The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  “We’ll let Feeney run with this awhile and grab a couple hours’ sleep,” Eve said when she and Peabody walked back toward Homicide. “We’re going to need follow-ups with Morris and Mira, and if there’s no report from the lab by fifteen hundred, we need to kick Dickhead.”

  “Want me to set them up?”

  “No, I’ll . . .” She stopped when she saw the big man rise from a bench outside her division. “Yeah, go ahead. Then take the two hours of personal.”

  Eve hung back until Peabody moved off into the bull pen, then, dipping her hands in her pockets, walked forward.

  “Hey, Crack.”

  “Dallas. Good thing you came along when you did. Cops, they get nervous when a big, beautiful black man hangs around.”

  Big he was. Black he was. But beautiful, not even close. He had a face even a besotted mother would have a hard time loving—and that was before the tattoos. He wore a skintight silver T-shirt under a long black leather vest. Snug black pants followed the acreage of his legs. Thick-soled black boots added another inch to his already impressive height.

  He owned a sex club called the Down and Dirty, where the drinks were next to lethal, the music was hot, and many of the patrons had spent as much time in a cage as out of one.

  They called him Crack as he claimed that was the sound he made when he knocked people’s heads together. And that summer, Eve had held him while he’d wept like a baby beside the body of his murdered sister.

  “You just here to scare cops?” she asked.

  “Nothing scares you, white girl. You got a minute? Maybe some place without so many ears.”

  “Sure.” She led the way into her office, shut the door.

  “Cop shops,” he said with a glimmer of a smile. “Don’t know as I’ve ever been in one in what you might call a voluntary capacity.”

  “Want coffee?”

  He shook his head, shifting his bulk to look out the window. “Ain’t much of a place here, hot stuff.”

  “No, but it’s mine. You going to sit?”

  Again, he shook his head. “Ain’t see you in a while.”

  “No.” The silence hung a moment, as they both thought of the last time they’d seen each other.

  “Last time I did was when you come by my place to tell me face-to-face that you got the bastard killed my sister. I didn’t have much to say to you.”

  “Wasn’t much to say.”

  His shoulders lifted, fell. “No. Too much to say.”

  “I went by your place a couple weeks ago. Barman said you were out of town.”

  “Couldn’t stay here after what happened to my baby. Had to get away awhile. Did me some traveling. Big-ass world out there. Took a look at some of it. Never thanked you for what you did for me and my baby sister. Couldn’t get the words out before.”

  “You don’t have to get them out now.”

  “She was beautiful.”

  “Yes, she was. I’ve never lost anybody really close to me, but—”

  He turned back to her now. “You lose people every day. Don’t know how you get through one and into the next.” He drew a deep breath. “I got the letter from your man saying how the two of you had a tree planted in the park for my girl. That was a fine thing to do. I went by to see it, and it’s a fine thing. Want to thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You did right by her, I wanted to say that. Wanted to say I know you took care of her, and I won’t forget it. The living’s got to live, no matter what. So now I’m gonna try to do that, best I can. You come down to the D and D now, I’ll be there. Kicking ass and cracking heads, like always.”

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “You need anything from me, you just ask. Now, I gotta tell you, hot lips, seen you look better.”

  “Long couple of days.”

  “Maybe it’s time you got out of town awhile.”

  “Maybe.” She angled her head as she considered him. “You’re a big guy.”

  “Sweetcheeks.” He patted his crotch. “I got written testimony to that effect.”

  “Bet. But just keep that big dog on the leash.” She was thinking of geographics again. “Big, beautiful black man wants to maintain his big, beautiful build he goes to the gym regular.”

  “I got me some equipment of my own.” He winked lasciviously. “But I use a place a couple times a week. Keeps mind and body disciplined.”

  “You know Jim’s Gym?”

  “Shithole.”

  “I hear that. What about Bodybuilders?”

  “Ain’t no ladies there. Why I want to waste this body on a buncha men? ’Sides, man with my attributes gets hit on in a place like that. Then I have to be busting somebody’s face, and I use up my valuable time. Me, I use Zone to Zone. Man can get himself a full massage—a full massage—after his workout if he’s inclined.”

  “But you know the other places, and you could check them out from the inside, if you were so inclined?”

  His grin spread. “Could, if a skinny white girl cop asked me to.”

  “I’m looking for a guy, between six four and six eight, around two-seventy. Light-skinned. Woman hater. Loner. Seriously strong.”

  “Maybe if I moseyed into those places, like I was maybe considering changing my fitness allegiance, I’d see somebody like that.”

  “Maybe you would. Then you could tell me.”

  “See what I can do.”

  Chapter 13

  Eve banked an hour’s sleep at her desk. When she woke, she was almost disappointed to find the lab reports holding in her incoming. There would be no way to justify trouncing the chief lab tech.

  She read them over, listened to the interoffice memo from Peabody clearing the follow-ups, then scanned her voice and e-mail.

  A message from the commander’s office informed her she was required at a media conference at sixteen hundred. She’d seen that one coming. And she was going to be both unprepared and late if she didn’t get her butt in gear.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face, and put through a call to Morris at the morgue.

