The In Death Collection, Books 16-20

by J. D. Robb

  “Sorry.” She started to back out, but Roarke lifted a hand.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, my wife.”

  They all looked over at her. She saw, clearly enough, the measuring of the females—and the reactions of puzzlement, even amusement. And she could understand it. There was Roarke, rangy and stunning in his dark suit, power like an aura around him.

  And here she was, banged-up boots, hair she couldn’t quite remember if she’d even finger-combed that morning, and a weapon harness over her shirt.

  “We’re just wrapping up,” he told Eve, then turned back to the group. “If you have any further questions, relay them through Caro. I want the changes discussed and implemented by this time tomorrow. Thank you. Caro, stay a moment.”

  The holos, save Caro’s, winked off. Caro rose. “Lieutenant Dallas. It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too.” Now, Eve thought, she’d have to make chatty talk. “Ah, how’s Reva?”

  “She’s very well. She’s moved back to the city.”

  “Well, good. Tell her hi.”

  Caro turned to Roarke. “You’re conferencing again at eleven with the engineers on the project. And have a one o’clock with Yule Hiser that we’ve switched to ’link. Your two o’clock is Ava McCoy and her team. Then you’re clear for your five o’clock. The Fitch Communications meeting is tentatively scheduled for nine p.m., via holo.”

  “Thank you, Caro. Anything urgent, you know where to reach me.”

  She nodded. “Lieutenant,” she said, and winked out.

  “Who were the suits?” Eve asked.

  “Architects. I’m still making some refinements on a new development on Olympus.”

  “Six architects for one development.”

  “A rather large and complex one—and that includes buildings, landscape, water, interiors . . . And you don’t care.”

  She felt a little pinch of guilt, right between the shoulder blades. “Not much, but that’s not the same as not being interested. Which I am, in a supportive kind of way.”

  He chuckled. “What do you need?”

  Now annoyance slapped over the guilt. “Just because I said I was interested and supportive doesn’t mean I need something from you.”

  “It doesn’t, no.” He leaned back on his desk. “But you came in here because you did. There’s no need to feel guilty about it, or to start worrying that I’m carving off my own worktime to help with yours. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to do it.”

  “Well, how do you feel about giving me a building downtown?”

  “Which would you like?”

  This time she chuckled. “Showoff. Have you got something untenanted? Something we can secure and wire up within twenty-four?”

  “I imagine we can come up with something. That’s your trap. Why downtown?”

  “Because I know they’re based uptown. Because when this goes down, I want it as far away from the kid as I can make it and stay in the city. I need a place where I can post up to a dozen men inside, where I can place snipers and tech response in select locations. I need to make it look like a safe house—cop security on doors and windows. And I need to be able to lock the place down tight as soon as I have them inside.”

  “I’ll give you some possibilities by this afternoon. That soon enough?”

  “Good. There’s this other thing. I’ll make it quick. You said Richard and Elizabeth were coming today.”

  “Yes, at four. I’ll take care of that.”

  “Much as I’d like to let you, it’s not right.” She didn’t have to be told the meetings Caro had rattled off weren’t all he had on the big, shiny plate of Roarke Industries. “I dumped her here, I’ve got to do my part in it. I figure you’ve dealt with their security.”

  “It’s done.”

  “I’m bringing Mavis in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The kid’s a big fan. She brightened up when she heard I knew Mavis, and before I knew it I’d said something about yeah, she could meet her. Anyway, it seems like if I had Mavis come in, Mira—we’d need Mira to give an opinion on the kid’s reaction to the fostering—it would look more causal. Like we’re having guests over.”

  His communication system beeped and buzzed, lights signalling incoming data. She wondered how he stood all the interruptions. Of which, she knew, she was one.

  “In the real world of good and evil, good doesn’t have a party if they’ve got a reason to think evil might try to crash.”

  He gave her an easy nod. “Thereby giving the impression that there’s certainly no young girl evil might want to get its hands on around here.”

  “It’s sort of braining a lot of birds with one stone. Leonardo’s in Milan or Paris or someplace over there.” She gestured vaguely in what might’ve been the direction of Europe. “So if I bring her in, it’d be best to keep her here. Just in case.”

