by J. D. Robb
“It’s a good thought.”
“They took that kid, the boy, we found on a murder scene last year.” Eve shifted, not entirely comfortable with the role of family planner. “I figure they decided to foster him because their daughter was murdered. Though she was an adult, and—”
“Your child is always your child. Age doesn’t factor.”
“If you say so. Anyway, I guess they wanted another chance to . . . whatever. I know Roarke waded in with that kid, ah, Kevin. Gave them a little nudge to take him in. From what I know, it worked out okay, and like I said, they’re qualified. Maybe they’d consider taking in another.”
“I think it’s a very good idea. You’ll talk to them.”
Boggy area, Eve thought. “Ah . . . I need to talk to Roarke because he knows them better. I’m the cop who closed their daughter’s murder case—and uncovered some ugly family secrets. He’s their friend. But if this pans out, I’m going to need you to add your weight with CPS.”
“You’ve given this considerable thought.”
“No, but it’s the best thought I’ve had on it since Mrs. Dyson dropped the boomer on me this morning. She’s been kicked around enough. I don’t want her kicked around by the system that’s supposed to protect her.”
“Once you’ve talked to Roarke, let me know. We’ll work to get what’s best for Nixie. I should go up to her now.”
“Ah, just one more thing.” Eve got out the photograph Dave Rangle had given her. “Her father’s partner sent this for her. Swisher kept it on his desk. His partner figured Nixie would want it.”
“What a lovely family,” Mira said as she took the photograph. “Yes, she’ll want this. And it couldn’t come at a better time. She’ll see this, remember this, and imagine them this way rather than as they were at the morgue.”
She looked back at Eve. “Wouldn’t you like to give this to her yourself?” When Eve only shook her head, Mira nodded. “All right, then. I’ll take it to her.”
Mira turned toward the steps, stopped at the base. “She doesn’t know how hard that was for you, to stand with her while she said good-bye to her family. But I do.”
Upstairs, Summerset sat with Nixie in his lap. “They didn’t look like they were sleeping,” she said, with her head on his chest, his heart beating in her ear. “I thought maybe they would, but you could tell they weren’t.”
His long, thin fingers stroked through her hair. “Some people believe, as I do, that when we die the essence of ourselves—the spirit or the soul—has choices.”
“What kind?”
“Some of those choices might depend on how we’ve lived our lives. If we’ve tried to do our best, we might then decide to go to a place of peace.”
“Like angels on a cloud.”
“Perhaps.” He continued to stroke her hair as the cat padded into the room, then leaped up to join them on the arm of the chair. “Or like a garden where we can walk or play, where we see others who made this same choice before us.”
Nixie reached out, petted Galahad’s wide flank. “Where Coyle can play baseball?”
“Yes. Or we might decide to come back, live again, begin a new life at the very start of it, inside the womb. We may decide to do this because we want to do better than we did before, or right some wrong we may have done. Or simply because we’re not quite ready to go to that place of peace.”
“So maybe they’ll decide to come back, like babies?” The idea made her smile a little. “Would I know them if I got to meet them some time?”
“I think you would, in some part of your heart. Even if you don’t realize it, you recognize in your heart. Do you understand?”
“I guess. I think so. Did you ever recognize somebody who had to die before?”
“I think I have. But there’s one I keep hoping I might recognize one day.” He thought of his daughter, his beautiful, lost Marlena. “I haven’t found her yet.”
“Maybe she made the choice to go to the garden.”
He bent to touch his lips to Nixie’s hair. “Maybe she did.”
Summerset waited nearly an hour, monitoring Eve’s office until he saw Peabody leave the room. He hoped whatever task she’d been sent to perform took long enough for him to finish what he had to do.
When he stepped into Eve’s office, she was just coming out of the kitchen with another mug of coffee. Her hand jerked slightly, lapping hot liquid over the rim.
“Oh, fuck me. Consider this area police property and restricted to tight-assed fuckwits I don’t want around. Which is you.”
“I only need a moment of your time. I would apologize.”
“You would what?”
His voice was as stiff as hers and only went more rigid. “I would apologize for my remarks earlier. They were incorrect.”
“As far as I’m concerned, your remarks are always incorrect. So fine. Now make tracks. I’m working.”
He would damn well finish swallowing this hideous crow. “You brought the child here for safe-keeping, and you’ve seen that she’s been safely kept. I’m aware that you’re working diligently to identify and capture the people who killed her family. It’s visibly apparent that you’re giving this considerable time and effort as you have circles under your eyes and your disposition is even more disagreeable than usual due to lack of proper rest and nutrition.”
“Bite me.”
“And your clever repartee suffers as a result.”
“How’s this for clever repartee?” She jabbed her middle finger into the air.
“Typical.” He nearly turned and left. Very nearly. But he couldn’t forget that Nixie had told him Eve stood with her when she’d said good-bye to her mother.
“She had a very hard day, Lieutenant. Grieving. And when I coaxed her to take a nap, she had another nightmare. She asked for you, and you wouldn’t . . . couldn’t,” he corrected, “be here. I was overwrought when you arrived, and I was incorrect.”
“Okay. Forget it.”
