The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “Interesting. Roarke, squeeze out some time and find me whatever private and secret accounts Blair Bissel may have had. I’d like to see how often he fed the monkey.” She paused, scanned the room. “It will have been explained to the civilian members of this team that any and all information learned or imparted during this investigation is not to be discussed with anyone on the outside. Friends, neighbors, lovers, media, or the family pets. I’m going to reiterate that and add that if any information is passed, it will be considered an obstruction of justice. If there’s a leak, the leak will be plugged, prosecuted, and will spend some quality time in a cage. I don’t have time to play nice,” she added, reading Roarke’s mind. “These may be your people, but they’re not mine.”

  “I don’t believe anyone in this room could mistake your stand on that,” he said. “Lieutenant.”

  “If anyone’s offended by that,” she said evenly, “that’s the breaks. I don’t think Chloe McCoy’s too concerned about sensibilities and tender feelings just now. On another level, Bissel, working on his own or in conjunction with the HSO, inserted spy devices into his artwork. We know these devices were in place in various locations in the home he shared with Reva Ewing, and must assume the purpose was to gather intel on projects she was involved in for Securecomp.”

  She watched Reva as she spoke, saw her jaw tremble, then firm.

  “We’ll need the records of sales so we can track the locations of his other sculptures. They’ll have to be scanned. When that happens, this is going to blow out of the water. You’re going to get wet, Reva, by association.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Surely as someone who was victimized, and so intimately, by this very plot, Ewing can’t be blamed for the actions of a man who used and deceived her.”

  Reva offered the irate Tokimoto a weak smile. “Sure I can. It’s the way of the world.”

  “Some of that backlash may come sooner than later,” Eve continued. “Bissel’s body is missing.”

  She watched, watched carefully. Reva’s face went blank as if she’d just heard a phrase in an unknown language. Beside her, Tokimoto jerked in his chair, then reached out without looking and closed his hand directly over Reva’s.

  So, Eve surmised, Roarke was right again. She should never bet against the house.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” Reva spoke carefully. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “I’ve spoken with the ME, who informed me that Bissel’s body is no longer in the morgue. We’ll proceed on the assumption that it was removed.”

  “But . . . why would anyone take . . .” Reva’s hand came up, rubbed at her throat as if pushing the words out of a clog. “I just can’t follow this.”

  “It’s my job to follow it. Can you verify your whereabouts last night?”

  “You’re cruel,” Tokimoto said softly.

  “I’m thorough. Reva?”

  “Yes. Yes. Um. We had dinner in. My mother and I. We watched screen. Her idea, all comedies. We ate popcorn, drank wine. I had a lot of wine.” She sighed. “We sat up until about one. I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up about four. She’d covered me up. I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Best sleep I’ve had in days.”

  “All right. I need the civilians to go back to the lab.” She looked directly at Roarke. “I’d like a complete progress report by fourteen hundred.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would.” He walked to Reva, offered her a hand to bring her to her feet. “Would you like some air first, or a moment to yourself?”

  “No. No, I’m fine. Let’s get to work. Let’s just get to work.”

  Eve waited until Roarke shut the door, after one last cool look at her.

  “Wow.” McNab gave a mock shudder. “Chilled down in here.”

  “Button it, moron,” Peabody said under her breath. “Sorry, Lieutenant, the five hundred tiny little braids have cut off the circulation to his brain.”

  “Hey.”

  “Let’s move on. I’ve run numerous probabilities, none of which has been satisfactory or particularly enlightening. It all depends on how I input the data. But what it comes down to is we don’t yet know what we’re dealing with. Covert operations, a rogue agent, family violence. What we do know is we have three murders, one missing body, a connection in Jamaica.

  “Chloe McCoy was killed for what she knew or had in her possession. The autopsy confirmed that she had inserted birth control. She was expecting a lover. The only lover who has come to light is Blair Bissel.”

  “Who’s dead, and among the missing,” Feeney put in.

