by J. D. Robb
He rose, came over to take her face in his hands. “Coming home as we did only yesterday—then going out again to the charity ball—we haven’t yet slept or anything else in our big, fancy new bed.”
“We’ll make up for it. I like how it’s turning out, the bedroom and all.”
“And like even more that the bulk of the work was done when we were on the island.”
“Goes without saying. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, and kissed her.
And that, she thought as he left her, summed up the miracle of her life. She had a home with him, and he’d be there.
Swinging her legs off the desk, she started her murder book.
* * *
When they finished the last interview, Eve prepared to send Peabody home.
“Get some downtime. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Are you going home?”
Not directly, Eve thought, but … “Yeah. I want Mira’s profile, another prod at the survivor when the medicals clear it, Yancy’s sketch. None of that’s going to happen now. I can comb through Olsen and Tredway’s files at home.”
“I can walk out with you,” Peabody began, knowing her partner’s methods.
“I’ve still got to grab my things,” Eve began, then turned to the burly man with a visitor’s badge clipped to his New York Knicks sweatshirt. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a Lieutenant Dallas.”
“You’ve found her.”
“I’m Carmine Rizzo. My boys—Luca—he said Dr. Strazza’s been murdered, and you talked to my crew.”
“Yes. One minute. Go home, Peabody.”
“I can speak to Mr. Rizzo.”
“I’ve got it. Go.” To solve the matter, Eve turned back to Carmine. “Why don’t we go sit down in our lounge? I appreciate you coming in,” she continued as she steered him out. “We didn’t see any reason to interrupt your Sunday as your crew was cooperative.”
“They’re good boys. Men,” he corrected. “All five of them on that job. I know them, their families. I want to make sure they’re not in trouble.”
“At this point, I’m looking at Luca, Ollie, Stizzle, and a valet—a Bryar Coleson—as witnesses.”
“I know Bryar, she’s a good girl, friends with my daughter. Witnesses, because they saw the one you think killed Dr. Strazza?”
“That’s right.” She led him into the lounge. “You want coffee?”
“No, no, thanks.” He waved that away. “I’m cutting back.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Rizzo.”
“Carmine. Everybody calls me Carmine. Been at the game,” he told her. “Whole family—doing the thing, so all day. I didn’t hear about any of this until Luca finally tagged me. The boy’s sick about this, half blames himself.”
“He shouldn’t. He’s not in any way to blame.”
Carmine nodded, blew out a relieved breath. “I told him the same. He said Mrs. Strazza was in the hospital. She’s a sweet girl. Is she hurt bad? There was a news report when I tuned in on the way here, said how there’d been a murder and assault, but they didn’t say how bad she was hurt.”
“She was roughed up, but she’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t understand the world most of the time. Don’t understand the world. Now she’s a widow, and at her age. Maybe we can send her flowers or something.” Face grim, he stared down at the table.
“You knew Dr. Strazza,” Eve prompted.
“I can’t say I knew him all that well. Always paid on time, but he left the details of the order, the setup to Mrs. Strazza. She’s a joy to work with.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help. You need to talk to any of the boys again, or talk to me, we’re there.”
“Would you know if you’ve done jobs for Neville and/or Rosa Patrick or Lori and/or Ira Brinkman during the past year or two?”
“I don’t recognize the names right off, but I can sure check on that.” He took out a notebook, keyed in the names.
“How about businesses, offices. Do you rent there?”
“All the time.”
“St. Andrew’s Hospital?”
“We’ve supplied some rentals for events, sure.”
Now Eve took out her notebook, ran off the businesses of former victims.
“We’ve worked with On Screen, sure. Outfitted some sets when it made more sense for them to rent than to buy.” He swiped through lists. “Oh, okay, that’s Neville Patrick and Kyle Knightly. Sure, sure, we work with On Screen. We’ve done a couple of small jobs for Mr. Knightly at his place. I don’t see the Brinkmans on here, or those other places. But I can check it back at the office. Memory’s not what it used to be.”
“It’s working fine from my side of it. Thanks for this.”
“Will it help?”
“It may.”
“Then no thanks necessary. I don’t stand for some man putting hard hands on a woman. I met my wife that way.”
“You put hard hands on her?”
He laughed, and the tension he’d held in his face the whole time drained with it. “That’ll be the day. I came out of a bar one night. In Jersey City where I was hanging out with a cousin, a couple of pals. I came out and in the parking lot this girl’s fighting off this drunk. He’s dragging at her and she’s struggling, cursing him a blue streak. He smacks her right in the face.”
“Ouch.”
“Didn’t slow her down, but, well, let me tell you, I don’t stand for that. So I went over, shoved him off, told him to get going. Punched me, but he was too drunk to put much behind it. I wasn’t near as drunk, and put him down.
“One year and three months later, I married the girl. That was thirty-three years ago.”
“I’d say you pack a good punch, Carmine.”
She went back to her office, added the interview to her book, considered her board. A connection, however thin, was a connection. One vic’s business used the same rental company as the Strazzas. One vic’s business partner had used that same company.
She’d see where it led her.
But now, she needed to go back to the beginning.
