The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “There now. There now, Mother, don’t you look nice? Would you like to see?”

  He was grinning, a mad grin that all but burst through the thick layers of sealant he wore. “Why don’t I help you with that?”

  So saying, he took the scalpel from his pocket and set to work.

  Chapter 10

  When her bedside ’link signaled, Eve rolled toward the sound, said: Shit, crap, damn it, when she fumbled in the dark.

  “Lights on, ten percent,” Roarke called out.

  Eve dragged a hand through her hair, shook her head to clear sleep. “Block video,” she ordered. “Dallas.”

  “He’s killing her. He’s killing her.”

  The voice was so thin and breathy, Eve needed the readout to identify. “Celina. Pull yourself together. Pull it together and give me a clear report.”

  “I saw . . . I saw like the other. Oh, God. It’s too late. It’s already too late.”

  “Where?” She leaped out of bed, tossed her voice toward the ’link as she raced for clothes. “Central Park? Is he in the park?”

  “Yes. No. A park. Smaller. Gated. Buildings. Memorial Park!”

  “Where are you?”

  “I—I’m at home. I’m in bed. I can’t stand what’s in my head.”

  “Stay there. Understand me. Stay where you are.”

  “Yes. I—”

  “End transmission,” Eve snapped, and cut off Celina’s wild weeping.

  “Will you call it in?” Roarke asked.

  “I’ll check it out myself first. I should say we’ll check it out,” she amended as he was up and dressing as she was.

  “Celina?”

  “She’ll have to deal.” Eve strapped on her weapon. “We all have to deal with the stuff in our heads. Let’s move.”

  She let him drive. It might have irked that he handled a vehicle—any vehicle—with more skill than she, but it wasn’t the time to quibble about it.

  It wasn’t the time, she admitted, to quibble about psychics either. She yanked out her communicator and requested a patrol to report to Memorial Park to check out a possible assault.

  “Look for a male, between six four and six eight, muscular build. Approximately two-seventy. If found, detain only. Consider said individual armed and dangerous.”

  Eve leaned forward, as if to give them more velocity as they streaked toward southern Manhattan. “She could be seeing something that’s going to happen, not that has. It could be—what do you call it?”

  “Precognition.”

  “Yeah.” But there was a heaviness in her belly that told her otherwise. “I’m close. Goddamn it, I know I’m on the right track.”

  “If he’s killed tonight, he didn’t wait two months.”

  “Maybe he never has.”

  They chose the west entrance, off Memorial Place, and pulled up behind the black-and-white snugged to the curb.

  “How many ways in and out of this?” Eve asked. “Three, four?”

  “About that, at a guess. I don’t know for sure. It’s only about a block square, I think. One of the smaller and more tasteful of the original WTC memorials.”

  She crossed the sidewalk and, drawing her weapon, moved through the stone archway that led into the green.

  There were benches, a small pond. Big trees, plots of flowers, and a large bronze statue depicting firefighters raising a flag.

  She moved past it, and heard the retching.

  Swiveling toward the sound, she walked quickly south and saw the uniform on his hands and knees, puking into a bed of red and white flowers.

  “Officer—” But she saw the bench a few feet away, and what was on it. “Deal with him,” she told Roarke and walked to the second uniform who was holding his communicator.

  She had her badge up. “Dallas.”

  “Officer Queeks, Lieutenant. Found her just a minute ago. I was about to call it in. We didn’t see anyone. Just her. To ascertain death, I checked her pulse. She’s still warm.”

  “I want this scene secured.” She glanced back. “Is he going to do us any good?”

  “He’ll be okay, Lieutenant. Rookie,” he added with a small, pained smile. “We’ve all been there.”

  “Get him on his feet, Queeks. Secure the scene and do a sweep of this park. Carefully. This isn’t where he killed her. There’ll be another site. I’ll call it in.”

  She drew out her communicator. “Dispatch, this is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Homicide, single victim, female. Location Memorial Park, southwest sector. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia, and crime scene.”