  “There’s little doubt she believed she was expecting Blair Bissel. This was a naive, theatrical, and gullible young woman. Play it right and she would’ve believed her lover had risen from the dead and was coming over to play—to tell her all, to seek her help, to ride off into the sunset with her. The killer had only to gain access to her apartment, keep her calm, induce her to drink the drugged wine. I’m Blair’s friend, associate, brother. He asked me to explain everything to you. He’ll be here as soon as it’s safe.”

  “She’d have let him in,” Peabody agreed. “She’d have loved the excitement of it.”

  “She certainly would have let him in if it was Blair Bissel.”

  McNab stifled a snort. “Risen from the dead.”

  “He wouldn’t have to, if he’d never died at all. If he’d set it up.”

  “The body was identified, Dallas,” Peabody said. “Prints, DNA, the whole shot.”

  “He was HSO, so I’m not ruling out falsified identification. But McCoy throws it off for me. If she had something, knew something, why not take care of it before you perform the main act? Then there’s motive. Why die—taking your lover, setting up your wife? There’s nothing in his files to indicate he was in any trouble with Homeland. From all appearances, he had it locked. Sexy secret job, loving wife who unknowingly feeds you regular intel, a couple of lovers to add variety, a successful career, financial security. Life’s pretty damn good, so why die?”

  She sat on the side of her desk. “We could move to the brother. Jealousy, resentment. We know Kade went to see him in Jamaica, and have reason to believe she took him as a lover. Was this HSO sanctioned? Or was she working on her own, or in league with Blair Bissel? And why? Maybe it was a setup that went wrong. Maybe it was a Cain and Abel, and Carter upped the stakes, took out his brother—too bad about the woman—and set Reva up. It’s a nice nest egg, the estate. If Reva’s tried and convicted of the murders, she won’t inherit. He’d get a chunk of it.”

  “Maybe he was blackmailing Blair,” Peabody suggested. “The monkey on his back.”

  “Good, that’s what Roarke’s going to help us find out. Carter has something on Blair—the HSO connection, the extramarital, something else—and taps him regularly. Blair’s had about enough of that and decides to shake off the monkey. But killing three people seems a little over the top. Why not just slip down to the islands, do the brother, and go back to your life? Some of these answers have to be on those units. Feeney, I need some answers.”

  “Got one for you. Top-drawer face sculptor out of Sweden was killed in what appears to be a botched burglary at his office. Two weeks ago. His patient records have not been retrieved as his data unit was damaged.”

  “Damaged?”

  “According to the report. Jorgannsen, that was his name, had his throat cut. His drug supply was taken, and his data unit damaged. I’m figuring infected, but there’s no way to verify without seeing the unit.”

  “See if you can play nice with your counterpart in Sweden, maybe they’ll transport it to us.”

  “Give it a shot.”

  “Shoot fast.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve been called to the Tower at the request of the fucking HSO. I’m taking steps to cover all of our asses because this isn’t going to be neat and pretty. The shit’s going to hit the fan, and if it blows the way I’m hoping, the spooks are going to be up to their knees in it. But there’s
bound to be some backdraft. For the duration of this area of investigation, we bunker down here.”

  “God.” McNab grinned like an idiot. “How will we stand it?”

  “And work twenty-four/seven,” Eve added and watched the grin turn to a wince. “In shifts. Let’s get started. Peabody.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m with you.”

  “Communication by secured lines only,” she added as she walked out the door and nearly into Roarke.

  “Lieutenant, a moment of your time.”

  “Walk and talk. I don’t have any moments to spare.”

  “I’m just going to ah . . .” Be somewhere else, Peabody thought, and hurried past them.

  “If you’ve got a beef about the way I handled your people, you’ll have to save it. I’m in a hurry.”

  “It would take more than a moment to discuss the areas of your sensitivity and people skills. I realize you’re not looking at Reva and were, in your way, establishing her alibi.”

  “So?”

