by J. D. Robb
“I’ll need you to keep me apprised of any movement or progress in the resolution of her guardianship.”
“I will. My God, I’m sorry. Sick and sorry for everyone. Look, can I get you something? I need some water. Gotta pop a blocker. I’ve got a headache coming on.”
Don’t we all, she thought. “No, I’m good. Go ahead.”
He rose, went to Vending for a bottle of water. When he returned, he popped a small pill, washed it down.
“Lieutenant, the Dysons are good people. It’s costing Jenny to walk away from Nixie, from the promise she gave to people she loved. She’s never going to forgive herself for it, but she just doesn’t have anything left. And Matt, he’s broken to pieces. I’m not having an easy time holding it together myself.”
“I need you to do just that. I need to ask you about some of Grant Swisher’s cases.”
“Anything I can tell you.” He drank more water, capped the bottle off. “If I can’t, Sade can. She’s got a brain like a motherboard.”
“Cases where Judge T. Moss presided.”
“Judge Moss? He was killed some years ago. Horrible tragedy. His boy, too. Car bomb. They never caught who did it.”
“I’m aware of that. Can you remember any cases, anything that stands out where Swisher was attorney of record, Moss on the bench, and a caseworker named Karin Duberry was involved?”
“Duberry.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he concentrated. “Something vaguely familiar, but I don’t know anybody by that name. Hold on.”
He reached for his pocket ’link. Within seconds, Sade was on-screen. “Did Grant work with a CPS rep, Karin Duberry?”
“The one who was strangled last year?”
“I don’t—” He looked toward Eve, got a nod. “Yeah.”
“Sure. They were on cases—same side and opposing. Why?”
“How about both of them going before Judge Moss?”
“Had to, I’d think. Odds in favor. What’s the deal, Dave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mind?” Eve asked, and before he could answer took the ’link herself. “Lieutenant Dallas. Do you remember any threats by any participant in a case where Moss, Duberry, and Swisher were all involved?”
“Nothing springs. You’ve got copies of the case files. There’d be notes. Jesus, these are connected? You think the people who killed Grant blew up Judge Moss, killed the caseworker?”
“I’m looking into it. I’ll need you available if I need to talk to you again.”
“You can count on it.”
Eve handed the ’link back.
“Thanks, Sade. I’ll pick you up at two-thirty.” He shut off the ’link. “We’re going to the funeral together. Look, Lieutenant, I can go over the case files myself. See if any of them bring back any coffee-break chatter. Grant and I bitched to each other plenty. You know, partners.”
“Yes, I know partners. If you think of anything, get in touch.”
“I will. I wondered, before I go . . . I wondered if you could give me an idea when I could hold the memorial? I thought as Grant’s partner, as their friend, I’d make the arrangements. I’d want to talk to Nixie, make sure we do this in a way that makes it as easy for her as possible.”
“You need to hold off awhile. I can’t allow her to attend a memorial until we’re satisfied she’s no longer in any jeopardy.”
“All right, but could you just . . .” He lifted his briefcase, opened it. “This is the picture Grant kept on his desk. I think she’d want it.”
Eve looked down at the four smiling faces, the family grouped together in what seemed to be a casual photograph at the beach. The father’s arm slung around the son’s shoulder—the hand reaching to lay on the wife’s, his other drawing his daughter back to him. The mother with her arm around the son’s waist—fingers hooked in the belt loops of her husband’s jeans. Her other hand holding her daughter’s.
Happy, she thought, carefree summer day.
“I took it, actually. It was one of those weekends at their beach place. I remember I said, ‘Hey, let me try out my new camera. You guys get together.’ They moved together just like that. Big smiles.” He cleared his throat. “It was a good weekend, and Grant really loved that picture. Christ, I miss him.”
He broke off, shook his head. “Nixie, I think Nixie would like to have it.”
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
When he left she sat there, looking at the summer moment, that frozen slice of careless family fun. They hadn’t known there wouldn’t be another summer.
