by J. D. Robb
“We’re supposed to be smarter than this, aren’t we? You know, responsible?”
“I suppose we are.” And he wondered just how hard he’d be kicking himself if Nixie had come through Eve’s office to come to him the night before. “Still it is a bit like diving straight into the pool without learning first how to swim a bloody stroke.”
“We need to get her with the Dysons, with people who know what they’re doing with a nine-year-old girl. She’s already got a cargo ship of issues she’ll have to work through. I don’t want to add to them.”
“You’ll want them here and that’s fine,” he said before she could speak. “The sooner the better, I’d say, for her sake.”
“I’ll put a call through to them, ask them to meet me at Central.”
“Let me get you the search results from last night.”
He moved into his office, called for the results on screen and on disc. “Nineteen names,” he mused. “More than you might expect, I’d think. Natural causes would cut that back considerably, but . . .”
“A lot of names.” She turned to study the wall screen. “Five that cross with both of them. The Swishers weren’t the first,” she said again. “No way I buy that. I’ll take these in, give them a run.”
“I can help you out in . . . later,” he decided when he checked the time. “I’m behind myself. I’ve work I have to get to here, then I have some meetings in midtown starting at nine.”
“You said you’d work from here.”
“No, I said we’d argue about it this morning.” He reached out, skimmed a finger down her chin. “My work can’t stop anymore than yours, Lieutenant—and if someone’s paying attention, they might wonder why I’m hunkered down here when I should be out and about. I’ll promise you to be careful, very. No unnecessary chances.”
“We might have different definitions of unnecessary chances.”
“Not so very much. Come here.”
“I am here.”
“A bit closer than that.” With a laugh he yanked her forward, into his arms. “I’ll worry about you, you worry about me.” He rubbed his cheek to hers. “And we’re even.”
“You let something happen to yourself, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Ditto.”
Since she had to be satisfied with that, Eve fought the traffic downtown. Even the sky seemed more crowded this morning, jammed with sky trams and airbuses and the traffic copters that struggled to keep things moving.
However quicker they claimed it was to use the sky routes, she’d stick with the creep and stink of the streets.
She fought her way down Columbus and straight into a fresh logjam caused by a glide-cart that had overturned into the street. A number of pedestrians were helping themselves to the tubes and food supplies that were rolling on the asphalt while the operator jumped up and down like a man on springs.
For a moment she regretted she didn’t have the time to wade in to the potential riot. It would’ve been an entertaining way to start the day. Instead, she called the incident in, and solved her own commute dilemma by blasting her sirens—wow! look at those assholes scramble—and hit vertical mode.
Okay, she admitted, she loved her new ride.
She breezed over the jam—caught a glimpse of the glide-cart operator shaking a fist into the air—then settled back down three blocks south in relatively reasonable traffic.
She decided to trust auto long enough to make the calls on her list. She left messages for the Dysons, for Mira, reserved a conference room for ten, and left more voice mails for each member of the team she wanted in attendance.
And thought how much of this drone work she’d been able to avoid when Peabody had been her aide rather than her partner.
When she got to Central, there was Peabody right outside the bull pen, fit up against McNab like they were two pieces in some strange and perverted jigsaw puzzle.
“I actually had breakfast this morning.” Eve stopped beside them. “This is the sort of thing that could make me boot.”
“Just kissing my sweetie good-bye,” Peabody said, and made exaggerated kissy noises against McNab’s lips.
“Definitely booting material. This is a cop shop, not a sex club. Save it for after shift.”
“Still two minutes before shift.” McNab gave Peabody’s butt a squeeze. “See you later, She-Body.”
“Bye, Detective Stud.”
“Oh, please.” Eve pressed a hand to her uneasy belly. “I want to keep the waffles down.”
“Waffles?” Peabody spun on the heels of her checked airskids. “You had waffles. What’s the occasion?”
“Just another day in Paradise. My office.”
