The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  What other connections? What are your leads?

  “We’re not able to disclose or discuss specific details of the investigation for reasons already stated.”

  Do you consider him a sexual predator?

  “Two women,” Eve began with what she considered Herculean patience, “were brutalized, raped, and murdered. I think you can draw your own conclusions.”

  Do you believe he’ll kill again?

  Can you describe the murder weapon in more detail?

  Do you have any suspects?

  Do you expect to make an arrest soon?

  Will you close more parks?

  Was the mutilation sexual in nature?

  “I wonder.” Her eyes had been flat and cold, but now hints of temper glinted in them. Eve interrupted the barrage of questions, and this time there was an edge in her voice. “I sincerely wonder which part of ‘we will not disclose or discuss specifics’ you fail, as a group, to comprehend. I wonder why you insist on wasting your breath and our time asking questions we cannot and will not answer. So let me save us all the effort and tell you what I know.”

  They quieted, as if she were about to reveal a new set of commandments. “Two women, and let me repeat their names in case you’ve forgotten them. Because I haven’t forgotten who they were, nor has my partner, nor has any member of this department forgotten them. Their names are Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier. These women’s lives were violently and unrightfully taken. They were taken near their own homes, in our city. It is their rights that were violated in the most heinous way. It is their rights we will seek to defend as we continue our investigation. We will continue this investigation, with all the resources available, until such time as the individual who violated them is identified, apprehended, and incarcerated. I work for Elisa Maplewood and Lily Napier, and now I’m going to get back to it.”

  She turned away, strode back into Central, and ignored the questions hurled at her back.

  The moment she was back in, a handful of cops, drones, and civilian liaisons broke into applause.

  “Shit” was all Eve said, and that was under her breath.

  “I thought you were brilliant,” Peabody said from behind her. “Sincerely.”

  “Doesn’t do any good to get pissed off, or to preach.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think Maplewood’s and Napier’s friends and families will appreciate what you said, and how you said it. Aside from that, I think it sends a message to the killer. Loud and clear. We’re hunting him, and we’re not going to stop.”

  “Yeah. Well, there’s that.”

  “And since I enjoy watching you tear a small strip off the more ass-holey reporters, I can forgive you for tossing me into the deep end of the pool, without so much as a ‘Hold your breath.’ ”

  “You did fine.”

  “I did,” Peabody agreed. Then closed her mouth quickly when Tibble and Whitney entered.

  “Lieutenant, Detective.” Tibble nodded to both of them. “You had considerable to say this afternoon, Lieutenant. Not your usual taciturn self.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well said. Commander?”

  Whitney paused as Tibble strode off. “Mayor’s closing it down. A moment of silence for the victims.” Whitney glanced toward the doors, cynicism in every pore. “An inspired touch and a good visual for the evening reports. Chill down a little,” he suggested, “and get back to work.”

  “I’m as chilly as I’m going to get,” Eve decided after he’d moved off to join Tibble. She checked the time. “It’s early for anyone who was on Napier’s shift, but let’s take a shot at O’Hara’s.”

  Her pocket ’link signaled. “Hell,” she muttered when the readout warned her it was Nadine.

  “I’ve made my statement, answered the questions. I’m done, Nadine.”

  “I’m not calling as a reporter. Give me five minutes.”

  She’d sneak, Eve thought, she’d prevaricate, but she wouldn’t lie.

  “Heading down to the garage. Can you get in there?”

  The smirk twisted her lips. “Please.”

  “Level One, Section Three. I don’t have time to wait for you.”

  She didn’t have to wait. Nadine was already there, and the fact that she was idly buffing her fingernails told Eve she wanted to rub it in a little.

  “I know this is your slot,” Nadine began. “But since when is this your ride?”

  Eve skimmed a hand over the fender of the shiny blue vehicle. Soon, when she was absolutely sure of privacy, she might just kiss it.

  “Since my devious partner used the right bribe on the right person.”