  “I won’t work in the dark, Eve. If you want my help you can’t give me tasks to perform one moment, then close me out the next. I expect you to trust me with the details.”

  “You know all you need to know. When you need to know more, I’ll tell you more.”

  He grabbed her arm, spun her around. “Is this your way of slapping at me because I refuse to stand on the same elevated moral ground as you?”

  “If I slap at you, pal, believe me, you’ll feel it. This, and that, are two separate issues.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Oh, fuck you and the big-ass dick you rode in on.” She jerked away from him and lost control long enough to shove him back.

  She saw his eyes fire, but he didn’t shove back, didn’t touch her. She hated herself for resenting that he could keep that violence in line when she couldn’t.

  “This is my work, goddamn it, and I don’t have the time or the luxury to think about anything else right now. You don’t like the way I’m running this investigation and this team, then step out. Step the hell out. You don’t know what I’m dealing with.”

  “You’ve just made my point. I’ve some concerns, reasonable concerns, about having my wife go up against the HSO. This isn’t just a murderer, or even organized crime. It isn’t some wild-eyed group of terrorists. This is one of the most powerful organizations in the world. If they’re involved in this, as it seems they must be in some aspect, it logically follows that they’d have little compunction about harming a New York City cop who got in their way. Personally or professionally harming that cop. My cop.”

  “Deal with it. That’s part of the package you took on. You want to keep my ass out of the sling on this, get me the information. That’s what you can do. That’s all you can do.”

  “It’s part of the package I took on,” he agreed in a tone that was dangerously soft. “You’d do well to remember the whole of the one you took on. The whole of it, Eve. You have to live with that, or without it.”

  She stood, shocked to the bone, when he turned and walked away from her. Her skin went cold with it, and her stomach cramped and twisted as she rushed down the stairs out of the house. Something of it must have shown on her face as Peabody turned to her when she climbed into the car.

  “Dallas? You okay?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t sure she could get out words. Her throat was burning. Punching the accelerator, she sent the car speeding down the drive, which was flanked by lovely trees and bushes beginning to fire with the first hints of autumn.

  “Men are tough nuts,” Peabody said. “The more I’m around them, the tougher they get. It seems to me that one like Roarke would be tougher than most.”

  “He’s pissed that’s all. Really pissed.” She had to press a hand to her troubled stomach. “So am I, goddamn it, so am I. But he got under my guard. He’s really good at getting under your guard. The son of a bitch.” Her breath wanted to hitch so she sucked it in, sucked it in hard. “He knows just where to jab.”

  “The more somebody loves you, the better their aim.”

  “Christ, he must really love me. I can’t do this now. He knows I can’t do this now.”

  “Never a convenient time for relationship upheaval.”

  “Who the hell’s side are you on?”

  “Well, since I’m sitting beside you, and you punch really hard, I’m on yours. You bet.”

  “Gotta put it away.” But she was afraid the sickness in her belly was going to plague her throughout the day. Still, she engaged the dash ’link and took the next step.

  “Nadine Furst.”

  “I can’t make lunch. We’ll have to reschedule. As soon as possible.”

  “All right.” Nadine didn’t bat a carefully groomed lash. “I’ll clear some time and let you know.”

  “Looking forward to it.” Eve signed off.

  “What the hell was that?” Peabody demanded.

  “Spooks aren’t the only ones who can be covert. That was me telling Nadine to break the story that Blair Bissel was HSO, with a few selected details to confirm and expand upon. We’re going to see whose ass is red by the end of the day.”

  “Roarke’s not going to be the only one who’s really pissed.”

  “Thanks.” Eve managed a weak smile. “That makes me feel considerably better.”

  Morris had done exactly as instructed. Because it took ten full minutes to clear her and Peabody into the morgue, she decided he was more than a little annoyed. He admitted them personally, then led the way through the chilly white tunnel toward the autopsy and viewing rooms.

  “What time did you get here this morning?” Eve asked his rigid back.