  “I’d say the more the merrier—and merrier it tends to be with Mavis around—but it’s not quite the phrase that comes to mind with a houseful of cops.”

  There came the guilt again, with a more enthusiastic pinch. “I’ll get them all out as soon as I can.”

  “Holding you to that. Oh, I caught your performance on a media flash right before my meeting.”

  “Yeah. Heard it got screen time.”

  “Some impressive maneuvers, both air and ground. Still you’re lucky you didn’t splat that new police issue of yours into the face of a building.”

  “I couldn’t. I wreck another ride this soon, even with Peabody offering a variety of perverted, possibly illegal sexual favors, I’d be lucky to score an airboard out of Requisitions.”

  “An offer of a variety of perverted, possibly illegal sexual favors would score you any vehicle you might like from me.”

  “Peabody doesn’t need the incentive. She already wants to jump you.”

  “Flattering. But I was actually thinking of you in regard to those favors. But I’m sure Peabody and I can work something out.”

  “I’d hate to put her back in the hospital this soon. Catch you at four.”

  With Peabody, Eve made a point of going back to every crime scene she attributed to Kirkendall. She stood on the sidewalk, studied the building where Judge Moss and his family had once lived. Another family lived in the pretty brownstone now.

  Did they think about it? Talk about it? Entertain their friends with the horror story?

  “Baxter and Trueheart recanvassed here,” Peabody commented. “Showed off the composite and the military ID photos. Nobody remembers seeing them around. Two years since,” she added. “It was a long shot.”

  “He didn’t go after the wife on this one. You could speculate that he was more focused in on the judge. Or that he opted to leave her alive, to suffer. But he knew the routine, so he’d watched them.” She turned a circle. “A lot of places around here a guy could rent or buy, settle in, stake out. Isenberry probably handled this end. Smarter. Original canvass probably interviewed her. We’ll re-evaluate the reports, see if we see anything on that.”

  She got back in the car, drove toward the Swisher’s. “Property around here’s a good investment. He likes good investments. Maybe he bought in somewhere near the Moss residence, held on to it, rents it out. He partners up with Master Lu for investment, for income. Why not do some real estate?”

  “Vary your portfolio.”

  “Let’s tug that line. See if we can find a property bought after the trial, before the bomb. It may not lead us to him, but it builds evidence. When these bastards go to trial, I’m going to have them sewn in a titanium shroud. Goddamn it!” She punched the accelerator as the Swisher house came into view. “Look at those idiot kids.”

  The trio—teenagers, at her guess—were huddled together at the police seal on the front entrance. Their lookout, a curvy little number in a black skin-suit and wrap shades, let out a shout and took off on a silver airboard.

  Kids scattered, leaping solo or in tandem on other boards, plowing through shrubbery,
onto the sidewalk, into the street between vehicles that squealed and honked.

  Eve heard looney, loopy laughter as they whipped around the corner.

  “You’re not going after them?” Peabody asked when Eve zipped to the curb. “Squish them like bugs?”

  “No. It’s just as likely one of them will end up getting squished by a cab while I’m chasing them. Pricks.” She slammed out, jogged to the entrance to check the seal. “Tinkered with it, didn’t get through far enough to set off the alarm. Slap on a fresh one anyway, Peabody. Asshole kids. What did they plan to do, break in and have a party in the death house? Why aren’t they in school, or better yet in juvie?”

  “Saturday.”

  “What day?”

  “Today’s Saturday, Dallas. No school on the weekends.”

  “There ought to be,” she said darkly. “There ought to be school twenty-four/seven for little disrespectful creeps like that. Give them a day out, all they do is cause trouble.”

  “You’d have felt better if you’d gone after and squished them.”

  “Yeah.” She let out a breath. “Next time.” She forced herself to set it aside. “Recanvass was zip here, too. But we know Isenberry used the paralegal to get inside, get close to the family. We know the killers walked away, headed down the block, not into a neighboring building. Still, we’ll try the same investment angle here, too. They might have bought one, rented one, used it for stakeout previously.”