  “Acknowledged, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Dispatch out.”

  “You’ll want this,” Roarke said from behind her, and offered her a field kit.

  “Yeah. I need you to stay back.” She sealed up, hooked on a recorder.

  He watched her approach the victim, begin to record the scene visually and verbally.

  It was fascinating to watch her work, he thought again. And sometimes it was unspeakably sad.

  There was pity in her eyes, and there was anger. She wouldn’t know it showed, and he doubted anyone but himself could see it. But it was there, inside her as she put a madman’s latest work on record.

  She’d study the dead, he thought, and the details. She’d miss nothing. But it wouldn’t only be murder she’d see. She’d see the human. That made all the difference.

  A little more slender than the others, Eve thought. Not as curvy. More delicate, and maybe just a bit younger. But still in the ballpark. Long, light brown hair—a little bit of a wave, but nearly straight. Had probably been pretty, too, though you wouldn’t know it now. Not now that her face was ruined.

  The beating she’d sustained was more severe than Maplewood’s. He was enjoying that part more, she thought. He was less able to control himself.

  Punish her. What she stood for.

  Destroy her. What she stood for.

  Whoever this woman was, it hadn’t been her he’d killed. Whose face had he seen when he’d tightened the cord around her neck? Whose eyes had stared back at him?

  When the position of the body, the visual injuries, were on record, she drew the hands apart to run prints.

  “Lieutenant!” Queeks called from her right. “I think we’ve got your kill site.”

  “Secure it. Block it off, Queeks. I don’t want anyone walking around on my scene.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Victim is identified through fingerprints as Lily Napier, age twenty-eight. Listed address is 293 Vesey Street, apartment 5C.”

  You were pretty, Lily, Eve thought, as she studied the ID picture on her screen. Soft, slight. A little shy.

  “Employed O’Hara’s Bar and Grill, Albany Street. Walking home from work, weren’t you, Lily? It’s not very far. Saves the transpo fare, and it’s a warm night. It’s your neighborhood. You’d walk through the park, and then you’d be home.”

  She fit on goggles, examined the hands, the nails. Death hadn’t yet leeched all the heat from her body.

  “Looks like dirt, some grass. We can hope for fibers or skin. Broken wrist, looks like a broken jaw. Multiple contusions and abrasions on face, torso, shoulders. Did a number on you, Lily. Appearance of sexual assault. Some evidence of vaginal bleeding. Contusions, abrasions on thighs and genital area. Removing some fibers into evidence.”

  She worked meticulously, plucking tiny fibers from the body, never flinching as she took them from the genital area.

  She sealed them tagged them, logged them.

  And if part of her system revolted, much as the rookie’s had, if part of her wanted to scream at the visions of rape, she refused them and continued on.

  Still wearing the goggles, she leaned down into the dead face and studied the bloody holes where the eyes had been.

  “Smooth, clean cuts, similar to those inflicted on Elisa Maplewood.”

  “Dallas.”

  “Peabody.” She didn’t look around, a
nd thought only briefly that she had missed, for some reason, the telltale clomp of Peabody’s uniform shoes. “We’ve got the kill site just south. First on scene is Queeks. Verified that scene’s secured.”

  “Crime scene’s right behind me.”

  “Take part of the team with you, have them start looking in a direct path from that scene to this for impressions in the grass. But don’t let anybody mess with that scene until I’ve seen it.”

  “On that. Uniforms found her?”

  “No.” Eve straightened now. “Celina Sanchez had another vision.”

  Eve finished her exam of the body and the dump site, then walked to where Roarke stood, just behind the crime scene sensors Queeks had set up.

  She’d remember that, she thought. Remember that Officer Queeks worked quick and quiet and didn’t annoy the primary with a lot of chatter and questions.

  “You don’t have to wait.”

  “I’ll wait,” Roarke said. “I’m in it now.”

