to think he’s got above-average hacking skills?”
“Just thinking. He knew his victims’ schedules, their routes, their habits. Where they lived. And all but one lived without a partner.”
“Elisa Maplewood lived in a family unit.”
“Yeah, a family unit with the male portion of that unit out of the country. Maybe he factors that element in. He tailed them, yeah. Had to do some of that. And we’ve got Merriweather’s comment about the big, bald guy on her subway. But he could’ve done some comp research. Gather as much data as possible. He takes risks, sure—big ones. But they’re calculated. And the guy we’re projecting doesn’t blend. Merriweather spotted him. So I’m thinking he doesn’t do extensive fieldwork.”
“Preps as much as possible by remote.”
“It’s possible. Probable. He moved fast with Peabody. Faster, I think, than the others. That’s because she wasn’t the standard for him. She’s an add-on—prove a point because he was pissed. Or threatened.”
She stayed as she was, tilted her head to look up at the apartment windows. “And you know what else?”
“He didn’t know enough about her to know there was another cop up there. Waiting for her. Or enough about the neighborhood to consider someone might spot him and try to help.”
“Didn’t do as much research. Too mad, too threatened, in too much of a hurry.”
Eve angled back to look down the street. “She takes the subway most times, and she wouldn’t be looking for a shadow. He could’ve stalked her, like he stalked the others. But I don’t think it worked that way because she’d have made him. She’d have made a tail. She’s got good eyes, good instincts.”
“Hacking her address would cut back on the time, and the risk of being seen.”
“Yeah. And she was putting in overtime. You have to log any assigned OT. If he could get her address, he could get her schedule, because when I hooked her with Feeney and brought you in, I plugged it into the system.”
He took her chin, turning her head so their eyes met. “Eve.”
“I’m not blaming myself.” Or was trying not to. “I’m blaming him. I’m just trying to see how it went down, that’s all. He nails her home location, knows she’ll be late. If he knows all that, he knows she doesn’t have a personal vehicle registered in her name, and that she’ll most likely be on foot. So he comes here, parks, and just waits. Patient bastard. He just waits until she comes along.”
“Still risky. This street’s well-lighted, and she’s less than a half a block from her door. And she’s a cop, armed and able. It wasn’t smart,” Roarke said. “It wasn’t like the others.”
“No, with her—me—he was pissed. Prove a point, like I said. But at the base of it, he doesn’t figure she’ll give him trouble. Not like she did. She’s just a woman, and he’s a big, strong man. Take her down, take her down, toss her in the back of the van, and poof.”
She crouched down, laid her hand on the stain of her partner’s blood. “Where was he going to take her? Same place, same place he took the others, the ones before? The missings and presumeds.”
“She’ll have gotten a good look at him. She’ll be able to describe him more thoroughly, even more than Celina.”
Eve glanced up. “If she remembers. Head trauma, she might not remember. But if she does, she’ll make him. She’s sharp and she notes the details. She’ll be the one who takes him down. When she wakes up. If she remembers.”
Eve pushed to her feet. “Let’s see what the witnesses saw. We’ll take the female first.”
“Essie Fort. Single, age twenty-seven. Paralegal at Driscoll, Manning, and Fort. Tax lawyers.”
Eve worked up a smile as they approached the building. “You’re handy.”
“We do what we can.” He pressed the button for Fort in 3A.
While they waited, Eve turned, judged the distance between the door and the point of attack. A male voice came through the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. We’d like to speak with Ms. Fort.”
“I want to see your . . . oh, there it is,” the voice said when she held her badge up to the security cam. “Come on up.”
He buzzed them in. And was waiting at the door when they got off on three. “Essie’s inside. I’m Mike. Mike Jacobs.”
“You also witnessed the incident, Mr. Jacobs?”
“I’ll say. Essie, Jib, and I were just coming out, going to head over and pick up Jib’s date. And we . . . come on in. Sorry.” He opened the door wider.
“I stayed here last night. Didn’t want to leave Essie alone. She was pretty shook up. She’s getting dressed.” He glanced toward a closed door. “The woman who got beat up was a cop, right? Did she make it?”
“She’s holding her own.”
“Glad to hear it. Man, that guy was whaling on her.” Mike pushed at his curly mop of blond hair. “Look, I was hunting up some coffee. You want?”
“No, thanks. Mr. Jacobs, I’d like to get statements from both you and Ms. Fort, and ask some questions.”
“No problem. We talked to some cops last night, but everything was messed up. Look, let me get this coffee, okay? We didn’t get much sleep last night, and I need the jolt. Sit down or something. I’ll try to move Essie along.”