What was it like to have that sort of bond? That sort of sunshine ease, as a family? To grow up knowing there were people there to lay an arm over your shoulder, reach for your hand. Keep you safe?
She’d never known that. Instead she’d grown up knowing there were people who would hurt you, just for the sport of it. Beat you, rape you, break you because you were weaker.
Until you got stronger, until there was that one mad moment when the knife was in your hand. And you used it until your skin, your face, your hands were slick with blood.
“Eve.”
She jolted, dropped the photograph, and stared up at Mira. Mira sat, turned the photograph around on the table to study it. “A lovely family. Look at the body language. A loving and lovely family.”
“Not anymore.”
“No, you’re wrong. They’ll always be a family, and moments like this one are what make that last. This will comfort Nixie.”
“Father’s partner brought it in, along with Jenny Dyson. She and her husband are dissolving the guardianship. They won’t take her.”
“Ah.” The sound came out as a sigh as Mira sat back. “I was afraid of that.”
“You figured something like this?”
“Was afraid,” she repeated, “that they might feel unable, unwilling to take Nixie into their home. She’s too strong a reminder of their loss.”
“What the hell is she supposed to do now? End up in the system because some son of a bitch decided to massacre her family?”
Mira closed a hand over the fist Eve bunched on the table. “It may very well be in Nixie’s best interest to go into foster care, or with a relative, if possible. While she’s a reminder of loss for the Dysons, they’d also be a reminder to her. She’s still dealing with survivor’s guilt, along with her shock, her grief, her fears.”
“Plunk her down with strangers, then spin the wheel,” Eve said bitterly. “See if she gets lucky and gets somebody who actually gives a flying fuck, or isn’t so lucky and gets one who’s just in it for the fee.”
“She isn’t you, Eve.”
“No, she by God isn’t. Isn’t even close. Maybe she’s got it worse than I did.”
“How?”
“Because she had this.” Eve laid her hand on the photograph. “And now she doesn’t. You come from the bottom of the pit, there’s no place but up. She’s got a long way she can go down.”
“I’ll help. As far as the process of placing her, finding the right family situation for her, I’ll put my weight in. Yours wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Yeah.” She leaned her head back, and for a moment, just a moment, closed her eyes. “I can’t think about this now. We’ve got some leads that may pan out.”
“Was there something else you needed to speak with me about?”
“Need to walk and talk.” She rose, and told Mira about the incident with Nixie and the murder board.
“We’ll talk about it in our next session.”
“Fine, good. I need to go harass Yancy about the composite.”
“Good luck.”
She could use some, Eve thought as she caught a glide. It was about time a little luck headed her way.
14
SHE FOUND YANCY IN A LITTLE GLASS BOX CONFERENCE room in his sector, drinking station-house coffee with Ophelia. The LC wore the same feathers and paint as the night before. In the harsh lights she looked the way Eve had always thought carnies looked in daylight
—a little worn, a little tawdry, and not particularly inviting.
But Yancy was chatting her up, flirting.
“So, asshole tells me he wants me to sing. Says it’s the only way he can get the wood on. Wants me to sing ‘God Bless America.’ Can you dig it?”
“What did you do?”
“What you think? I sing. I got the tune okay, but I gotta make up the words mostly. Giving him a hand job, and he’s singing with me, fixing the words. There we are, squeezed in a doorway, having ourselves a duet.”
“What happened?”
“He got up, got in, and round about the third time around the tune, got off. Got to be a regular after that. Every Tuesday night, we had ourselves a performance. I got me a red, white, and blue outfit, too. Give him a little more bang for his buck.”
“You see a lot of characters in your line of work.”
“Honey, you been on the stroll long as me, there’s nothing you haven’t seen. Why just last week—”
“Excuse me.” Eve’s voice was hard as baked earth. “Sorry to interrupt your chat, but I need to see Detective Yancy for a moment. Detective?”
