by J. D. Robb
“It’s all right. He can’t hurt you. He can’t see you or hear you. Can you see him?”
“I . . . It’s dark. Shadows. In the shadows, watching her. I can hear him, breathing—fast—but she can’t. She can’t hear him. She doesn’t know he’s watching. She should go back now, go back into the lights, away from the shadows. She needs to go back! But she doesn’t. She doesn’t know he’s there until he . . . No!”
“He can’t hurt you, Celina. Listen to my voice. Nothing can hurt you. You’re safe. Breathe in the blue, breathe out the white.”
Celina’s breathing evened, but her voice continued to shake. “He’s hurting her. He jumped at her, hit her, and the little dog ran away, trailing his leash. He’s hurting her, hitting her. She fights. Blue, her eyes are blue. I see them now, and they’re afraid. She tries to run, but he’s too big. He’s too fast! She can’t scream, can’t scream when he’s on top of her. Crushing her.”
“Celina. Can you see him?”
“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to. He might see me. If he sees me, he’ll—”
“He can’t see you. You’re floating, and he can’t see you. You’re safe, and floating.”
“He can’t see me.”
“That’s right.”
“There’s nothing I can do.” She shifted restlessly in her chair. “Why do I have to see this? I can’t help her.”
“Yes, you can. If you look at him, if you tell me what you see, it will help her. Look at him, Celina.”
“He’s big. He’s very big. Strong. She can’t push him away, she can’t fight. She—”
“Look at him, Celina. Just him now.”
“He’s . . . Black, he’s wearing black. Like the shadows. His hands . . . his hands are pulling and tearing at her clothes. He calls her a whore. ‘See how you like it now, whore. It’s your turn now, bitch.’ ”
“His face, Dr. Mira,” Eve murmured. “Give me his face.”
“Look at his face, Celina.”
“I’m afraid.”
“He doesn’t see you. You don’t have to be afraid of him. Look at his face. What do you see?”
“Rage. Rage. Contorted. His eyes are black, black and blind. I can’t see his eyes. He’s wearing something over them. Shades, shades over his eyes, with a strap around his head. His head shines. His face shines. Horrible. He’s raping her. Grunting and slamming himself into her. I don’t want to see.”
“Just his face.”
“There’s something over it. A mask? It shines. Not a mask. Something shiny and slick. Not white. Not white under the shine. Brown. Tanned. I don’t know.”
Her breathing went rapid, thready as she turned her head side to side. “His face is wide, wide and square.”
“Eyebrows,” Eve prompted.
“Do you see his eyebrows, Celina?”
“Very dark and thick. He’s killing her now. Pulling the red ribbon tight, tighter. She can’t breathe. We can’t breathe.”
“I have to bring her out,” Mira said when Celina started to gasp for air. “Celina, turn away now. Turn away from them now and look at your star. Watch your star. Can you see it?”
“Yes, I . . .”
“It’s all you see. Only the star. It’s beautiful, it’s peaceful. It’s guiding you back now. Bringing you home. You’re floating down now, very slowly. You feel relaxed, refreshed. When I tell you to open your eyes, you’ll wake up, and you’ll remember everything you saw, everything we talked about. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I want to wake up.”
“You’re waking up now, coming up through the layers of sleep. Open your eyes, Celina.”
She blinked them open. “Dr. Mira.”
“Yes. Just stay still for a moment. I’m going to get you something to drink. You did very well.”
“I saw him.” She turned her head, looked at Eve. “I saw him, Dallas.” A smile trembled onto her lips, and she reached out a hand.
Eve rose, gave Celina’s hand a brief squeeze, since it seemed called for, then stepped back so Mira could give Celina a cup.
“Would you recognize him?” Eve asked.
“His face.” Celina shook her head and sipped. “It’s hard. The shades hid his eyes, and whatever was on his face—over it?—distorted it. I know the body type as I’d told you before. I know now he’s either mixed race, dark skinned or tanned. And the shape of his face. He’s bald. Smoothly, like a man who removes or has his hair removed. I don’t understand what he had on his face.”