  “Guess you are. Well, come with me. You’ve got good eyes. Maybe you’ll spot something I miss.”

  She took a wide circular route to the second scene. If he’d left impressions in the grass again, she didn’t want to disturb them.

  She nodded to Queeks. “Good work. Where’s the rookie?”

  “I got him out securing the entrances with a couple of the guys. He’s okay, Lieutenant, just green. Only been on the job three months, and this was his first body. It was a tough one, too. But he maintained until he was well away from the scene.”

  “I’m not writing him up for hurling, Queeks. You see anything I should know about other than the body?”

  “We came in the same entrance as you. Got one on all four sides. We headed south, intending to make a circle. Saw her pretty quick. Didn’t observe anyone else. Not in the park or on the street. We were just coming out of a double D on Varick when the call came through on this. Some street people out, some die-hard LC’s trolling, but no one that fit the description we were given.”

  “How long have you worked in this sector?”

  “About a dozen.”

  “You know O’Hara’s?”

  “Sure, Mick place down on Albany. Decent place, food’s tolerable.”

  “What time does it close?”

  “Two, earlier if it’s slow.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Peabody?”

  “Some blood. Some of the grass is ripped up, some’s tamped down. Got a couple of small scraps of cloth. Might be from an article of clothing.”

  “I can see all that, Peabody. What do you see?”

  “Well, I think he took her just inside the south entrance as she’d started in to cut across the park. Could’ve grabbed her outside, but more likely she cut in. He took her down here, assaulted, overpowered, tore some of her clothes in the struggle, though there’s no indication she put up much of a fight. Raped her here. I haven’t examined the body, but it looks like maybe she dug her fingers into the grass. As it appears to be the same MO as Maplewood, he would have strangled her at this point, taken her clothes, then carried her to the other location where he could pose her and remove her eyes.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I see. Inside, though. She cut through, shortcut home. Patrols go by here regularly. Park stays pretty clean. Safe. He’d have to work fast, but that’s no problem for him. He’s got the routine knocked now. Time of death was oh two hundred, almost on the dot. First arrived two hundred twenty minutes. You factor in the time it took him to undress her, carry her, pose her, mutilate her, he cut it close this time.”

  “He could’ve still been in the park when they arrived.”

  Eve glanced back at Roarke, lifted her eyebrows.

  “He could have heard them. Car pulls up, doors slam. He moves off, out of the lights, behind any number of trees. Wouldn’t he, if he could, enjoy watching her be discovered?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, he would.”

  “He’d only just finished with her. And wouldn’t he need a moment to pat himself on the back for the fine job he’d done?” Unable to help himself, Roarke glanced back to where Lily Napier lay on the bench. “He hears someone coming, and nips back. He’d kill them if he had to, that would be his thinking. But how gratifying it must have been to see cops find her, so quickly, so fresh, with him able to see. Then he’s out, the opposite direction, with a nice bonus to his evening.”

  As she’d speculated along the exact same lines herself, she nodded. “You’re getting good at this. I want a thorough sweep of the entire park, every blade of grass, every flower petal, every tree.”

  “He seals up, Lieutenant,” Peabody reminded her. “We don’t have his DNA, his blood type, his hair, nothing to match if they could find anything in an area this size.”

  “He seals up.” Eve held out a hand, turned it over so the smears of blood shone in the light. “Me, too. We’re not looking for his DNA. We’re looking for hers.”

  Again, she stepped back, but this time she gestured to Roarke. “Let’s take a little walk.”

  “You’re hoping to be able to see his direction. Where he moved, how he moved.”

  “Anything that adds a line to his picture’s good.” She needed to get away from cop eyes, from cop ears, and kept going until they were out of the park again, on the sidewalk. “I think, geographically, he’s closer to home here than he was with Maplewood. But it doesn’t matter to him. He’ll go where he needs to go.”

  “And you didn’t come all the way out here to tell me that.”