“Be right back, Ophelia.”
“Oooh, she looks mean enough to chew rock and spit pebbles in your eye.” Voice low, Ophelia winked at Yancy. “You watch that fine ass of yours.”
The minute they were outside, the door closed behind them, Eve tore in. “What the hell are you doing? Drinking coffee, chatting about her exploits on the stroll.”
“I’m warming her up.”
“She had a bed, her meals, her entertainment, courtesy of the NYPSD. If you ask me, she’s warm enough now to sweat. I need results, Detective, not amusing anecdotes for your case file.”
“I know what I’m doing, you don’t. And if you’re going to rip me a new one, wait until I’m finished.”
“I’ll schedule that—as soon as you tell me when the hell you’re going to be finished.”
“If I don’t have something you can use in an hour, I’m not going to have it at all.”
“Do it. Get it. Bring it to Conference Room C.”
They turned their backs on each other. Eve walked away, ignoring the interested parties at desks and cubes.
When she arrived at the conference room herself, Peabody was already there, setting up. At least she hadn’t forgotten the duties of an aide.
“Got three names for you, Dallas, that fit the parameters of our profile.”
“At least somebody’s doing what they’re supposed to do today.”
Peabody preened a little as she arranged labeled discs. “One still lives in the city, one is still on active and based at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. The last is co-owner of a martial arts studio in Queens and has it listed as business and personal.”
“All still in New York. Handy. What was their deal with Swisher?”
“First one, retired sergeant, was a client—divorced with kids. Swisher got him a decent enough deal, at least when you’re looking in from the outside. Reasonable split of marital property and assets, liberal visitation with minor children.”
“And where’s the missus?”
“Westchester. Remarried. Spouse was the client with the second. Custody deal. She claimed emotional and physical abuse, and Swisher nailed him with it. Spouse got full custody and a stinging percentage of the guy’s monthly as child support. She moved to Philadelphia, single-parent status.”
“Lost the wife and kiddies, and had to pay for it. That’ll piss you off. The last?”
“Similar deal as the second, with the wife—Swisher’s client—testifying under wraps. Regular and consistent abuse claimed over a period of twelve years. Two minor children. Her documentation was shaky, but Swisher pulled it through. And she went into the wind.”
“She’s missing?”
“No record of her or the kids the day after the court decided in her favor. I haven’t got all the details yet, but it looks like she ran. Or—”
“He got to her. Any papers on her?”
“Sister filed a missing persons. Actively pursued. Sister and family moved to Nebraska.”
“Nebraska? Who lives in Nebraska?”
“Apparently they do.”
“Yeah, with the cows and sheep.”
“Parents live there, too. The missing woman and her sister’s parents. Not the cows’ and sheep’s—though I’m sure there are lots of parental farm animals in Nebraska.”
The thought actually brought on a shudder. “I don’t like to think about those things. Cows banging each other in the field. Bizarre.”
“Well, if they don’t, all we’ve got are manmade—”
“Don’t go there. It’s almost worse. Some science guy creating them in the lab.” Her voice darkened. “One day they’re going to make a mistake—a big one—and mutant clone cows are going to revolt and start eating people. You wait and see.”
“I saw this vid once where these clone pigs developed intelligence and started attacking people.”
“See?” She jabbed a finger in the air. “From vid to reality is one small, slippery step. I hope to Christ I don’t have to go to Nebraska.”
“I’ve been there. It’s actually very nice. Some good cities, and the countryside’s interesting. All those cornfields.”
“Cornfields? Cornfields? Do you know what can hide in cornfields—what might be lurking in the corn? Have you thought about that?”
“No, but I will now.”
“Give me a nice dark alley. Okay.” She shook it off, looked at the murder board Peabody had set up for the briefing. “We talk to all three of the guys you popped. We visit the investigators on the Duberry and the Judge Moss cases, and we review the missing-persons report and that case file. I want to talk to the primary on a robbery homicide. ER doc, taken out in the parking lot of her hospital. They got a guy for it, but she popped on this Kirkendall custody deal, too. We reinterview any witnesses to those cases, recanvass. And if we ever get a goddamn composite from Yancy, we find a match.”
