The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “She never hurt anybody.” He managed to lift the glass to his lips. “I think you should know that. She never hurt anybody in her life. I don’t understand how somebody could do this to her.”

  “What time did you come here today?” She knew already, but would take him through the details, the repetition.

  “I, ah, came over about three, I think. Maybe closer to four. No, nearer to three. I’m so mixed up. We were supposed to have this afternoon cookout at my sister’s in Ridgewood. My mother was supposed to come by our place. We’re over on 39th. We were all going to take the train over to New Jersey. She was supposed to be at our place by one.”

  He gulped some water. “She runs late a lot. We tease her about it, but when it got to be like two, I started calling to move her along. She didn’t answer, so I figured she was on her way. But she didn’t show. I called her pocket number, but that didn’t answer either. My wife and kid were getting restless and annoyed. Me, too. I was getting pissed off.”

  Remembering that, he began to cry again. “I was really steamed that I had to come over here and get her. I wasn’t worried so much, not really. I never thought anything had happened to her, and all the time she was . . .”

  “When you got here,” Eve prompted, “you let yourself in. You have a key?”

  “Yeah, I got access to the outside door and her apartment. I was thinking, something wrong with her ’links, that’s all. She forgets to bump them sometimes and they go out. Something’s wrong with her ’links and she’s lost track of time. That’s what I was thinking when I let myself in. I called out to her, like: ‘Mom! Damn it, Mom, we were supposed to leave for Mizzy’s two hours ago.’ And when she didn’t answer, I thought, Oh crap, she’s on her way to my place and I’m over here, and this is so irritating. But I walked to the bedroom door anyway. I don’t even know why. And she was . . . God. God. Mom.”

  He broke down again, and Eve shook her head at the MT before he could move in with a tranq. “Mr. Gregg. Jeff, you have to hold it together. You have to help me. Did you see anyone near the apartment, anyone outside?”

  “I don’t know.” He mopped at his streaming face. “I was irritated and in a hurry. I didn’t see anything special.”

  “Did your mother mention being uneasy about anything, noticing something, someone who worried her?”

  “No. She’s lived here for a dozen years. It’s a nice building. Secure.” He took deep breaths to steady his voice. “She knows her neighbors. Leah and me, we’re only ten blocks away. We see each other every week. She’d’ve told me if something was wrong.”

  “How about your father?”

  “They split, God, twenty-five years ago. He lives out in Boulder. They don’t see each other much, but they get along okay. Jesus, Jesus, my father wouldn’t have done this.” The hitch came back in his voice, and he began to rock himself. “You’d have to be crazy to do this to somebody.”

  “It’s just routine. Was she involved with anyone?”

  “Nobody special now. She had Sam. They were together for about ten years. He was killed in a tram wreck about six years ago. He was the one for her, I guess. There hasn’t been anybody else special since.”

  “Did she wear a ring?”

  “A ring?” He looked at Eve blankly, as if the question had been posed in some strange foreign language. “Yeah. Sam gave her a ring when they moved in together. She always wore it.”

  “Can you describe it for me?”

  “Um . . . it was gold, I think. Maybe with stones on it? God. I can’t remember.”

  “It’s okay.” He’d had enough, she judged. And this line was a dead end. “One of the officers is going to take you home now.”

  “But . . . isn’t there something? Shouldn’t I do something?” He stared beseechingly at Eve. “Can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?”

  “Just go home to your family, Jeff. That’s the best thing you can do for now. I’m going to take care of your mother.”

  She walked out with him, turning him over to a uniform for escort home.

  “Tell me something,” she demanded of McNab.

  “Definitely a remote zap. He has to have a superior skill with electronics and security, or enough money to buy a jammer, and we’re talking mucho black-market buckaroos for a unit like this.”

  “Why?” she wanted to know. “A building like this, security’s good, but it’s not top level.”

  “Okay, it’s not that it jammed security, it’s how it jammed.” He pulled a pack of gum from one of his many pockets, offered Eve some, then folded a cube into his mouth when she shook her head.

