Echoes in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “It’s mag, Dallas.” Peabody wandered, letting her fingers skim over a chair back. “It’s a really good space, and it really, really works. For you, for the house.”

  “It worked fine before.”

  “Yeah—the work’s the work, right? But, jeez, the new board’s awesome ult, and it just all fits with the house instead of being, you know, sort of separate. Got some power vibes going in here.” She looked over at McNab, grinned. “He may start crying over that command center.”

  “Get him, go eat. That’ll dry his tears.”

  Since Eve didn’t want to tangle with McNab, she went to the buffet table for more coffee. Then had to deal with the reactions of the others as they filed in.

  Baxter looked around, nodded. “Nice. Oh, yeah, very nice. This is what I call a home office. You ought to hit your office at Central like this, Dallas.”

  The thought actually had a chill whipping down her spine. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Swank, but not fussy,” Olsen said, taking a long scan of the room. “Serious work space with just enough pizzazz.”

  “Priorities,” Tredway interrupted. “When we got the word on breakfast, I figured some half-assed Danishes, but…” He lifted the dome on a warming dish. “Holy pig meat.”

  “Dig in,” Eve ordered. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  She let them mill, stuff faces, and when Roarke came in, made herself a plate because otherwise he’d make her one.

  When, as she’d expected, most went back for seconds, she got the ball rolling.

  “Kyle Knightly, prime suspect. If you haven’t read the report, do so.” Since she had the kick-ass wall screen, she used it, ordered Knightly’s ID image up. “The suspect is…”

  She trailed off when Mira came in.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Mira, I didn’t know you planned to attend.”

  “I thought I might be able to answer any questions regarding your suspect’s pathology.” She looked around as she spoke, started to speak, then stopped herself. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

  Eve continued, detailing Kyle’s basic data while Roarke moved to Mira, whispered in her ear. Mira shook her head, patted his arm, then moved to take a seat.

  “As detailed in the report, we believe the suspect’s fixation and fantasy regarding his aunt escalated into a need to fulfill that fantasy through rape and violence. We are requesting the full incident reports and statements from his arrest at the age of eighteen for sexual assault, and any legal documents that may have been generated to persuade the complaining party to recant.”

  “A million macaroons are pretty persuasive,” Baxter put in.

  “Damn right, and the payment casts suspicion on the recant. Considering the length of time between that incident and the assault on the Patricks, it’s probable there were other incidents, possible payoffs, possible treatment for the suspect for his behavior. We are requesting access to his medical files, in full.”

  “I can add weight there,” Mira put in.

  “Any and all would be appreciated. The suspect lives alone, has never married or by all accounts had a serious relationship. He has a connection to, experience with, and a talent for the theater and screen, with access to professional makeup and costuming, as well as stage props. He is of an upper social and financial rung. Mira’s profile fit him like one of his tailor-made suits. Am I wrong?” she asked Mira.

  “No. I would conclude Kyle Knightly developed an unhealthy attachment to his aunt—the sister of his own mother. A sexual desire for her. But she belonged to his uncle. He may have merely fantasized, or may at some point have made an advance, and been rejected. Whether gently or angrily, or any point in between, it wouldn’t matter. The rejection became as intense as the desire. They’re connected for him, and therefore to achieve that desire, that release, he must use force. Must negate any chance of rejection.”

  “When he sees a woman who brings him that same, or very similar desire,” Eve continued, “she rejects him. More, she prefers his cousin—the son of the woman he wanted.”

  “It’s enough to fuck up the already fucked-up,” Tredway commented.

  “Having this woman,” Mira put in, “the one he wanted, the one who would, at the very least, serve as a surrogate for his obsession, choose his cousin? I believe that would have been the psychotic break. While he may have raped others, such as the incident when he was eighteen, he likely considered those assaults merely bending the female to his will. Giving her, in his mind, what she truly wanted. He may have used LCs—and if so, they would resemble the aunt. But when Rosa Patrick chose his cousin, forced or rough sex was no longer enough. Assaulting the female, no longer enough. The couple had to pay, the man dominated and humiliated, the woman taken sexually and—vitally—forced to give him validation.”

  “‘Best you ever had,’” Eve finished.

  She paused, noted that Roarke brought Mira a cup of tea. “We know who he is, what he is, where he lives, and where he works. APA Reo will secure the necessary search warrants for his residence, his studio. Peabody, find out the suspect’s schedule for today. Use whatever ploy works.”

  “Can do.”

  “McNab, request from Captain Feeney an e-team, including uniforms to secure, to be deployed on my go to the studios. All of the suspect’s electronics in that location are to be confiscated.”

  “You want me there?” McNab asked.

  “No, I want you at the residence, where it’s more likely he keeps any records of his crimes, of his victims and his plans. Should the schedule indicate the suspect will be at the studio at the time of the go, I want Peabody, Tredway, and Olsen to take him in for questioning. Should the schedule indicate he’ll be at his residence, we all hit it.”

  “That’s a lot of cops,” Olsen pointed out.

  “This started with the Patricks, and that’s your case. You’re going to be there for the takedown.”

  “Sir,” Trueheart began. “The suspect may be in another location, on a shoot or in a meeting.”