  He was at his desk, and answered himself.

  “What can you tell me?” she asked him.

  “I’m about to send you the report, but I can tell you Lily Napier had a short life, that it was ended in the same manner as Elisa Maplewood’s, and in my opinion by the same individual. There was more violence to the face and body, which would lead me to believe his rage is increasing.”

  He shifted, and she could see him bring up a file. “Your on-site was thorough, as always. To that I can add she consumed some pork-fried rice four hours prior to her death, and was mildly anemic. There was no semen. I found fibers inside the vagina. My guess would be they’re from her panties, and were carried inside during the rape. There were other fibers that will likely be identified as textile, and almost certainly be from her own clothing. Grass and dirt under her nails, in accordance with your observation. She dug them into the ground. No hair, other than her own.”

  “Hair from Maplewood turned out to be from the dog, and a squirrel,” Eve told him. “Dog’s obvious, and it’s probable she picked up the squirrel hair on the grass in the park. Dickhead’s report IDs the fibers under Maplewood’s nails as man-made, black. Ubiquitous black cloth. We’ll match it when we get him, but for now we’ve got nothing from him.”

  “Lunatics are, unfortunately, rarely stupid.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Morris.”

  She was about to try Mira’s office when she felt her blood sugar bottom out. Since her chocolate supply was tapped for the moment, vending was her only choice. She walked out to the hallway and stared at a snack machine with pure dislike.

  “Problem?”

  She glanced over, saw Mira. “No. I was just going to grab something, then tag you.”

  “I had a consult in this section. Thought I’d come to you.”

  “Good, fine.” After a brief hesitation, Eve pulled credits out o
f her pocket. “Do me a favor? Get me a Booster Bar.”

  “All right.” But she waved Eve’s credits away. “My treat.”

  “Thanks.” Eve stuck them back in her pocket, jiggled them. “I’m avoiding contact with machines unless absolutely necessary. It’s an experiment.”

  “Hmm. Fake fruit or fake caramel?”

  “Fake caramel. Did you have time to read the report on Napier?”

  “Only to scan it, I’m afraid.” Mira made the selection, and the machine—in what Eve considered particularly snotty tones—raved about the Booster Bar’s delicious flavor, energy snap, and on-the-go convenience before reciting the ingredients and nutritional data.

  “There ought to be a mute feature on these things. There really should.” Eve ripped the wrapper, bit in. “Do you need more time to study the case file?”

  “I’ll certainly take it, but I can tell you what you’ve probably already concluded. He’s escalating. Since he killed again so quickly, it’s logical to assume he’s already selected and stalked more targets. Your on-site indicates no defensive wounds, and a more violent beating premortem.”

  “She was smaller than Maplewood. Sort of delicate. And he clocked her in the face first off, I’d say. Broke her jaw. Didn’t have any fight in her.”

  “From the premortem injuries, my conclusion would be he was more angry, more frustrated, by the fact this victim didn’t fight. He can only truly demonstrate his superior strength and power if his victim struggles.”

  “Beating on somebody’s not much fun if they can’t feel it.”

  “In this case, I’d agree with that. She would have been somewhat of a disappointment to him.”

  “If he’s disappointed, he may kill again more quickly. He may need the satisfaction.” Eve took another bite of the bar, paced up and down the corridor while Mira waited patiently.

  “I’ve got a media conference coming up. Do I tell women with long brown hair to stay off the streets after dark? Jesus. I feel like I’m building a box around him. I feel that, but I haven’t got all the sides steady in place yet. While I’m getting them, while I’m looking for the goddamn lid, he’s going to get another one.”

  “Yes, he probably will.” Mira spoke with complete calm. “He may very well kill more than one before you finish the sides of that box and close the lid. And those deaths will be his doing, his responsibility. Not yours.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “But it’s hard for you to think there’s a woman out there, going about her day, her life, unaware that someone’s planning to end it, violently. Horribly. It’s hard for you to know he may succeed despite everything you’re doing.”

  “While he’s planning it, I’m going to a fricking dinner party tonight.”

  “Eve.” Mira took her arm, eased them a little farther away from the traffic pattern in the corridor. “There was a time you did nothing but the work.”

  “Dinner party.” Eve held her hands out like scales, juggled the right. “Stopping a killer.” And dropped the left as if with great weight. “No-brainer.”

  “It’s not that simple or clear-cut, and you know it.” The stubborn set of Eve’s jaw had her pushing the point. “I’ll tell you now that I estimated you had two, maybe three more years before you burned out. Before you couldn’t stand over another body and keep your sanity. That would’ve been a tragedy, for you, for this department, for the city.”

  Even the thought of it rolled ice into Eve’s gut. “I wouldn’t have let it happen.”

  “It’s not a choice. Two years ago February,” Mira said quietly. “You came in for standard Testing after terminating a suspect.”

  “Suspect’s a little vague description-wise when the guy was holding the bloody knife with the kid he’d just ripped apart in the blood pool at his feet.”