“Tell me about the waffles,” Peabody begged as she scurried after Eve. “Were they the kind with strawberries and whipped cream all over them, or the kind you just drown in syrup? I’m dieting, sort of. I had a low-cal nutridrink for breakfast. It’s disgusting, but it won’t expand my ass.”
“Peabody, I’ve observed—unwillingly and with considerable regret—that the person you have chosen to cohabitate with appears to have a nearly unnatural fondness for your ass.”
“Yeah.” She smiled, dreamily. “He does, doesn’t he?”
“So why—I ask unwillingly and with some regret—are you so obsessed with the size and shape of that particular part of your anatomy?”
“I’ve got the body type and metabolism that means I have to watch it or you’ll be able to serve a five-course meal off the shelf of that particular part of my anatomy. It’s a matter of pride. Not all of us are preordained to go through life skinny as a snake.”
“Now that we’ve cleared that up, I want coffee.”
She’d planned to wait a couple of beats, then give Peabody the Look of Destruction. But her partner moved directly to the AutoChef and programmed. “I guess what happened last night with Knight and Preston got me and McNab both thinking, and just appreciating what we’ve got. Knowing what can happen sort of makes the moment more intense. He doesn’t usually walk me to Division.”
She handed coffee to Eve, took one for herself. “We just wanted a few minutes more.”
“Understood.” And because it was, Eve gestured to the chair before she leaned back against her desk. “I left you a message, as well as leaving one for the rest of the team. Conference Room C, ten hundred. We’ll brief, and hope Yancy’s got a better picture of our suspects. Meanwhile, I have some names to be run. Potentials. Morris worked on Knight and Preston last night. Nothing new or unexpected there. Stun took them down, knife took them out. Tox was clear. I’m waiting for the lab to confirm that Preston’s weapon was fired before he went down.”
“Hope he got off a good stream.”
“Ophelia said one of them was limping. I’d say Preston got some of his own in before the end. EDD doesn’t give us anything new, but it establishes pattern. Let’s see if we can find it again with any of the names on the list of people the Swishers knew who are now missing or dead.”
“I’ll get started.”
“Your portion of the list is attached to the voice mail I sent you. You get any sort of a ring, I need to know.”
“I’m there.” She started out, paused. “The waffles. Come on, Dallas, smothered in whipped cream or swimming in syrup?”
“Syrup, drowning.”
“Mmmmm.”
Peabody gave a little sigh and walked out. To satisfy her curiosity, Eve peered through the door and watched her go. She didn’t think overmuch about female asses, but Peabody’s looked fine to her.
She sat, called up her own list.
Brenegan, Jaynene, age 35 at TOD, February 10, 2055. Emergency care physician. Killed by multiple stab wounds in robbery attempt in parking lot of West Side Memorial Hospital. Suspect identified, apprehended, tested positive for Zeus. Currently serving twenty-five to life, Rikers.
Brenegan treated Coyle Swisher for a fractured arm—sports injury—and testified in Swisher’s custody case Vemere v. Trent, May 2055, and Kirkend
all v. Kirkendall, September 2053.
The addition was Roarke’s, she noted. The guy was nothing if not thorough.
She’d take a look at Vemere and Trent and Kirkendall, and keep Brenegan on the active list for now. She was thorough, too.
Cruz, Pedro, age 72. Court reporter. Died of heart condition, October 22, 2058. Medical files confirm.
Cruz served as reporter in several of Swisher’s trials in family court, and consulted Swisher regarding nutrition.
Unlikely, Eve decided, and bumped him down the list.
Hill, Lindi and Hester, ages 32 and 29 respectively. Same sex spouses. Died in a vehicular accident, August 2, 2057. Driver at fault, Fein, Kirk, charged with DWI, speeding, two counts of vehicular manslaughter. Serving term in Weizt Rehabilitation Complex.
Yeah, she thought, kill a couple of women because you’re drunk and stupid and serve it out in a country club for ten years.
The Hills retained Swisher and Rangle to assist them in their plans to adopt a child. This was in process when they were killed. Both women also were clients of Keelie Swisher.