  “It shut everything down—security-wise—without messing with other ops. Lights, climate control, home and personal electronics weren’t touched. Except—” Busily chewing, he pointed to the living room lamps. “In here. This apartment unit, and this specific room. Lights on,” he ordered, and Eve nodded when the lamps stayed dark.

  “Yeah, that fits. ‘Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’ve had reports of electronic malfunction in the building.’ He’s dressed like a workman. I’d make book he’s got a toolbox. A big helpful smile. Maybe he even tells her to try the lights, and when they don’t work, she opens the door.”

  McNab blew an impressive purple bubble, snapped it. “Plays for me.”

  “Check out the ’links, let’s be thorough. You find anything, I’m at Central. Peabody!”

  “With you, sir.”

  “Not while you’re wearing that stupid hat. Lose it,” Eve ordered and strode out.

  “I like the hat.” McNab kept his voice low. “Sexy.”

  “McNab, you think brick’s sexy,” Peabody replied. But with a quick check to see if the coast was clear, she gave his ass a fast squeeze. “Maybe I’ll wear it later. You know, just the hat.”

  “She-Body, you’re killing me.”

  He took a quick peek, saw Eve was gone, then dragged Peabody close for a sloppy kiss.

  “Blueberry.” Amused, she blew a purple bubble with the gum he’d passed to her. Then hurrying after Eve, she pulled the hat off her head.

  She found Eve outside standing beside the totally iced vehicle with the totally iced Roarke.

  “No point in it,” Eve was saying. “We’ll hitch in a black-and-white. If I’m going to be really late, I’ll let you know.”

  “Let me know regardless, and I’ll have transpo arranged to bring you home.”

  “I can arrange my own transpo.”

  “This isn’t transpo.” Peabody gave a feline purr as she stroked the car. “This is a total ride.”

  “We could easily squeeze in.”

  “No.” Eve cut Roarke off. “We’re not squeezing anywhere.”

  “Suit yourself. Peabody, you look delicious.” He took the hat from her hand, arranged it back on her head. “Absolutely edible.”

  “Oh. Well. Golly.” Under the hat, her head went wonderfully light.

  “Wipe that ridiculous look off your face, lose the hat, and get us a ride to Central,” Eve snapped.

  “Huh?” She let out a long sigh. “Oh, yes, sir. Doing all that.”

  “Do you have to do that?” Eve demanded of Roarke when Peabody walked dreamily away.

  “Yes. When she makes detective, I’m going to miss seeing our girl in uniform, but it should be interesting to see how she suits up otherwise. I’ll see you at home, Lieutenant.” And not caring if it annoyed her, he caught her chin in his hand, pressed his lips firmly to hers. “You are, as always, delicious.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jamming her hands in her pockets, she stalked away.

  It was dark when she got home. Whether it was bullheadedness or not, she hadn’t tagged Roarke for transpo even after realizing she didn’t have cab fare on her. But she had dug up subway tokens, and found the underground ride jammed with people going home after a Sunday out on the town.

  She opted to stand, swaying with the rhythm of the train as it headed uptown.

  She didn’t ride the subway enough an
ymore, Eve thought. Not that she missed it. Half the ads were in languages not her own, half the passengers were zoned or irritated. And there would always be one or two who smelled as if they had a religious objection to soap and water.

  Such as the wizened, toothless beggar with his license around his grubby neck who gave her a gummy grin. Still, it only took one steely stare to have him looking elsewhere.

  She supposed she’d missed that, just a little.

  She shifted, whiling away the trip by studying the other passengers. Students, buried in their disc books. Kids heading out to the vids. An old man snoring loud enough to make her wonder if he’d slept through his stop already. Some tired-looking women with children, a couple of tough guys looking bored.

  And the skinny, geeky guy in the unseasonable trench coat currently masturbating at the far end of the car.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She started over, but one of the tough guys spotted the geek, and obviously taking exception to the activity smashed a fist into the whacker’s face.