* * *
Eve stood outside the Strazzas’ townhouse, hands in her coat pockets. She imagined the dark, and the thin icy breeze. The rental company van at the curb, cargo doors open, ramp down. A couple of valets in dark heavy coats by a portable heater making small talk with the rental crew.
Streetlamps send out their white pool of light. The door of the house opens, and its backwash of light silhouettes all.
He’d stride down the sidewalk—purposeful strides. Perception was reality, right? So he’d give off the perception of someone who knew where he was going, had a reason to go there.
Big, dark coat with theatrical flaps billowing some in the cold breeze. Dark hat, brim pulled low. A scarf—yeah, she’d bet on the scarf. Dark again, wound around the neck, arranged to cover most of the lower face. Add sunshades.
A flamboyant look, which was smart. People at a quick glance would notice the outfit more than the person wearing it.
Shiny boots with some heel. To add to the look, or because he was sensitive about his height? Or, again, to give the casual observer the perception of more height.
She let it roll around in her mind as she climbed the stairs. Main entrance, quicker in and out for the rental crew, and that had been client priority.
She broke the seal, mastered open the locks, then stood just inside with the doors open. She scanned the area from what would have been Luca’s perspective.
Big, wide foyer that opened onto the living area. Two of the crew hefting one of the ten-tops. Supervisor’s going to watch them.
Don’t bump anything. Hurry it up, it’s cold. Can’t keep the damn doors open all night.
Glances back, sees the suspect sweep up the stairs, ’link to his ear.
I’m here now, okay?
Smart again, give that impressi
on of having the right to enter with attitude, words, a little impatience. Move fast, but not suspiciously fast.
Brisk. Move briskly. Straight in, annoyed, running late, and head right up the stairs. Like you belong.
Eve closed the door.
And walked in the killer’s footsteps.
Had he known where to find the master suite, or had he walked from room to room until he found it? Either way, she thought, he’d done a little walk-around, a little hunt.
Plenty of time, plenty of places to hide if he’d heard anyone coming. Because the show didn’t start until everyone but the Strazzas had left the house.
Plenty of time, she thought again. So he had the patience to wait—close to three hours. Had to set the stage, she mused as she went into the master.
She blanked out the bloodstains, the sweeper dust, the signs of struggle, let herself see the room as the killer had.
Rich, maybe a little on the hard-edged side, but rich.
“I bet you went through the closets.” Eve moved to Daphne’s closet as she spoke. “Sure you did. And you picked out the dress you’d take with you. I’d put money on that. Plenty to choose from.”
He had set the stage, but he’d have waited. Just in case someone came in before showtime. He’d only have to keep the door open, maybe step a few feet outside the room to hear the guests over dessert, those saying their good nights.
Excitement builds.
Check your makeup, adjust the mask. Set out the tools, set the lights.
Ease behind the door as you hear them coming up. Makes you hard. Curtain’s going up.
They come in together. Take out the biggest threat. Sap the man, strike the woman. Restraints.
Haul the man to the chair you’ve chosen (bad choice on that). He’s bigger than you, so you’ve got some muscle. Tie, restrain, use the tape to secure it all.
Turn on the strobe light.
She could see it. How he’d wait for the man to come around, hold a knife to his throat and demand the woman strip. Humiliation for both. Order her to the bed, give the man a couple whacks if she hesitates. Even if she doesn’t.
Restrain her—wouldn’t want her taking a swipe at you, getting any skin. Rape her, rough her up, choke her. Go back to the man, fists and saps. Maybe a few cuts because you need those combinations.
Yes, she could see it, a couple hours of brutality, fun times, and profitable.
Had he left them hurt, even unconscious—likely unconscious to clear out the safes, disable the house droids, dismantle the security system? Or …
Before that, Strazza breaks the chair, comes at him. Killer strikes him with the vase. Possibly believes he’s dead. Then goes to clear out and disable. That would explain the time lag.
But why come back up, why not just get out?
Not finished yet? Maybe he wanted another round with Daphne, like an encore. Finds Strazza alive, struggling to his feet, ready to attack again.
Maybe he had to make sure Strazza was dead this time. That’s exciting and new. The kill. Maybe he has that last round with Daphne, leaves her dazed, naked, possibly unconscious. Removes the restraints. Packs up and strolls out.
She could see it, and if Mira and Nobel could get through to Daphne, she could confirm, fill in gaps and movements, answer the dogging questions.
Eve left the bedroom, walked through the house again trying to imagine his movements.
Unlike the killer, she locked the door when she left. Added the seal.
She wanted to go home, wanted that nap on the new, fancy bed. But drove to the hospital. She needed to try.
This time she bypassed the desk, walked straight back to Daphne’s room and the guard on the door, tapped the badge she’d hooked to her coat in case anybody along the way tried to stop her.
“The doc’s in with her, Lieutenant.”
“Anybody else go in?”
“Medical personnel only.”
With a nod, Eve went in. She saw Del sitting on the side of Daphne’s bed. Her hand gripped his as Del spoke in low tones.
She jerked when she saw Eve, then seemed to settle again as Del turned his head.
“You’re back,” he said.
“You’re still here. Do you live here?”