  Her last stop was the hospital parking lot. “Not just a quick slice here. Multiple stab wounds, defensive wounds. She put up a fight, or tried to. Played with her some. Jab here, jab there. I think this was girl on girl. They let Isenberry do this one. Her file says she likes to mix it up. Clinton, he likes a silent kill—manual strangulation a specialty. Kirkendall let his brother take point there. But the other kills were his. Cold and clean. But everybody got bloody. You trust your comrades more when they get bloody along with you.”

  “Easiest one to take here.” Peabody frowned at the lot, the health center. “You either hack in, get her schedule, or you hang around—who notices?—get a feel. Both, probably. You do it end of shift, late. And yeah, if it’s another woman walking your way, you don’t get the alarm bells. Little friendly nod, or Isenberry stops her, asks for directions. How do I get to the surgery wing? Vic turns, knife comes out. Sticks here, vic tries to block or run, gives her another jab. Works her back, away from the building. Some of the wounds were shallow, just nasty little sticks. Finishes her off. Rendezvous, and you’re gone.”

  Yeah, Eve thought, that was the way. “They’d have watched. Kirkendall and Clinton. Close enough for visual, or Isenberry wore a recorder. You’re not part of the kill unless you see the kill. We find their base, we’re going to find vids of every murder. They’d study them like Arena Ball players study the vid of a game. Looking for flaws, for moves, ways to improve.”

  “Sick. Dallas, it’s going on fifteen hundred.”

  “And?”

  “We’re due to get Mavis at fifteen hundred.”

  “Right. I got this buzz.” She rocked on her heels, studying the spot where Brenegan’s body had been found years before. “I know we’re close. We push the right buttons, we pull them in, and they’re gone. They’re smart, they’re crafty, but they’re vulnerable because they won’t walk away until they’re done. They’d rather fail than walk away without the mission complete.”

  “It’s hard to stop, change tracks, and deal with the other areas.”

  “Yeah, it’s a pisser all right. Let’s go get Mavis.”

  Eve had been to some of Mavis’s concerts. She’d been backstage and watched the adoring fans lucky enough to gain entrance. But she’d never seen a nine-year-old girl rendered speechless by the mere sight of her friend.

  Not that the sight couldn’t render anyone incapable of speech. Mavis wore her hair in hundreds of ringlets, bright gold and shimmery green, that spilled around her face like some sort of electric mop. Her eyes were gold today as well, tipped with green lashes. She wore a deep purple calf-length coat, which she peeled off upon entering the house to reveal a crotch-length dress in swirls of purple and gold. Her green tights were accented with shiny knee and ankle bracelets and a pair of gold shoes with transparent heels filled with those same colorful swirls.

  Her pregnancy had progressed far enough that her belly popped out of the swirls in a small, neat lump.

  Her bracelets—knee, ankle, wrist—rang like bells as she danced across the floor toward a slack-jawed Nixie.

  “Hi! I’m Mavis.”

  Nixie only nodded, her head like a puppet’s on a string.

  “Dallas says you like my music.”

  At the next nod, Mavis grinned. “I thought maybe you’d like this.” Apparently there was a pocket somewhere in the dizzying swirls as Mavis drew out a disc. “It’s my new vid, for ‘Inside Out Over You.’ It’s not hitting until next month.”

  “I can have it?”

  “Sure. You want to watch it? Okay if we go plug it in, Dallas?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This is the ult,” Nixie exclaimed. “The serious ult. Linnie and I . . .” She trailed off, stared hard at the disc. “Linnie’s my best friend, and we watch your vids all the time. But she’s . . .”

  “I know.” Mavis’s voice softened. “I’m really sorry. Dallas is my best friend. I’d feel so bad if anything happened to her. It would hurt for a long time. I guess I’d have to think about the fun we had together whenever I could, so it didn’t hurt so much.”

  She nodded. “You’re having a baby. Can I touch it?”