  Blood spurted. Several people screamed. Though his nose was now a fountain, the geek kept himself in hand.

  “Break it up.” Eve surged, reached down to grab tough guy number one when a fellow passenger panicked, sprang to his feet, and knocked Eve into the fist of tough guy number two.

  “Goddamn it to hell!” She saw a couple of shooting stars, shook her head clear. “I’m the frigging police.” With her cheek throbbing, she smashed her elbow into tough guy number one to stop him from pounding on the giggling pervert still whacking off on the floor of the car, then stomped her foot on the instep of tough guy two.

  When she hauled up the geek, snarled, everyone else stepped back. Something about the glint in her eye did what the tough guy’s fist hadn’t. The geek went limp.

  She glanced down as he deflated, and let out a sigh. “Put that thing away,” she ordered.

  Screw the subway, she grumbled as she strode up the long drive toward home. The ride had given her a sore jaw and a headache, and cost her the time it had taken to get off the damn car and turn the idiot over to the transit authority.

  She didn’t much care that there was a nice breeze stirring up, an almost balmy one. Or that it carried hints of something sweet and floral into the air. She didn’t care that the sky was so clear she could see a three-quarter moon hanging in it like a lamp.

  Okay, it looked nice, but hell.

  She stomped inside, and after a terse inquiry, was told by the house system that Roarke was in the family media room.

  Which was opposed to the main media room, she thought. Where the hell was it again? Because she wasn’t entirely sure and the hike from the subway stop to the front door had been considerable, she went into the elevator.

  “Family media room,” she ordered, and was whisked up, and east.

  The main media room was for parties and events, she remembered. It could fit more than a hundred people in plush chairs, and offered a wall screen as wide as a theater’s.

  But the family media room was—she supposed he’d say—more intimate. Deep colors, she recalled, cushy seats. Two screens—one for vids, one for games. And the complex and complicated sound system that could play anything from the old-fashioned clunky vinyl records Roarke liked to fiddle with on occasion to the minute sound sticks.

  She stepped into the room to a blast of sound that seemed to come from everywhere. Her eyes widened in reaction to the fast-moving space battle being waged over the wall screen.

  Roarke was kicked back in a lounge chair, the cat in his lap, a glass of wine in his hand.

  She should go to work, she told herself. Do more research on the Boston Strangler, keep digging for a connection between Wooton and Gregg. Though she was dead sure there would be no connection.

  She should hound the sweepers, the ME, the lab. None of whom, she knew, would pay much attention to her at nearly ten on a Sunday night. But she could harass them anyway.

  She could run probabilities, go over her notes, her suspect lists, stare at her murder board.

  Instead, she walked over, plucked the cat off Roarke’s lap. “You’re in my seat,” she told him, and set him on another chair.

  She slid into Roarke’s lap, took his wine. “What’s this one about?”

  “It seems water is the commodity in fashion. This particular planet in the Zero quadrant—”

  “There isn’t any Zero quadrant.”

  “It’s fictional, my darling, literal-minded Eve.” He snuggled her in, pressing an absent kiss to her head as he watched the action. “Anyway, this planet’s all but out of water. Potable water. And there’s a rescue attempt being made to get the colony there a supply, and the means to clean up what they have. But there’s this other faction who wants the water for themselves. There’ve been a couple of bloody battles over it already.”

  Something exploded on screen, a shower of color, an ear-splinting boom of sound.

  “Nicely done,” Roarke commented. “And there’s a woman, head of the environmental police—the good guys—who’s reluctantly in love with the rogue cargo captain who’s helping deliver the goods—for a price. It’s about thirty minutes in. I can start it over.”

  “No, I’ll catch up.”

  She intended to sit with him for a few minutes only, let her mind rest. But she got caught up in the story, and it was so nice, so simple to stay, stretched out in the chair with him while fictional battles raged.

  And good overcame evil.

  “Not bad,” she said when the credits began to roll. “I’m going to get another hour or two of work in.”