“Feels like it half the time. But I went home awhile, got some Zs. Did you?”
“On my way there. How are you feeling, Mrs. Strazza?”
“Better, I think. It’s Daphne. You can call me Daphne. I haven’t remembered anything more. I’m sorry.”
“No rush on it. Just wanted to check a couple of things, if you’re up to it.”
“I … Yes, all right?” Ending on a question, she looked at Del for confirmation.
“Anything you remember helps,” he told her. “Even little things, things that don’t seem to matter.”
“That’s right,” Eve said. “You and your husband went into the bedroom together, is that accurate?”
“Yes, we went upstairs together. We were going straight to bed. He had rounds in the morning, and the party went a little longer than he thought it should—would. Thought it would.”
“And you were attacked. At the same time?”
“I…” Her eyes went blank for a moment. “I think—it was so fast, so shocking.”
“Take your time,” Eve said as Daphne gripped Del’s hand. “You went upstairs, into the bedroom.”
“Yes, upstairs. I think I was, maybe, just a step behind my husband. He had my arm. I think. I think my husband had my arm, and was just a step ahead. And suddenly he fell forward. I think. I think he did, but something—someone hit me. In the face. Everything went gray. I just laid on the floor. And hit me in the stomach. Kicked me?”
Instinctively, Daphne wrapped an arm around her waist.
“‘Stay down’—I think he said that. ‘Stay where I put you, bitch.’ I think. And I did. I didn’t move. I closed my eyes.”
She did so now, and tears stood on her lashes.
“I heard grunting, and everything hurt, so I laid on the floor with my eyes closed.”
“And when you opened them?”
“It was the devil.” She pushed up, eyes going wild. “The devil. I swear it. I swear.”
“Easy now.” Del took her shoulders, gently. “Breathe. Look at me, Daphne, and breathe. Nobody’s doubting what you saw.”
“That’s right.” Eve stepped closer. “It was makeup, it was a kind of mask. It was a man, Daphne, but he looked like a devil. He made himself look that way to scare you, and to keep you from being able to describe him.”
“Makeup?”
“Theatrical makeup.”
“But … He had horns, little horns, and the light was red and yellow, and I smelled sulfur.”
“Sulfur?”
“I think … ‘This is hell. I’m taking you with me to hell.’ I think he said. I’m not sure. And his … penis. It was red. It glowed like fire. And it burned inside me. God, it burned inside me.”
“He wore a condom, and makeup,” Eve said, keeping her tone even. “He used a novelty light that flashed the colors. All of it to confuse you, frighten you, and to set a kind of stage for himself.”
Doubt, fear, hope, all ran across Daphne’s face. “You’re sure? You’re positive.”
“I am.”
“You caught him?”
“Not yet, but I have some lines, some leads, and finding him is my focus. It’s my top priority.”
“Dr. Nobel says you’re the best. That they wrote a book about you, made a vid.”
Eve sent Del a sidelong look, got an easy shrug. “I wanted Daphne to know there’s no way this bastard’s getting through you, and me, the cop on the door, the kick-ass nurses on the floor. No way he can get to her.”
“You got that right.”
“He pretended to be the devil,” Daphne said, as if to herself. “But he … Do I have to go back to the house? When I have to leave here, do I have to go back there?”
“No,” Del began, but Eve touched a hand
to his shoulder as she kept her eyes on Daphne’s.
“Actually, it would help if, when you’re released, you would go through the house with me. It would help if I knew what he took with him.”
“Do I have to stay there? I don’t want to stay there.”
“You don’t have to stay there. Just a walk-through, with me, with cops right there with you.”
“But not today.”
“Not today. I’m supposed to tell you Jacko and Gula are thinking about you. He wants to send you soup.”
“He’s so nice. You had to tell him what happened.”
“I did. And Carmine Rizzo, he and his crew asked how you were doing. You have people who care. If you want visitors—”
“No. Not yet,” Daphne interrupted, pulling at the sheets. “Not like this. Please, not yet.”
“Okay. Whenever you want, I can clear it.”
Daphne’s hands relaxed again. “Lucy and John came. They’re doctors.”
“I know.”
“They were at the party. You had to tell them, too, and they came. They brought those flowers. They’re so cheerful and bright. But they didn’t stay long because I … I just can’t.”
“They seemed like pretty good doctors to me,” Eve commented. “They understand you’re not up for long visits yet. Have you seen Dr. Mira?”
“She was very kind. I was nervous because … But Dr. Nobel said she was kind and a good person for me to talk to.”
“She’s the best. She’s in the book and vid, too.”
Daphne smiled a little. “It’s hard to talk to so many people, but she was easier. And you and Dr. Nobel, it’s not as hard to talk to you.”
“Good.” Eve hesitated, stepped a little closer. “Maybe it’s not as hard because you know we’re on your side. If there’s anyone else you want me to contact, you want to visit—”
“No, please. No one. No one else.”
“That’s fine. I’m going to be checking on you on and off, and if you remember anything more, or even think you do, you can contact me. Anytime. Day or night. You want me to tell Jacko to send the soup?”
“It would be nice.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Del rose. “I’ll be right back.”