“A sealant, most likely. Thickly applied. What about his voice? Any accent?”
“No . . . No. It was guttural, but that might have been the rage. He didn’t shout, though, not even when he . . . He kept his voice down.”
“Rings, jewelry, tats, scars, birthmarks?”
“I didn’t see anything. Didn’t notice. Can we try again, and I’ll—”
“Absolutely not.” Mira brought up the lights. “I won’t authorize another session until tomorrow evening, soonest. I’m sorry, Eve. This sort of thing can’t be rushed.”
“I feel fine,” Celina protested. “Better, in fact, than I did before we started.”
“And I want you to continue to feel fine. You’re to go home, relax, have a meal.”
“Can that meal include a really big glass of wine?”
“Certainly.” Mira patted Celina’s shoulder. “Do what you can to keep your mind off this, and we’ll take the next step forward tomorrow.”
“I feel like I did take a step. It won’t be as hard tomorrow. Are there photos I can look at?” she asked Eve. “Before the session tomorrow? I might recognize him if I saw his picture.”
“I’ll see what I can put together by then.”
“Well.” Celina set the cup aside. “I’m going to go have that wine.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Mira’s admin was closing up for the day, and a check of the time told Eve it was nearly six. Time to get moving.
“Maybe when this is over, we can have a glass of wine together.”
Eve led the way to a glide. “Sounds good. This hypnosis thing, does it make you feel like somebody slipped you a tranq? You know, so you’re out of yourself?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. But you’re tethered, if you know what I mean. There’s some part of you that’s aware you’re being held safe, and you can come back.”
“Hmm.”
“It was a little strange, but not really unpleasant. The process, I mean, not what I saw during it. Where I had to go was very unpleasant, so I think that colors it somewhat. But, essentially, it’s not that different than having visions.”
“You got that part nailed.”
“I certainly should. I’m hoping this is a one-shot, this turn my gift’s taken. But if it’s not, I’ll handle it better next time.”
“You’ve handled yourself. You find your way out of this maze from here?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got to head back.” She gestured toward her sector.
“Haven’t you been on since early this morning?”
“That’s how it goes.”
“You can keep it,” Celina said sincerely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at Mira’s? Let me know if you want me to come in earlier and look at pictures.”
“You’ll hear from me.”
Eve peeled off, wound her way back to Homicide. She detoured by Peabody’s desk, thumped on it, gestured, and headed to her own office. “Got a basic description. Added to ours, he’s a really big son of a bitch. Mixed race or—”
“She said white before.”
“Sealant threw her off. Sounds like he coats it on thick, probably uses one that’s not completely clear. “Mixed race, brown skin or tanned. Bald—smooth dome. Square face, dark, thick eyebrows. No distinguishing marks that she made this time out. He wears dark shades when he does them.”
“Jesus.”
“Could be something’s wrong with his eyes, could be another symbol or part of his pathology. W
e’ll research eye diseases or sensitivities.”
“Funky-junkies are light sensitive.”
“He’s not on the funk. Steroids, maybe, to give the body a boost. What do you have for me?”
“None of the people Sommers spent the evening with gave her or remember her with a droid or a toy. No cat. I’ve started running purchases, haven’t hit anything yet.”
“Run it through, then you’re going to hook up with Feeney for some OT in the field.”
“Feeney?”
“We’re splitting his match list, such as it is. I want to cover as much territory as we can, tonight. You saddle with Feeney. I’m bringing Roarke in. He’s mostly up to speed anyway. Saves me briefing another badge.”
She paused, sat on the corner of her desk. “Listen, if you get lucky, and pop on this guy tonight, remember, he’s not going to let you take him down easy.”
“You’re not going to tell me to be careful, are you?”