When he turned to leave, she took a deep breath. She didn’t mind giving as good as she got, when it came to cheap shots. It was harder to give as good when it was conciliatory. But if she didn’t, it would itch at her and distract her from the work.
“Hey.” He stopped, turned. “I brought her here because I figured it was the safest place for her. And because I figured I had someone on site who’d know how to take care of a nine-year-old girl. Knowing she’s comfortable with you gives me the space I need to do what I have to do.”
“Understood. I’ll leave you to do it.”
It’s about time somebody did, Eve thought as he left. Then she sat down, propped her feet on her desk, sipped her coffee. And studied her murder board while the computer ran the next search.
17
EVE MADE NOTES FROM SEARCH RESULTS, RAN probabilities, continued her notes. She was tired of riding a desk on this one. She wanted action. Needed to move.
Instead, she rolled her shoulders, went back to her notes.
Kirkendall v. Kirkendall to Moss.
To Duberry. To, most likely, Brenegan.
To Swisher, Swisher, Swisher, Dyson, and Snood.
To Newman.
To Knight and Preston.
Kirkendall to Isenberry.
Isenberry to Tully and Tully to Rangle.
No harm to Tully or Rangle, with countless opportunities.
Target specific.
And all circling back to Kirkendall v. Kirdendall.
“What time is it in Nebraska?”
“Ah.” Peabody blinked her tired eyes, rubbed them. “Let’s see, it’s five-twenty here, so I think it’s an hour earlier there? Do they do daylight savings? I think. An hour. Probably.”
“Why does it have to be an hour earlier there, or an hour later here? Why can’t everybody just run on the same time and end the madness?”
“It has to do with the earth turning on its axis as it orbits the sun and . . .” She trailed off, catching Eve’s narrowed glare. “You’re right. Everybody s
hould run on the same time. Dallas time. I’d vote for it. Are we going to Nebraska?”
“I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid it.” Going out in the field didn’t mean she wanted to go out in actual fields. With hay or grass or spooky corn. “Let’s try the wonder of the ’link first.”
She opened Dian Kirkendall’s file, found her sister’s data. “Turnbill, Roxanne. Age forty-three. Married to Joshua, mother of Benjamin and Samuel. Professional Mother status. Okay, Roxanne, let’s see what you know about your brother-in-law.”
The face that popped on her screen was a child’s—a boy, Eve thought, despite the sunny halo of hair. He had a big, wide open face with the dazzle of green eyes. “Hello, hi, this is Ben. Who are you?”
“Is either your mother or your father”—or any rational adult—“at home?”
“My mom’s here, but you’re supposed to say who it is, then say if you can—if you may,” he corrected, “speak with somebody.”
Now kids were lecturing her on manners. What had happened to her world? “This is Dallas. May I speak with your mother?”
“Okay.” There was a blur and a jumble on-screen, then a piercing shout. “Mom! Dallas is calling you. Can I have a cookie now?”
“One cookie, Ben. And don’t shout near the ’link. It’s rude.” The mother had the son’s curls, but in a deep brunette. Her smile wasn’t as open, but polite, and just a little annoyed around the edges. “Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Turnbill?”
“Yes. Look, we’ve blocked solicitations, so I’m sorry, but if you’ve—”
“I’m Lieutenant Dallas with the New York City Police and Security Department.”
“Oh.” Even that polite smile faded. “What is it?”
“I’m calling regarding your former brother-in-law, Roger Kirkendall.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, not to my knowledge. I’m trying to locate him for questioning in connection with a case. Do you have any information as to his whereabouts?”
“No. I can’t help you. I’ve very busy so—”
“Mrs. Turnbill, it’s very important that I locate Mr. Kirkendall. If you could tell me if you’ve had any contact—”
“I haven’t, and I don’t want any contact with him.” Her voice was strained, like a wire snapped tight. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
Eve held her badge to the screen. “Can you read my ID and my badge number?”
“Of course I can, but—”
“You can verify by contacting Cop Central in Manhattan. I can give you a contact number that won’t cost—”
“I’ll get the number. You’ll have to hold.”
“Careful,” Peabody noted when the screen went to holding blue. “And a little pissy.”
“Not just careful, not just pissy. A little scared on top of it.” As she waited, Eve considered. She began to calculate how long a round trip to Nebraska, including interview time, might take.
Roxanne came back on screen. “All right, Lieutenant, I’ve verified your information.” Her face was pale now. “You’re with Homicide.”
“That’s correct.”
“He’s killed someone. Dian—” She broke off, bit down on her lip as if to block words. “Who has he killed?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in the murders of at least seven people, including two police officers.”
“In New York,” she said carefully. “He killed people in New York City?”
“He’s wanted for questioning for murders that occurred in New York.”
“I see. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know what he’s doing. Frankly, I don’t want to know. If I did, if I knew anything, I’d tell you. I can’t help you, and this isn’t something I want to discuss. I have to get back to my children.”
The screen went black.
“She’s still scared of him,” Peabody commented.
“Yeah. And her sister’s still alive. That’s what she thought, just for an instant there. Oh God, he finally got to Dian. She may know more than she realizes. She needs a face-to-face.”