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “Probably.” She climbed out of the chair, stretched, then blinked like an owl when he turned on the light.

  “Well, damn it, Eve, what have you done to your face now?”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” Sulking a little, she touched fingers gingerly to her jaw. “Somebody knocked me into this guy’s fist when I was trying to stop him from beating this other guy who was whacking off in the subway to a bloody pulp. I couldn’t blame the guy, the guy with the fist, because he wasn’t aiming it at me. But still.”

  “My life,” Roarke said after a moment, “was gray before you walked into it.”

  “Yeah, I’m a rainbow.” She wiggled her jaw. “My face anyway. You up for some drone work?”

  “I might be persuaded. After we put something on that bruise.”

  “It’s not so bad. You know, the transit cop told me that guy’s a regular on that line. They call him Willy the Wanker.”

  “That’s a fascinating bit of New York trivia.” He pulled her toward the elevator. “It makes me yearn to ride the subway.”

  Chapter 8

  In Peabody’s cramped apartment, McNab ran her through a series of intense computer simulations. He’d proven himself, Peabody had discovered in the last few weeks, a strict and fairly irritating instructor.

  With her shoulders hunched, she carefully picked her way through a murder scene, selecting her choices and options in a field investigation of a double homicide.

  And cursed when her selection resulted in a blasting buzz—McNab’s personal addition to the sim—and a stern-faced figure of a robed judge shaking his finger at her.

  Ah-ah-ah—improper procedure, scene contamination. Evidence suppressed. Suspect gets a free walk due to detective investigator’s screwup.

  “Does he have to say that?”

  “Cuts through the legal mumbo,” McNab pointed out, and stuffed potato chips in his face. “Digs down to the point.”

  “I don’t want to do any more sims.” Her face fell into a pout that had McNab’s libido jiggling. “My brain’s going to leak out of my ears in a minute.”

  He loved her, enough to mostly ignore the image of peeling her out of her clothes and doing her on the rug. “Look, you’re aces on the written. You’ve got a memory for details and points of law, blah blah. You get thumbs-up on the oral, once your voice settles down from
a squeak.”

  “It does not squeak.”

  “Sort of like how it does when I bite your toes.” He grinned toothily when she scowled at him. “And while I like how it sounds myself, the test team’s going to be less romantically inclined. So you’re going to want to oil the squeaks.”

  She continued to pout, then her mouth dropped open in shock when he slapped her hand away from the bag of chips. “None for you until you get through a sim.”

  “Jesus, McNab, I’m not a puppy performing for a biscuit.”

  “No, you’re a cop who wants to make detective.” He moved the bag out of her reach. “And you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared; I’m understandably anxious about the testing process and proving myself ready to . . .” She hissed out a breath as he merely studied her with patient green eyes. “I’m terrified.” Because his arm came around her, she snuggled into his bony shoulder. “I’m terrified I’ll blow it, and I’ll let Dallas down. And you, and Feeney, the commander, my family. Jesus.”

  “You’re not going to blow it, and you won’t let anyone down. This isn’t about Dallas, or anybody else. It’s all about you.”

  “She trained me, she put me up for it.”

  “So she must figure you’re ready. It ain’t no snap, She-Body.” He gave her cheek a quick nuzzle. “It’s not supposed to be. But you’ve got the training, you’ve got the field time, the instincts, the brains. And, honey, you’ve got the guts and heart, too.”

  She turned her head to look up at him. “That’s so damn sweet.”

  “It’s a fact, and here’s another one, here’s what you don’t have right now. You don’t have the balls.”

  Her gooey affection toward him transformed into brittle insult. “Hey.”

  “And because you don’t have the balls,” he continued calmly, “you’re not trusting your gut, or your training. You’re second-guessing yourself. Instead of going with what you know, you keep wondering what you don’t know, and that’s why you keep missing up on the sims.”

  She’d pulled away from him. Her breath hissed out. “I hate you for being right.”