“Yancy’s sketches are gold,” Peabody reminded her. “If he pulls a decent description out of the LC, we should be able to run it through the system, pop a name.”
“Step at a time.” She glanced over as Feeney walked in with McNab. She caught the suggestive look McNab sent Peabody, and tried to ignore it. They were in a cuddle stage of their relationship—new cohabs. She wasn’t sure what it said about her to know she’d be relieved when they got back to sniping at each other.
“Put your hands, or your big, goofy mouth on my partner in this room, McNab, I’ll rip those stupid hoops out of your ears so bloody strips of lobe fly around the room.”
In reflex, he lifted a hand to his ear and the quartet of bright blue hoops.
Feeney shook his head, spoke under his breath to Eve. “Hornier now, you ask me, than before they moved in together. Wish they’d start swiping at each other like before. This shit’s getting creepy.”
It was good, Eve thought, to have someone on the team who showed good sense. To show solidarity, she gave him a slap on one of his slouched shoulders.
When Baxter and Trueheart arrived, they got coffee, the updated files.
“Detective Yancy should be joining us shortly,” Eve began. “If the wit comes through, we’ll have faces. Meanwhile, we’ve found connections.”
Using both the board and the screen, Eve briefed the team on the potential links between the Swishers and the two other victims.
“If this same person or persons killed or arranged to have killed Moss, Duberry, and the Swisher family, we can see by the time frame that these murders are not only carefully planned, but that the person or persons behind them are controlled, patient, careful. This is no psychopath on a spree, but a purposeful man on a mission. One with connections of his own, with skill and/or the money or resources to hire those with skill. He does not work alone, but as part of a well-honed team.”
“Cop killers,” Baxter said without any of his usual humor.
“Co
p killers,” Eve confirmed. “But the fact that they were cops was irrelevant. They were obstacles, nothing more.”
“But not collateral damage.” Trueheart looked surprised, even slightly embarrassed to realize he’d spoken aloud. “What I mean, Lieutenant, is that Detectives Knight and Preston weren’t bystanders or innocent victims from the killers’ points of view. They were what I guess we could call enemy guards?”
“Agreed. This is a small, very personal war. With very specific objectives. One of those objectives has not been met. Nixie Swisher.” She brought the child’s ID image on-screen.
“Given what we know, we can speculate that the survivor is no threat to them. She is a child, one who saw nothing that can lead to the identification of the individuals who killed the family. In any case, what she saw, what she knew, had already been reported. Her death gains nothing. It is probable they abducted Meredith Newman, likely they interrogated her, under duress, and gained the knowledge that the survivor knew nothing that would lead us to their identity.”
“But they don’t give it a wash.” Baxter studied the child. “They don’t move on, consider it done. They put together another operation to try to find and eliminate her, and instead take down two cops.”
“The mission isn’t complete, therefore the mission has not been successful. What did they want from the Swishers?”
“Their lives,” Baxter answered.
“Their family. The destruction of their family. You take mine, I’ll take yours. So they continue to hunt the last remaining member, illustrating a need for completion, for perfection, for a fulfillment of the work. With the murder of Knight and Preston, a message was sent. They will engage the enemy, they will eliminate obstacles. They will complete their mission.”
“Hell they will,” Feeney voiced.
“Hell they will. Detective Peabody?”
Peabody jolted, blinked at Eve. “Sir?”
“Brief the rest of the team on the results of your recent search.”
“Ahhh.” She cleared her throat and rose. “At Lieutenant Dallas’s orders, I conducted a search for any individuals who fit our current profile who were involved in a trial or case that included Swisher, Moss, and Duberry. The search resulted in three individuals. The first, Donaldson, John Jay, Sergeant USMC, retired.”