“We’re going to Nebraska?”
“No, but you are.”
“Me? Just me? Out there in the wilderness?”
“Take McNab. Backup and ballast.” And, Eve thought, as someone who’d keep Peabody from overdoing. “I want you there and back tonight. You’ll do better with the mother type, the family type, than I would first shot. She’ll trust you faster.”
Eve used the house ’link, interrupted Roarke in the computer lab.
“I need fast, secure transpo.”
“Where are we going?”
“Not we—Peabody. Nebraska. I’m sending McNab with her, so something that’ll hold two. But quick and small. They shouldn’t need to be there more than a couple of hours. I’ve got the exact location.”
“All right, I’ll arrange it. Give me a minute.”
“Wow, just like that.” Peabody gave a little sigh. “What’s it like being with a guy who can snap his fingers and get you pretty much whatever you need?”
“Convenient. Use the sister on her if you have to. Show her the dead kids.”
“Jesus, Dallas.”
“She’s got kids. It’ll help crack her if she’s hiding anything. We can’t play nice. Have McNab take the edge if you need one. Can he handle bad cop?”
“He does it really well during personal role-playing games when I’m the reluctant witness.”
“Oh crap.” Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes and prayed the image wouldn’t form. “Just work her, Peabody. She must know where to find the sister. Kirkendall’s ex would be a valuable tool in this investigation.”
Roarke walked in, handed Peabody a memo cube. “There’s your transpo. The pilot will be waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” She gathered her file bag. “I’ll contact McNab, have him meet me there.”
“I want to know when you arrive, when you leave, and when you get back,” Eve told her.
“Yes, sir.”
“Safe trip,” Roarke said, then turned to Eve when Peabody headed out. “I’ve got some bits and pieces, but I’m going to need the unregistered to pull them together.”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
“Let’s take it in there.” He ran a hand down her arm as they walked. “You’re tired, Lieutenant.”
“Some.”
“It’s been a stressful, emotional day.”
She jerked a shoulder when he unlocked his private office with palm and voice ID.
“And Nixie?”
“Mira came by on her way out. She said the kid was doing a little better. That the trip to the morgue . . . Jesus.” She covered her face with her hands. “God, I didn’t think I was going to be able to hold it together in there.”
“I know.”
She shook her head, struggling even now to maintain. “The way she looked at her father, touched him. What was in her eyes when she did. Sorrow, something beyond sorrow. And you knew, seeing that, how much she loved him. That she was never afraid of him, never had to worry if he’d hurt her. We don’t know what that’s like. We can’t. I can find the man who did this, but I can’t understand what she feels. And if I can’t understand, how can I make it right?”
“Not true.” He brushed her face with his fingers, took away tears. “Who are you weeping for, if not for her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. She doesn’t know what I do, but she’s living through it. I can’t know what she knows. That kind of bond? It’s different than what we’ve got. It’s got to be. Child to parent, parent to child. That was taken from her.”
She reached up with her own hands, wiped the tears away. “I stood over my father, with his blood all over me. I can’t really remember what I felt. Relief, pleasure, terror—all of it, none of it. He comes back, in my head, in my dreams, and he tells me it’s not over. He’s right. It’s not over. It’s never going to be. She makes me see it.�
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“I know.” He rubbed an errant tear away with his thumb. “Yes, I know. It’s wearing on you, I can see that, too. There doesn’t seem to be anything either of us can do about it. You won’t pass the case to someone else.” He lifted her chin with his hand before she could answer. “You won’t, and I wouldn’t want you to. You’d never forgive yourself for stepping aside because of personal distress. And you’d never trust yourself again, not fully, not the way you need to.”
“I saw myself when I found her. Saw myself, instead of her, huddled in a ball, coated in blood. Not just thought of it, but saw it. Just a flash, just for an instant.”
“Yet you brought her here. You face it. Darling Eve.” His voice was like balm on the burn. “The child isn’t the only one who shows grace in her steps.”
“Grace isn’t the issue. Roarke.” She could tell him, say this to him. “On days like this, part of me wants to go back there, to that room in Dallas. Just so I can stand over him again, with his blood all over me and the knife in my hand.”
She closed her fist as if she held the hilt. “Just to kill him again, but this time to know what I feel when I do, to feel it because maybe then it’ll be done. Even if it doesn’t, to feel that moment when I carved him up. I don’t know what that makes me.”
“On days like this, all of me wants to be the one to go back to that room in Dallas. To have his blood on me, and the knife in my hands. I know exactly what I would feel. And what it makes us, Eve, is who we are.”
She let out a long breath. “I don’t know why that helps when it should probably scare me. She won’t feel this way, because she had that base. Because she could lay her head on her mother’s dead heart and cry. She’ll have sorrow, and nights when she’s afraid, but she’ll remember why she was able to touch her father’s face, her brother’s hair, and cry on her mother’s breast.”
“She’ll remember a cop who stood with her, and held her hand when she did.”
“They’re going to throw her into the system, Roarke. Sometimes it’s salvation, sometimes it’s good, but not for her. I don’t want her to be another case file. To cycle through that like I did. I have an idea what could be done, but I wanted to run it by you.”