“I’m going to tell you to be good. Stay sharp. You pop him, and he goes for either of you, he’ll go for you first.”
“Female.”
“Right. He’ll hurt you if he can.”
“So don’t let him. And right back at you, sir.”
“Give Feeney the rest of the description. Keep it in your head. Maybe he wears a rug, so—”
“Dallas, this isn’t my first flight out of the nest.”
“Right. Right, right.” Restless, she got up, but bypassed coffee for water. Overcaffeinated, she told herself as she opened the bottle. “I got bad vibes, is all.”
“Want me to call and check in when I get home, Mommy?”
“Scram.”
“Scramming.”
Eve dropped down at the desk, added her record of the session with Mira to her case file, and organized her notes into her daily report.
Roarke had told her he’d meet her at her office at seven-thirty if not before, so she had time. A little time. She started the research on eye sensitivities, then let the computer hum along while she got up, paced to the window.
Bad vibes, she thought again, and looked out at her city.
It wasn’t extrasensory. What she had, what she did was, in her opinion, the antithesis of paranormal. It was elemental, maybe on some level even primitive—the way early man had known when to hunt and when to hide.
She’d say visceral except the word always sounded sort of pompous to her. And there was nothing pompous about cop work.
The vibes, for lack of a better word, were a combination of instinct and experience and a knowledge she had no inclination to analyze.
She knew he’d marked his next target. And could only wonder who, and where, he’d strike tonight.
Chapter 18
In his elegant dark business suit, Roarke circled Eve’s new vehicle while it was parked in her slot in Central’s garage. “Haven’t had a chance to really examine your upgrade. Long overdue, Lieutenant.”
“It does the job.”
“Better, one hopes, than your previous one.” He tapped the hood. “Release the hood latch.”
“Why?”
“So I can look at the engine.”
“Why? It runs. What else is there to know? Looking at it doesn’t change anything.”
He gave her a long, pitying smile. “Darling Eve, your absolute lack of interest and aptitude for mechanics is so female.”
“Watch it, pal.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know what’s under here?” He tapped the hood again. “What’s getting you where you’re going?”
“No.” Though he had stirred some mild curiosity. “Besides, I’m getting a later start on this than I’d planned. Let’s just move.”
“Well, let’s have the codes.” He lifted a brow when she frowned. “If you won’t let me play with it, you can at least let me drive it.”
She supposed it was fair. He was giving her the evening for work. She gave him the codes, then walked around to the passenger side. “The department appreciates your time and assistance, blah, blah.”
“Please, you’re much too effusive in your gratitude.”
He settled behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to his preference, scanning the dash. He judged the data and communication system to be middle-range. It baffled him that the NYPSD didn’t spring for top-of-the-line for their mobile situations.
He engaged the engine and wasn’t displeased by the sound. “You’ve got more power under you this time, at least.” Then he smiled at her. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“It’s okay. I kept busy. And Feeney couldn’t wiggle loose until about twenty minutes ago, so he and Peabody are getting a late start with this, too.”
“Then let’s catch up.” He eased out of the slot, drove at a discreet speed to the entrance. Flicked a glance at the pattern of traffic.
And punched it.
“Jesus, Roarke!”
He whipped through, skimming his way around cabs and cars and one-seaters, and nipped through a light a blink before it went to red. “Not bad,” he decided.
“If I bung this thing up the first week, I’ll never live it down.”
“Umm-hmm.” He went vertical, maintaining it until he’d swung around a corner. “Could be a bit more elastic on the turns, but it handles well enough.”
“And if Traffic lights you up, I’m not flashing my badge to kill the violation.”
“Lateral’s fairly smooth,” he decided after testing it out. “So, where are we going?”
She sighed, long and deep, but at least the question allowed her to relay the first name and address to her map system. “You want the route displayed on windshield or the dash monitor?”
“Dash will do.”