  “No. Look, there’s no point in you waiting. We’re going to be at this awhile, then I’ve got to go into Central.”

  “Déjà vu.”

  “Yeah. This guy likes night work.”

  “You haven’t had more than an hour’s sleep.”

  “I’ll catch some in my office.” She started to wipe her hand absently on her trousers, but he caught her wrist.

  “Hold on.” He opened her field kit, took out a rag.

  “Right.” Cleaning the blood off her hands, she stared back through the stone arch. The park was brilliant with light now. The sweepers, in their protective suits, moved through it like silent images on a screen. The media would pounce soon—they always did—and would have to be dealt with.

  Before much longer, lights would go on in the windows of surrounding buildings. Some would glance out, see and wonder. Then civilians would have to be dealt with.

  She was going to shut down the park. So the mayor would have to be dealt with.

  The fun never quit.

  “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

  “Too many things, and I’ve got to start lining them up. I’m going to be calling Celina into Central, get a detailed report of her . . . vision. I’m going to have a couple of soft-clothes cops escort her in. Eight hundred.”

  She stuck her hands in her pockets, pulled them out again when she remembered she’d wiped off the blood but hadn’t cleaned off the sealant. “Here’s the thing.”

  When she said nothing else, only continued to stare into the park, Roarke cocked his head. “And that thing would be?”

  “She said she was home in bed when she contacted me. I’d just like to verify that, that’s all. Just like to nail that down.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “I don’t not believe her. I just want to verify, so it’s off my mind. So I don’t find myself wondering. That’s all.”

  “And if someone could . . . gain access to her bedroom when she was elsewhere, check her ’link, you wouldn’t find yourself wondering.”

  “Yes.” She looked at him then. “And I can’t believe I’m standing here asking you to commit a crime. I know if she was home in bed when she contacted me, she couldn’t have been here when the murder took place—not when she called minutes after Napier’s death. I could request a check of her ’link, send an e-man to her place with her permission, but—”

  “It seems rude.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about se
eming rude, but I do about making an ass of myself. I do about potentially alienating a valuable source.”

  “Eight o’clock then.”

  She was torn between relief and worry. “Listen, I’ll contact you when she comes in. Just to make sure it’s clear. If you get caught—”

  “Darling Eve.” There was a deliberate wealth of patience in his tone. “I love you more than life itself and have, I believe, demonstrated that regularly throughout our relationship. So I can’t understand why you persist in insulting me.”

  “Me neither. Just in and out. Just the ’link. Don’t go poking around. If it checks out, don’t contact me. If it doesn’t, tag me on my personal.”

  “Shouldn’t we have code words?”

  She sent him a withering look as he grinned at her. “Yeah. Bite me.”

  Laughing, he jerked her forward and did just that, giving her a quick nip on the chin before brushing his lips over hers. “I’ll find my own way home. Get a little sleep.”

  Eve turned back toward the arch, back toward death, and didn’t see how she could.

  Notifying next of kin was always hideous, but it was worse, somehow worse, when it had to be done in the middle of the night. She depressed the buzzer on an apartment on the Lower West Side and prepared to take a slice out of someone’s world.

  There was a wait, long enough she was preparing to ring again when the intercom blinked on.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “Police.” Eve held up her badge, stood with it in view of the peep. “We need to speak with Carleen Steeple.”

  “It’s four in the fricking morning. What’s this about?”

  “Sir, we need to come inside.”

  The intercom clicked off, followed by an irritated rattle of chains and locks. The man who opened the door wore nothing but a pair of loose cotton pants and an annoyed expression. “What’s this about? Some of us are trying to sleep, and I don’t want you waking up the kids.”

  “We’re sorry to disturb you, Mr. Steeple.” The brother-in-law, Eve thought, according to the data. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas. This is Detective Peabody. We need to speak to your wife.”

  “Andy?” A woman with short, curly, sleep-ruffled hair poked her face out of a doorway. “What’s going on?”