No motive, Eve thought, and crossed them off.
Mooreland, Amity, age 28 at TOD, May 17, 2059. Dancer. Killed by ex-cohabitation partner in rape/homicide. Lawrence, Jez, convicted. Serving life sentence, Attica.
Mooreland retained Swisher to terminate her cohabitation and to sue Lawrence for lost wages due to injuries. She consulted with Keelie Swisher on nutrition and health during her rehabilitation from injuries, and continued to consult until her death.
Lawrence, Jez, would bear another look. Mooreland stayed on the list.
Moss, Thomas. Age 52 at TOD, September 6, 2057. Family Court judge. Killed, along with son, Moss, Evan, age 14, in car bomb explosion.
“Ring,” Eve mumbled.
Moss served as judge in several of Swisher’s trials. His wife, Suzanna, consulted Keelie Swisher. The homicide cases remain open.
“Computer, search and list all court cases wherein Swisher, Grant, served as attorney with Judge Thomas Moss presiding.
Time frame for search?
“All cases.”
Acknowledged. Working . . .
She pushed up, paced. Car bomb. Not the same pattern, not up close and personal like a knife to the throat. But a military assassination technique. A terrorist tactic. So within the profile parameters.
Took a child out that time, too. By plan or circumstance?
She swung back to the computer, considering other health and medical types that might be on the list. Then pulled back. Her unit was going wonky, even though McNab had jury-rigged it. She didn’t trust it to run complex multitasks.
“Dallas.” Peabody came to the door. “I got a pop. I think. Social worker, attached to some of Swisher’s cases. Strangled in her bed last year. Investigators looked hard at the boyfriend, they were having some trouble, but couldn’t pin him. Case is still open. Her apartment showed no signs of forced entry. No sexual assault, no evidence of burglary. Manual strangulation. No trace evidence of anyone but the vic, the boyfriend, and a coworker, who were both alibied up.”
“Who worked it?”
“Ah . . .” She lifted her memo book. “Detectives Howard and Little out of the six-two.”
“Tag them, get everything they’ve got. And check the vic’s data. See if she was on one of Swisher’s cases with a Judge Moss, Thomas, on the bench.”
“You got a pop, too.”
“It’s looking that way.”
Search is complete.
Eve swung toward her screen. “Display. Okay, Moss and Swisher had a lot of business together. We’ll cross these with your vic. What’s the name?”
“Karin Duberry, age 35 at TOD, single, no children.”
“Lieutenant? Sorry.” One of her detectives moved into the doorway. “You’ve got a couple of visitors. A Mrs. Dyson and a lawyer.”
Eve scooped up her hair. She was running hot, she thought, but couldn’t put this off. “Put them in the lounge. I’ll be there. Peabody, do the cross. Work that list for names that have the kind of training or connections we’re looking for. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve dealt with this.”
She called Mira’s office, left a message with her admin when told the doctor was in session. Grinding her teeth, Eve decided she’d have to handle this one alone.
She found Dyson in what the Central cops lovingly—or sarcastically—called the lounge. It was a step up from the Eatery as far as the noise factor, and a step down on the food choices. Which, given the Eatery, wasn’t saying much.
Dyson sat at one of the round tables, her head bent close to Dave Rangle’s. Both of them looked as if they’d seen much better days.
“Mrs. Dyson, Mr. Rangle. I appreciate you making the time to come in.”
Jenny Dyson sat up, sat straight. “I had planned to come today, before I got your message. I’d like to ask you first if there’s any progress in the investigation.”
“We have what we believe may be a couple of good leads. We’re pursuing them. In fact, Mr. Rangle—”
“Dave,” he told her.
“Dave, if I could speak to you for a few moments when we’re done here, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
Eve took a seat. “Are you here as Mrs. Dyson’s legal representative or as Mr. Swisher’s partner?”