She didn’t want to sit, but she perched on the edge of a chair in bold red. Gave herself a moment to settle by glancing around the room. Lots of strong colors, weird, geometric art on the walls. A bottle of wine and a couple glasses left over from
the night before.
Mike Jacobs was wearing jeans and a shirt he hadn’t buttoned. Probably what he’d had on the night before. Probably hadn’t planned on staying the night.
New relationship maybe, without the understanding sex would follow an evening out.
But he’d stayed. And he had, according to McNab, come to Peabody’s aid. Maybe he didn’t think cops sucked.
The bedroom door opened. The woman who came out looked fragile and slight. Her hair was a short wedge of glossy, raven-wing black, and her eyes a blue strong enough to fit her decor, though they looked exhausted.
“I’m sorry. Mike said the police were coming up. I was getting dressed.”
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Do you know her? The woman who was hurt. I know she’s a police officer. I’ve seen her walking across the street. She used to wear a uniform, but now she doesn’t.”
“She’s a detective now. She’s my partner.”
“Oh.” Those blue eyes filled—sympathy, distress, fatigue, Eve didn’t know. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Is she going to be all right?”
“I . . .” Eve felt her throat close again. It was harder, somehow harder, to take concern from strangers. “I don’t know. I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”
“I—we—were going out.” She looked over as Mike brought out two thick red mugs. “Thanks. Mike, would you tell it?”
“Sure. Come on, let’s sit down.” He led her to a chair, and sat on the arm of it beside her. “We were coming out, like I said. We heard the noise as soon as we walked out the door. Shouts and, well, the sounds you hear from a fight. He was a big guy. Seriously big. He was kicking her and shouting. Kicking her when she was down. She pumped up her legs, knocked him back a little. It all happened really fast, and I think we all froze for a second or two.”
“It was just . . .” Essie shook her head. “We were all laughing and joking around, then we heard, and looked over. It was just bam!”
“He jerked her up, off the ground, just hauled her up.”
“And I screamed.”
“It got us moving,” Mike continued. “Like holy shit, don’t just stand here. We yelled, I guess, and Jib and I started running for them. He looked around, and he just threw her. Like heaved her, you know?”
“She went down so hard.” Essie shuddered. “I could hear her hit the sidewalk.”
“But while she was airborne, there was this flash. I think she fired at him as she was flying.” Mike looked at Essie and got a nod. “Maybe she hit him, I don’t know. She went down hard, sort of rolled, like she was going to try to fire again, or get up or . . .”
“She couldn’t,” Essie murmured.
“He jumped into the van. Moved like lightning, but Jib said he thought the guy was holding his arm. Like it was hurt? Anyway, he jetted. Jib chased the van for a few yards. Don’t know what he’d’ve done if he’d caught it. But she was hurt really bad, and we figured that was more important. We were afraid to move her, so I was calling for an ambulance when the guy—the other guy—the cop—comes running out.”
Fired at him, Eve thought. Flying through the goddamn air, but she’d fired at him. And had held on to her weapon. “Tell me about the van.”
“Black or dark blue. Almost sure it was black. It was new, or really well kept. Lieutenant . . . I’m sorry.”
“Dallas.”
“It happened really fast. Like—” He snapped his fingers. “And we were all yelling and running, so it’s pretty jumbled up. I tried to catch the plate, but it was dark, and I couldn’t make it out. It had windows on the side, and in the cargo doors. They might’ve been blacked out or covered, I couldn’t tell, but there were windows.”
“You may think it’s jumbled, Mr. Jacobs, but every detail you’re giving me matters. Tell me about the assailant. Did you see his face?”
“We got a look. When he heard us yelling and turned our way, we got a decent look, I think. Essie and I spent some time last night trying to put it together. Hold on a minute.”
“He was like something out of a nightmare,” Essie added when Mike went into the bedroom. “I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept seeing him, and hearing the way it sounded when he threw her down.”
“I think this is the best that we’ve got.” Mike came back in with a sheet of paper, handed it to Eve.
She felt her heart thud when she looked at the sketch. “You drew this?”
“Art teacher.” He smiled a little. “We only saw his face for a second or two, but I think that’s close.”
“Mr. Jacobs, I’m going to ask you to come into Central, work with an Ident artist.”
“Sure. I’ve got a class at nine, but I can call in. You want me to go in now?”
“It would be a great help if both of you and Mr. Jibson could go in. This sketch can be used in an ID program. And the three of you can help the police artist create the closest possible likeness.”
“I’ll get a hold of Jib now, tell him to meet us there. Where do we go?”