“On monitor,” she ordered and couldn’t suppress the smile when it popped on. “I ditched the vocals. It’ll only blab at me if I specifically order it to. Too bad people don’t come with the same accessory.”
She rattled off the route.
“How did Celina’s session go?” Roarke asked her.
“She handled it. We got a few more details, but it’s tough going. Mira won’t approve another session without a twenty-four-hour break.”
“A slow process.”
“Yeah, and he’s not going to move slow. It’s not just women he’s after, but women he sees as having control over him.”
“Symbolically.”
“Maybe I pushed him the wrong way, pushed him when I did the interview with Nadine, then the media conference. He’s escalating.”
“Whether you push or not, he’ll continue to kill until you stop him.”
“Yeah, I’ll be doing that. I’ll damn well be doing that soon.”
Her first stop was named Randall Beam, and he wasn’t happy about having a cop at the door.
“Listen, I got a thing. I’m just about out the door already. What gives?”
“If we can come in, Randall, we’ll tell you what gives, then maybe you can keep your thing.”
“Hell. How come a guy has a coupla assaults on his sheet, cops’re always yanking him?”
“It’s a mystery all right.”
Eve stepped in, scanned the room. It was small, man messy without being revolting. There was the faintest whiff of something in the air that could get Randall a little visit from Illegals, but she’d let it pass unless she had to squeeze him.
There were curtains at the windows, which was a surprise, and a couple of nice-looking pillows tucked into the corners of a sagging couch.
Physically, Beam didn’t fit her profile. He was about six feet tall, a solid and muscular one-eighty. But compared to a size fifteen, his feet were almost dainty. His complexion leaned toward jailhouse white, and he sported a long brown ponytail.
Still, she’d need to take the time with him. He might have a friend, a brother, whatever, who fit her needs more closely.
“Need your whereabouts, Randall.” She gave him the nights of the three murders, waited while he stood looking put-upon and sad.
&nb
sp; “How’m I supposed to know?”
“You can’t tell me where you were last night?”
“Last night? One of them’s last night? Last night, after I got off work? I got gainful employment.”
“Good for you.”
“So, after work, me and a couple of the guys stopped in at the Roundhouse. Bar on Fourth? Knocked back a few, grabbed some chow, played some pool. LC works the joint. Name’s Loelle? I was flush, so I took her up to one of the privates—Roundhouse’s got two—for a bang. Had a couple more drinks, got home, I dunno, about two? This here’s my day off.”
“Loelle and your buddies going to confirm all that?”
“Sure. Why not? Loelle’s down there most nights; you can ask her. And you can ask Ike—Ike Steenburg—we work together. He was there last night. What gives?”
“Let’s get through the other two nights.”
He was clueless about his activities on the night of Napier’s murder—but he balked on explaining what he was doing on the night of Maplewood’s.
“I had a thing. Was there till after eleven. Went out with . . . with some people after for, you know, coffee. Got home, I dunno, maybe midnight. I really gotta go now.”
“What’s the thing, Randall?”
He shuffled his feet, stared at them while color came up on his cheeks. “Why I gotta say?”
“Because I have a badge, you have a sheet, I need to know, and if you make me ask again I’m going to be a lot more interested in the Zoner I smell.”
“Jesus. Cops. You’re always hassling a guy.”
“Yeah. It’s the part of the job that gets me up out of bed every morning with a big smile on my face.”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t want the guys to hear about it.”
“I’m the soul of fricking discretion.”
He shifted his gaze up, ran it over her face, shifted it to Roarke, and hunched his shoulder. “You shouldn’t oughta get the wrong idea. I ain’t no fairy or nothing. Don’t know why guys want to bang each other when there’s women around. But you know, live and let.”
“That’s a touching philosophy, Randall. Spill.”
He pulled on his nose, shuffled his feet. “Just that . . . last assault bust, they say I gotta take anger management and shit. So I stop punching people and starting fights. But I never punched nobody didn’t ask for it.”