“Both. I’m aware, as you are, that Jenny and Matt were named as Coyle and Nixie’s legal guardians should something happen to Grant and Keelie. I . . .” He shook his head. “How’s she doing? How’s Nixie doing? Do you know?”
“She’s dealing. She’s being counseled. She’s safe.”
“If you could somehow communicate to her that she’s in my thoughts. Mine and everyone at the office. We—” He broke off when Jenny laid a hand over his. “I’ll get to that later. We’re here at this time to discuss the guardianship.”
“We can’t take her,” Jenny blurted out.
“For her own safety and security, as well as the security of this investigation, I’d be unable to turn her over to you at this time. However—”
“Ever.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Jenny.” Dave spoke to her gently, and when his gaze came back to Eve’s, it was full of sorrow and regret. “Jenny has asked me to represent her in dissolving the guardianship. She and Matt feel unable to fulfill the terms. I’ve agreed to begin the process, and will file in Family Court today.”
“She has no one.”
“My child is dead.” Jenny’s breath rushed out, rushed in. “My baby is dead. My husband is devastated beyond any words I can use to tell you. We’re burying her today, our Linnie, and I’m not sure he’ll last through the service.”
“Mrs. Dyson.”
“No. No! You listen.”
Her voice peaked up in a way that had other cops in the room glancing over, weighing the situation.
“We can’t take her. It wasn’t supposed to happen. If there’d been an accident, we would step in, we’d have taken Nixie and Coyle.”
“But it was murder, so you won’t?”
“Lieutenant,” Dave began, and was silenced again.
“Can’t. We’re not capable of this. My baby is dead.” She pressed both hands to her mouth. “We loved Keelie and Grant, those children. We were almost like family.”
“The bits and pieces of family Nixie Swisher have left show no interest in providing for her welfare,” Eve put in. “There was a reason you were named guardians.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” The words whipped out. “That I feel nothing for that child, even through my own grief? Part of me wants to go to her, take her in my arms, and hold onto her. In that part of me, my arms ache to hold her. But the other part can barely say her name. Can’t bear the thought of seeing her, of touching her.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Part of me can’t stop thinking it should have been her, and not my child. It should have been her we’re burying today and not my Linnie. I
may hate that part of myself, Lieutenant, but it’s there.” She let out a shuddering breath. “It’s always going to be there. I’ll never be able to look at her without wondering why, without wishing. And my husband . . . I think it would drive him mad.”
“Nothing that happened that night is her fault.”
“Oh, I know it. I know it. But I wonder how long, if I did what Keelie and Grant asked, it would take for me to have her blaming herself. I have to go.” She pushed to her feet. “My husband needs me.”
“Jenny, if you could give me a few minutes with the lieutenant.”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll get myself home. I want to be alone right now. I just want to be by myself.”
“I don’t know if she should be.” Dave made to rise as she hurried out.
“Hold on.” She took out her communicator, gave Dyson’s name, the description, her current location, and requested a plainclothes team follow her to make sure she arrived home safely.
“She’s a good person, Lieutenant. I know how this must seem to you, but it’s costing her to walk away from this.”
“It should. Don’t you Family Court suits stand for the rights of the child?”
“For the family—and for what’s in the best interests. After talking with Jenny, after seeing Matt, I can’t state that trying to hold them to their agreement is in Nixie’s best interests.”
“You could hold off a few days, see if they change their mind.”
“I have to file the papers, at her request. But I can slow things down a little. And I will. But I can tell you, they won’t change their minds. They’re leaving the city after the funeral. They’ve already made arrangements to move upstate, with her family. Matt’s been given a leave of absence, and she’s closed her practice. It’s . . .”
He lifted his hands, let them fall again as he sat back. “The lives they had are destroyed. They may build another—I hope they do. But it won’t ever be the same. Nixie’s part of what they lost. They can’t—won’t—have that reminder. I’ll do whatever I can for Nixie. I can probably swing temporary custody. I’ll speak with the blood relative she has left, see if that’s the right direction.”