  “Go, Peabody.”

  “It was nothing. A couple vids of Dallas naked in the shower, and we’re cruising.”

  “Very funny. What do you want, Nadine? I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “Breen Merriweather.” There was no smirk now.

  “You have information?”

  “I don’t know that I do. I’ve very carefully asked some questions,” she added before Eve could speak. “I know how to ask questions, and I comprehend all manner of things, including we will not discuss or disclose. Asking questions with the idea that Breen was one of this bastard’s targets puts a different complexion on the answers. She made an offhand comment, a few nights before she disappeared, to some of the tech crew.”

  “What comment?”

  “Coffee-break talk, some of the girl techs. One of them man-hunting. No good men left in the city. No big strong heroes, blah, blah. And Breen said she should come ride home with her some night. There was this big, silent type starting to ride her train. She made some joke about that old horse—you know, the size of a man’s thumbs indicating the size of his equipment. Said this guy must be hung like a bull because his hands were the size of turkey platters.”

  “That it?”

  “No.” She pushed at her hair. “They were joking around, just chilling. So there was a lot of how big is he, Breen, and your expected lewd conversation. She—Breen—she said she’d pass him to one of the other girls, because he wasn’t her type. She liked men with hair, and he was probably an asshole anyway, because he always wore sunshades. Middle of the night, and he’s wearing sunshades.”

  “Okay.”

  “It had to be him.”

  “A lot of people ride the subway at night, Nadine. Some of them are men. Some of the men are large. But yeah, it’s possible.”

  “Trains have security cams.”

  “Yeah, they do.” It was hard to look at hope, insistent hope, in the eyes of a friend. “And the discs are recycled every thirty days. She’s been gone a lot longer than that.”

  “But you could—”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “The sunshades, Dallas. He’s got a thing for eyes.”

  “I comprehend things, too. I’m going to follow up on it.”

  “All right.” She backed off though Eve could all but see her quiver to say more, to ask more. “You have to promise to let me know.”

  “Soon as I can.”

  Nadine nodded, then shook herself and looked back toward the vehicle. “So, how long you figure before you trash this one?”

  “Shut up.”

  To discourage further conversation, she got in the car. She started it up, reversed around Nadine, and drove out of the garage.

  And immediately contacted Feeney.

  “I’ve got a tip.”

  “Me, too. Let a smile be your umbrella and you’re gonna get your dumb ass wet.”

  “Huh. I’ll remember that. Merriweather, Breen, missing and presumed. She commented to a coworker a couple days before she poofed about a big guy who started riding her train. Made a lot of comments regarding his size. Also described him as bald and wearing sunshades.”

  “Discs are recycled by now, if not destroyed.” He pulled his lip. “We can go to the Transit Authority, cull through until we find discs, if they still exist, for that time period. We can pick through the images,
try to find echoes of previous images. Lot of luck involved there, but we might find him.”

  She noticed—tried not to, but couldn’t avoid it—that today’s shirt was the color of lime juice. “I can ask Whitney for the extra manpower and OT you need.”

  “I can do my own begging, thanks. I’ll send a couple of boys down to get started. Got the train route in the file.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  “McNab’s eyes are going to bleed,” Peabody commented when Eve ended transmission. “That’s what he gets for being an e-man.”

  “We get a visual of this guy, we nail that visual, we nail the box.”

  It was going to take time, Eve thought. Not just hours, but days. And more than luck, it was going to require a small miracle.

  O’Hara’s was as advertised: a small, reasonably clean Irish-style pub. More authentic in that area, Eve noted, than some billed as such in the city that attempted to prove it by slapping up shamrocks everywhere and requiring the staff to speak with fake Irish accents.

  This one was dimly lit, with a good, solid bar, deep booths, and low tables scattered around with short stools bracketing them rather than chairs.

  The man working the stick was wide as a draft horse, and pulled pints of Harp, Guinness, Smithwick’s, with an easy skill that told her he’d likely been doing so since he could stand.