  “You almost didn’t make it through Testing. Not because of the termination, which was justified and necessary, but because of the child. You got through it on sheer will. You know it, and so do I.”

  She remembered. She remembered perfectly the way she’d raced up the stairs, the screams tearing through the air, tearing through her head. And what she’d seen when she’d broken in the door. Too late.

  She’d looked like a doll. A tiny, staring doll in the hands of a monster.

  “I can still see her. Her name was Mandy.” Eve eased out a breath. “Some hit you harder than others.”

  “I know it.” Unable to prevent herself, Mira laid a hand on Eve’s arm, rubbed lightly from elbow to shoulder. “You did the job, but couldn’t save the child. And it hit you, very hard. You’ve had others, will have others, that hit you equally. And the fact that you’ve opened your life, that you will go to a dinner party tonight, even if the job is still circling in part of your mind, may or may not make you a better person, a better cop, but I can promise you it’s given you more years. A great many more years on the job.”

  “There was a time what you’re saying would’ve just pissed me off.”

  A smile quirked Mira’s lips. “Something else I know.”

  “Since it doesn’t—much—maybe you’re right. It’s just dinner. You gotta eat.” She looked down at the wrapper in her hand, gave a half laugh. “Eventually.”

  “I’ll read the case file more thoroughly. If there’s anything else, I’ll contact you right away. And I’m going to red-flag this investigation. I’ll be available to you for consult anytime. Day or night.”

  “Thanks.” She rolled the wrapper into a ball, pitched it into a recycler. “And thanks for the boost. All around.”

  She stopped off in the bathroom to splash ice water on her face. And pulled out her communicator as she dried off.

  “Peabody.”

  “Sir!”

  Eve could see her white face, her startled eyes, in the dim light of the crib. “On your feet, soldier. Media conference in fifteen. One Police Plaza.”

  “Got it. Just let me slap myself around and wake up. I’m on my way.”

  “Get there now. I’ll slap you around.”

  “You sweet-talker.”

  Eve’s lips twitched as she broke transmission. Maybe it wasn’t such a hardship to open up her life—here and there.

  In the grand scheme, Eve considered media conferences more of an ache in the ass than an actual pain. It was an annoyance, like a mild digestive disorder.

  She could see the politics of the setup—using the steps of Central to make it a cop deal, rather than a mayoral one. Having the mayor make a brief statement before stepping back and giving the podium to the chief.

  Tibble was terse and to the point, as she expected from him. He looked powerful and concerned and angry. All the traits you’d want in the city’s top cop when a killer was brutalizing innocent women in the public parks. He wore a dark gray suit with a somber blue tie, and a small gold NYPSD badge in the form of a pin glinting on his lapel.

  A formal and distinguished look, Eve supposed, that fit him like a glove. He took no questions but, like the mayor, issued a statement.

  We’re in charge, Eve concluded. But we’re not in the trenches. We work for order, and send our soldiers out to maintain it.

  It was a good theme, a strong stand, and a wise move to yield the podium to Whitney.

  It all took time, and though no new information was really dispensed, it gave the media bones to gnaw on, and let the public know their top officials were on the job.

  It was a good city, tightly run, Eve thought. For all its dark corners and jagged edges, it was a good city. That was important to remember. You didn’t want to lose sight of the value and the strengths because you spent too much time wading through the wastes.

  So she could stand here, in the bright light of a September afternoon on the steps of her house, and know there was murder and meanness and casual cruelties, and still it was a good city.

  A good city, and the only home she’d ever had.

  “As primary on this investigation, Lieutenant Dallas will take more question
s.” Whitney turned to her. “Lieutenant.”

  Pecking order, Eve thought, and on impulse, took Peabody’s arm, ignored the shocked jerk from it, and drew her to the podium.

  “My partner, Detective Peabody, and I have little to add to the previous statements and the answers Commander Whitney has already given. This investigation is our priority. It is ongoing and active, and we are pursuing any and all leads.”

  Questions spewed out like a geyser of hot air. She let them wash over her, then picked one out of the flood.

  Both victims were mutilated. Do you believe these to be cult killings?

  “None of the evidence we’ve accumulated during this investigation indicates cult involvement. We believe Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier were both killed by one individual, acting alone and on his own volition.”

  Can you give us the nature of these mutilations?

  “Due to the nature of the investigation, our desire to apprehend this individual with dispatch, and the necessity of building a strong case to bring said individual to justice, we can’t reveal specifics as pertains to said investigation.”

  The public has a right to know.

  Did they never tire of swinging that splintered bat? Eve wondered.

  “The public has a right to be protected, and we’re doing everything in our power to do so. The public has a right to be confident that its police force and city officials will work diligently to identify, apprehend, and prosecute the person responsible for the deaths of Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier. The public does not have a right to all the salient and sensitive details of this case.”

  And you, she thought, don’t have the right to clock up your ratings by slathering over the dead.

  What connection is there between the two victims?

  “Peabody,” Eve murmured, and heard her partner gulp.

  “They were both killed by the same method,” Peabody stated. “They were both female, in the same age group, the same racial group. They were both in public parks at the time of the attacks.”