  “Around seven. Early, as I was doing a cop a favor, or had intended to do one by coming in ahead of schedule and running tests on Bissel to see if he’d had any recent facial enhancements or sculpting. I got coffee and reviewed my previous notes on the case, then came down here, about seven-fifteen.”

  He used his pass and a voice command to open the secured doors on one of the storage/viewing areas.

  “Was this door locked?”

  “It was.”

  “I’ll have Crime Scene check it for tampering,” Peabody said.

  “Bissel’s slot was empty,” Morris continued, and approached the wall of stainless steel refrigerator drawers. He opened one and it let out a whoosh of air and chilly white vapor. “Initially I was annoyed, assuming he’d been moved or misfiled, so I checked the last log-in, which verified he’d been stored properly. I called the AME, Marlie Drew, who was on the night shift. She was still here as she wouldn’t end shift until eight. She had no record of anyone entering this area, adding or removing anything.”

  “I’ll need to speak with her.”

  “She’s in her office, waiting. We ran a thorough search. His data is still here, his body is not.”

  “How many bodies do you have in at this time?”

  “Twenty-six. Four came in last night. There was a vehicular accident logged in at two-twenty.”

  “You’ve checked all storage areas?”

  Insult flashed over his face. “Dallas, this isn’t my first day on the job. When I tell you a body isn’t here, it isn’t here.”

  “Okay. So you only had twenty-two before the new ones checked in at two-twenty?”

  “No, we had twenty-three. Two were scheduled for disposal—city expense. Two sidewalk sleepers, unclaimed.”

  “Disposal.”

  Now, fresh irritation layered over the insult and made his voice an icy slash. “You know the damn drill. Unclaimed, indigent, the city cremates after forty-eight hours. We deal with them during the night shift, send them out to a crematorium.”

  “Who goes with them?”

  “Driver and orderly.” Because he saw where she was heading, he set his teeth. “They wouldn’t have taken Bissel by mistake, if that’s what you’re thinking. We don’t run a damn comedy hour around here. It’s serious and sensitive work to care for the dead.”


  “I’m perfectly aware of that, Morris.” Her own temper was beginning to fray as she stepped up to and into his face. “But Bissel’s not here, so let’s go through the steps.”

  “Fine. There’s a staging area. Bodies slated for transfer and disposal would be logged out from storage—and the records checked—by the AME on duty, and those records would be cross-checked to avoid any mistakes. The transfer team would take them to the staging area, log them out through another series of checks. This isn’t a matter of someone mistakenly slating Bissel for disposal and leaving one of the city jobs behind. I’ve got a damn body missing. The count’s wrong.”

  “I’m not thinking it was a mistake. Contact the crematorium first. See how many they did for you last night. And I want the names of the ones who transported the bodies. Are they still on site?”

  “Different shifts.” Looking more worried than angry now, Morris led the way out, resecured the door. “They’d have been off by six.” He walked quickly toward his office. He called up the previous night’s schedule even as he engaged his ’link.

  “Powell and Sibresky. I know both these men. They’re big on jokes but they’re efficient. They’re careful. This is Chief Medical Examiner Morris,” he said into the ’link. “I need to verify a delivery for disposal, city contract, made early this morning.”

  “One moment please, Dr. Morris, I’ll connect you with Receiving.”

  “Does anybody but me think this is kind of sick?” Peabody wondered. “I mean, Receiving. Yuck.”

  “Shut up, Peabody. Do a quick run on this Powell and Sibresky, get me pictures.”

  “I gave you pictures,” Morris objected. “People around here don’t just fry up any loose body. There’s a very exacting system in place to . . . Yes, this is Morris,” he said when Receiving got on the line. “We delivered a John and a Jane Doe early this morning for disposal. Order numbers NYC-JD500251 and 252. Will you verify?”

  “Of course, Dr. Morris. Just let me pull those up. I have those deliveries, and disposal was completed. Do you need the verification numbers?”