  He had a ruddy face, a thatch of sandy hair, and eyes that skimmed and scanned the room like a cop’s.

  He’d be the man to see.

  “I’ve never had a Guinness,” Peabody commented.

  “You’re not having one now.”

  “Yeah, on duty and all. But I’m going to have to try one sometime. Except they look a little scary and they cost beyond.”

  “Get what you pay for.”

  “Huh. Yet another tip.”

  Eve stepped up to the bar. Its tender pushed pints into waiting hands, then worked his way down. “Officers,” he said.

  “You’ve got good eyes. Mr. O’Hara?”

  “I’m O’Hara. My father was on the job.”

  “Where?”

  “In merry old Dublin.”

  She heard it in his voice, the same lilt that crept into Roarke’s. “When did you come over?”

  “When I was but a green and cheery twenty, off to seek my fortune. And did well enough.”

  “Looks like.”

  “Ah well.” His face sobered. “You’re here about Lily. You want my help, or that of any here, to find the bastard who murdered that sweet girl, you’ve got it. Michael, take the stick. We’ll sit down a moment,” he said to Eve. “Will you have a pint?”

  “On duty,” Peabody said, a little morosely, and he grinned.

  “Beer’s next thing to mother’s milk, but I’ll pour you out something soft. Take that booth down there. I’ll be right along.”

  “Pretty nice place.” Peabody settled in the booth, looked around. “I’m going to come back with McNab, try the Guinness. Does it come in light?”

  “What would be the point?”

  O’Hara brought two soda waters and a pint to the booth, and slid his bulk in across from them.

  “To our Lily then.” He lifted his glass. “Bless her sweet soul.”

  “What time did she leave here that night?”

  He sipped. “I know you’re cops, but I haven’t your names as yet.”

  “Sorry.” She pulled out her badge as she spoke. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”

  “Roarke’s cop. I thought so.”

  “You know Roarke?”

  “Not in a personal manner of speaking. I’ve a few years on him, and we ran in different circles back in the day. My father knew him,” O’Hara said with a twinkle.

  “I bet.”

  “Did well for himself, too, didn’t he now?”

  “You could say. Mr. O’Hara—”

  “I don’t know him personally,” O’Hara interrupted, and leaned in, his eyes keen on hers. “But I know of him. And one of the things I know is that he’s a man who tends to want and have the best. Would that include his cop?”

  “I’m sitting here, Mr. O’Hara, as Lily’s cop. And I’m going to make damn sure she’s got the best.”

  “Well.” He sat back, lifted his pint again. “Well now, that’s a fine answer. She left about half-one. It was a slow night so I scooted her along a bit early. I should’ve had someone walk her home. I should’ve thought of that after what happened to that uptown woman. But I never thought of it.”

  “You’ve got good eyes, Mr. O’Hara. Did you notice anyone in here that made you look harder?”

  “Girl, doesn’t a week go by someone doesn’t make me take a harder look. I run a pub, after all. But not what you’re meaning. There was nobody I saw who made me think I’d need to worry for my girls.”

  “He’d be big,” Eve continued. “A big man, strong-looking. He’d keep to himself, wouldn’t socialize or make conversation. He might have worn sunshades. He wouldn’t sit at the bar, unless there was no choice. He’d want a table—in Lily’s section—and he’d make it clear he didn’t want company.”

  “I’d remember someone like that.” He shook his head. “But I don’t. I’m here most nights. But not every.”

  “We’d like to talk to whoever worked Lily’s shift.”

  “There’d be Michael, there at the bar now. And Rose Donnelly, Kevin and Maggie Lannigan. Ah, Pete, back in the kitchen at the dishes. Peter Maguire.”

  “Regulars?”