  “You bet. Sometimes it bumps around in there, and it feels really frosty.” Mavis laid her hand over Nixie’s. “Gotta cook a while longer. In the new vid I’ve got this totally mag belly painting going on. Why don’t you go plug the disc in. I’ll come watch it with you.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Nixie looked up at Eve. “You said you’d bring her, and you did. Thanks.”

  When Nixie raced off to the parlor, Eve stepped up, laid a hand on Mavis’s shoulder. “I appreciate this.”

  “Poor kid. Man, makes you misty.” She laid a hand on her belly, blinked her emerald lashes. “Look, if I can give her a couple hours of fun, that’s what it’s all about. Hey! Bump!” She grabbed Eve’s hand, slapped it to the side of her belly.

  “Jesus, don’t! Whoa!” She jerked when something kicked against her palm.

  “Is that uptown or what?”

  “Or what.”

  But curiosity had her eyeing the ball of Mavis’s belly as the little kicks continued. It was kind of . . . she wasn’t sure. A happy little beat, and not nearly as creepy as she’d expected. “What the hell’s it doing in there, dancing?”

  “It’s swimming and stretching and rolling. I’m so knocked up now its nostrils are opening, and he’s got these little air sacs—”

  Eve whipped her hand clear, tucked it safely behind her back as Mavis laughed. And her own hands gently caressed her belly as she looked toward the stairs. “Hi, Dr. Mira.”

  “Mavis. I’d say you’re glowing, but I’ve never known you otherwise. I will say you look wonderfully healthy.”

  “Feeling TIT these days. Totally In Tune.”

  “I didn’t know you were already here,” Eve said.

  “A few minutes before you. I’ve been upstairs speaking to Roarke. He’ll be right down. Ms. Barrister, Mr. DeBlass, and their son have just been cleared through the gate.”

  “I’ll go keep Nixie entertained.” Mavis gave Eve a bolstering pat on the arm and swirled her way into the parlor. “Hit it, Nix!” she called out, and there was a blast of what could be called, in some cultures, music.

  “I guess that’s showtime,” Eve declared, and walked to the front door.

  22

  IT WAS AN ODD GROUP UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, Eve supposed. Odder yet when she was trying to pay attention to the chitchat, watch the kid for reactions, structure a major operation, coordinate her team, and p
lay hostess.

  Richard and Elizabeth had weathered the storm of murder, scandal, and horror, and looked the stronger for it. She watched them both engage Nixie in conversation, together and separately. The kid was polite, and distracted enough, Eve thought, by both Mavis and a child near her own age, to enjoy herself.

  It was a strange group. But from the sound of conversation, Eve seemed to be the only one who thought so.

  She slipped away long enough to check on Peabody’s progress with the real estate angle, and thought it showed strength of character to leave the comfort of cop work to head back down to social hour.

  Elizabeth Barrister waylaid her in the foyer. “She’s a beautiful child.”

  “She’s got spine.”

  “She must, and she’ll need it as time goes on. Grief comes in waves. Just when you think you’ve weathered one, another swamps you again.”

  Elizabeth Barrister, Eve thought, knew plenty about grief. “It’s a lot to take on, from your position.”

  Elizabeth shook her head as she glanced toward the parlor. “We made mistakes, Richard and I. So many. Too many. And we’ve accepted that our daughter paid for them.”

  “Senator DeBlass was responsible.”

  “From your position,” Elizabeth agreed. “But she was our child, and we made mistakes. We’ve been given another chance with Kevin. He’s lit up our lives.”

  There was no question of that, Eve noted, when just saying his name lit Elizabeth’s face.

  “We’d give Nixie a home, if she wants it. Give her a chance to heal. We’d be good for her, I think. Kevin certainly would. They’re already making friends. She’s been telling him about the game room, which is, apparently, the ult. I wonder if I could take them in for a while.”

  “Sure. I’ll show you where it is.”

  Eve remembered Kevin as a scrawny kid of about six with ragged clothes and a bony cat in tow. He’d filled out, cleaned up, grown a couple of inches, and showed a gap-toothed grin as he clutched a pudgy Galahad in his arms.

  “He’s fat,” Kevin said cheerfully. “But he’s soft.”