“I’ll take you. Tell your friend to go to Level Three, Section B. Identification Procedure. I’ll have him cleared and escorted.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Eve got to her feet. “Mr. Jacobs, Ms. Fort, I want to tell you how much the department, how much I personally appreciate what you did last night, what you’re doing now.”
Mike moved a shoulder. “Anybody’d do the same.”
“No. Not everybody.”
Her luck was turning, Eve decided when she was able to collar Yancy as her Ident artist. There were others who were as good with a sketch or a comp-generated image, but Yancy had a way of helping a witness remember details, of talking them through the process.
“What’s the latest with Peabody?” he asked Eve.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d been stopped with a variation of the question on her way through Central. “No change.”
He looked down at the sketch she’d handed him. “We’ll get this fucker.”
Her brows lifted. Yancy wasn’t just known for his skill with imaging, but for his mild manner. “Count on it. I need you to run me a copy of that, for now.”
“Get that right for you.” He moved to his imaging comp, slid the sketch in.
“He’s got layers of sealant on his face and it distorts it some. You need to factor that. I know I shouldn’t ask how long, but I have to.”
“I wish I could tell you.” He handed her the copy. “How cooperative are they?” He nodded to the anteroom where the witnesses waited.
“Unbelievably. Almost make me want to hang up my cynic’s cap and wear the badge of the optimist.”
“Then it’ll be quicker.” He studied the sketch again. “Artist is good. That’ll help considerably. I’m pushing everything else aside till we have him for you, Lieutenant.”
“Thanks.”
She wanted to stay, watch the process, somehow hurry it along. She wanted to be at the hospital with Peabody, somehow bring her back. She wanted to yank and draw on every line and thread at once.
“You can’t be everywhere, Eve.”
She glanced over at Roarke. “Shows? I feel like I’m running in place. Goal’s in sight, but I’m stuck in this spot. Maybe you could contact the hospital again, charm some information out of somebody. I just make them mad.”
“People tend to get cross when someone threatens to pull their brains out of their nostrils.”
“You’d think they’d give me points for creativity. I’m too wired.” She shook herself as they headed toward her division. “Damn chemicals. You take the hospital, check in on Summerset. Talk the e-talk with Feeney, and I’ll cut through the rest. Do you need me to find you a space?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Dallas!” Celina sprang off a bench. “I’ve been waiting. They said you were on your way in. You haven’t answered your voice or e-mail.”
“Been busy. Getting to it.”
“Peabody.”
She clamped a hand over Eve’s arm.
“She’s holding. I’m really pressed, Celina. I can give you a few minutes in my office. You set?” she asked Roarke.
“I am, yes. I’ll meet you out here.”
“I’m sorry.” Celina pushed her hands through her luxurious hair. “I’m upset.”
“We all are,” Roarke told her. “It was a long, difficult night.”
“I know. I saw . . .”
“Let’s take it in here.” She led the way into her office, shut the door. “Have a seat.” Though she knew caffeine wasn’t the best idea at the moment, she wanted coffee. Ordered two. “What did you see?”
“The attack. On Peabody. God, I was in the tub. Hot bath before bed to relax me for today. I saw her walking—sidewalk, buildings. He—he just leaped out at her. It was like a blur, and the next thing I know I’m floundering around in the tub like a damn trout. I tried to contact you.”
“I was already in the field, and went straight to the hospital. I haven’t gotten to a lot of my messages.”
“He knocked her down. He was kicking her, and she was fighting him. He hurt her. It was terrible. For a minute, I thought she was dead, but—”
“She’s not. She’s holding.”
Celina clutched the coffee in both hands. “She’s not like the others. I don’t understand.”
“I do. Just tell me what you saw. I want the details.”
“They’re not clear. It’s so damn frustrating.” She set the mug down with a snap. “I talked to Dr. Mira, but she won’t budge on the time element for the next session. I wanted to go under immediately. I know, I know I’d see more. But I saw—I heard—screaming, shouting, and he threw Peabody down. I saw him jump into . . . It was a van. I’m sure it was a van. Dark. But everything seemed dark. He was hurt. There was pain.”
“She got to her weapon.”
“Oh. Good. Good. He was afraid. I feel . . . it’s hard to explain it, but I feel it. His fear. And not just of being seen, or caught, but of something else. More. Of not finishing? I want to know, I want to help. Can you convince Dr. Mira?”
“She won’t budge for you, she won’t for me.” Sitting on her desk, Eve tapped her fingers on her knee. “If I could get a personal item from someone I believe was a victim, a previous victim, would you get anything from it?”