  “Ah well. Why don’t I write some of this down for you, get you addresses where I can. You can talk to Michael now, for he’s a clever enough lad and can work the bar and talk at the same time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let me tell you something about Lily. She was a shy thing, and we teased her about it. She had a kind and quiet nature, and worked well. When she got to know you, got comfortable so to speak, she was easier. She had a smile for you, and she remembered your name and what you ordered. She didn’t shine, but she was steady and sweet. We won’t forget her.”

  “Neither will we.”

  Chapter 14

  The interviews took them past end-of-shift. And, Eve thought, unless she was going to screw up her personal life, she had to set the rest aside and head uptown.

  “We could manage Rose Donnelly, that would finish it off.” Peabody gestured west. “She doesn’t live far.”

  “If it wasn’t her night off, we might’ve caught her here. We can swing by, then I’ll dump you and . . . Hold that thought.” She dragged out her signaling ’link. “Dallas.”

  “I’m hoping I could speak to you.” Celina’s tired face filled the screen. “I can come to you.”

  “Something new?”

  “No. Just . . . I’d like a few minutes.”

  “I’m downtown anyway. I’ll come by now.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “I’ll take Sanchez,” Eve told Peabody. “See if you can link up with Donnelly, get her statement.”

  “Works for me. I’ll see you later, at dinner. Walking another two blocks.” Peabody rubbed her hands together. “I get to eat everything that’s not nailed down.”

  Eve jumped back in the car, headed for SoHo. And called Roarke. “Hi. I’m running a little late.”

  “Shock and amazement.”

  “Everybody’s got a joke today. I’ll be there. I’ve just got to make another stop first.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If little becomes very, do you prefer to go straight to Charles’s, meet me there?”

  “I’ll let you know, but I hope to hell not. I want a goddamn shower. I think I can make it in an hour. Probably. Around.”

  “Close enough. I saw your press conference. They ran its entirety, and are following up with various sound bites.”

  “Goodie.”

  “I was very proud of you.”

  “Well . . . jeez.”

  “And I thought, if I were the man this woman with the cold and tired eyes was after,
I would tremble.”

  “You wouldn’t tremble if I was holding my weapon at your throat, but thanks. I’m going to take this last meet, then I’m heading home.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Oh.” She brightened a bit. “You’re still at work, didn’t realize. That’s good, that’s better. I’m not the only one scrambling. See you.”

  Pleased with the situation, she pulled up in front of Celina’s loft. Even as she crossed to the entrance, Celina’s voice came through the intercom.

  “I’ve cleared locks. Come right up.”

  Anxious, Eve thought as she went inside and entered the elevator. When it reached level two Celina was waiting to open the gate.

  “Thanks for coming. Thanks for being so quick.”

  “I wasn’t that far away. What’s going on?”

  “I need to . . . can I get you something? Tea? A glass of wine?”

  “No. I’m heading home. I’ve got a thing.”

  “Oh.” Distractedly, Celina brushed a hand through her hair. “Sorry. Let’s sit down anyway. I made tea. Needed to keep busy while I waited for you.”

  Tea, Eve noted, along with little cookies, some neat wedges of cheese. Looked like girl-chat time to her, and she didn’t have the time or the inclination. “You said there wasn’t anything new.”

  “I haven’t had another vision.” She sat, poured tea for herself. “I kept some of my appointments today. Thought I should try. But I ended up cancelling the rest after taking the first two. I just can’t concentrate.”

  “Tough on business.”

  “I can afford the time off. The regulars understand, and as for new clients . . .” She moved her shoulders, elegantly. “It adds to the mystique. But that’s not the point.”

  “And the point is?”

  “I’m getting to it.” Celina tilted her head. “Not much on small talk, are you?”

  “I figure there’s a reason it’s called small.”

  “Suppose you’re right. To begin, I watched your media conference. I wasn’t going to, but I felt, I thought, I should.”

  She curled up her legs. “And it made me think.”

  “It made you think what?”

  “I can do more. I should do more. There’s a reason I’m getting these visions. I don’t know what it is, not specifically, but I know there’s a purpose. And while I’m doing the minimum I feel is required of me, I could do more.”