  “Should that be the case, it’s Peabody, Tredway, Olsen. You, Baxter, McNab, and myself hit the residence wherever the fucker may be. If he’s there, we serve the warrant and proceed. He will be held and brought in for questioning. I’m taking the lead there.”

  “No argument,” Tredway told her.

  “I’ll break him.”

  “As long as we can watch,” Olsen added.

  “Mira, I’d like you to observe as well.”

  “I’m planning on it.”

  “The rest of you, remember: He’s a coward, and cowards can be more dangerous than the cocky.”

  Reo circled a finger in the air as she studied her ’link screen. “You’ll have your warrants within thirty because I’m just that good. Go get him.”

  “Peabody, get me his location.”

  Peabody rose. “Let me just…” She wandered off into the kitchen. “Oh, man, the kitchen, too!”

  “Focus, Detective.”

  “Give me a couple.”

  “Getting a last hit of real coffee before the wars.” Baxter strolled back to the buffet.

  Roarke pulled Eve aside. “Tag me, will you, when you bring him into Central.”

  “Sure, if you want.”

  “I do. I want to watch you work him.”

  “You must have a couple million things to do.”

  “I did at least a million of them last night and this morning. Let me know. I’d like to be there. I saw what he did to Daphne Strazza firsthand.”

  And because he believed, very strongly, his cop might need him before it was done.

  Peabody hurried back. “He’s slated as working from home until noon today.”

  Eve thought: Perfect. “By noon he’s in a cage. McNab, give Feeney the go. And let’s move out. Reo, nice tap dance.”

  Reo executed a quick, snappy time step, complete with jazz hands. “Keep me updated.”

  The A-T waited. She decided Roarke had ordered it with the idea she’d have
more than Peabody in tow. “Leave your ride,” she told Baxter. “I’ll get you back to it.”

  He and Trueheart climbed in the back with McNab. “You figure he’ll try to rabbit?”

  “He’s arrogant, so that won’t be his first impulse. Insult, fury, threats—lawyer, blah-blah. Might be he’ll try the rabbit when he realizes we’re going to find his cache—because he damn well has one.”

  “Don’t want to be a downer,” Peabody began, “but what if he keeps the trophies in another location? A storage locker we don’t know about, another residence we haven’t uncovered.”

  “He needs to look, touch, bask whenever the mood strikes. He needs them with him.”

  “I’ve got a basketball trophy from high school.” Trueheart smiled at the idea. “My mom keeps it on a shelf in the living room. And the team picture from that year, too.”

  “I’ve got first-place comp science awards from elementary school,” McNab added. “I like looking at them.”

  “Not sick, but sweet—ever the geek,” Baxter commented. “Still, same thing. How about the boy and I do a walk around the building while the rest of you serve the warrant? Just in case he tries to climb out a window.”

  “That’ll work.”

  She grabbed a street spot, watched Olsen pass and circle as she hunted up a place to park.

  Eve got out, studied Knightly’s building. Square and substantial on the corner, with the bricks painted a silvery gray, the windows privacy screened, the double entrance doors heavily secured.

  “Let’s take a walk, my man.” Baxter slapped a hand to Trueheart’s shoulder and they strode away.

  Though everything inside her revved—get this done, get this done—Eve waited until Olsen and Tredway rounded the corner on foot.

  She pulled out her PPC, checked, then printed out the warrant.

  “Here we go.”

  “Bet he recognizes us,” Tredway said to his partner, then glanced at Eve. “We interviewed him after the Patricks. Never got a buzz, and I’m pretty pissed about that now.”

  “You didn’t have enough.”

  “Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” Olsen said under her breath. “But we’ve got it now.”

  “Record on.” Eve pressed the buzzer.

  “Dallas? I’m betting that cam goes to a screen in most every room in the place.” McNab stood casually, orange earflaps over his bedecked lobes, kept his back to the cam, and his voice low. “Audio, too.”

  “Hmm. It’s a good thing we’re cleared to enter whether or not the resident is home.” Eve didn’t keep her voice low. “I’m going to give it another buzz or two, in case he’s a late sleeper. Peabody, you can get the battering ram out of the vehicle if the occupant doesn’t answer.”

  It took less than thirty seconds more for the locks to click. Kyle opened the door, casual sweater, pants, skids. Because she knew him—she knew him—Eve watched him paint a mask of fear over his face.

  “Neville and Rosa. Something happened. God, what—”

  “Nope.” Eve held up the warrant. “We are authorized to enter this building and search same. Please step back.”

  “What? Wait a damn minute.”

  “You need to step back,” Eve said when he tried to block the door. “Now,” she added, shoving her shoulder against it as he started to slam it shut.

  “You can’t just break in here,” he began.

  “Warrant, read it.”

  “I don’t give a goddamn about some ridiculous warrant. This is private property. This is my home. Get out.”

  “Mr. Knightly.” Tredway’s voice stayed cool as ice. “You don’t want to interfere with a duly executed warrant.”

  “Fuck you and your warrant.” Rage stained red over his face; insult glittered in his eyes. “We’ll see what my lawyer has to say.”

  “Yeah, you see what your lawyer has to say. Peabody, take this first area, McNab, all electronics.”

  Kyle shouldered Olsen aside, pushed his face into Eve’s. There was the pure, hot, violent fury, unmasked, she’d waited for. “You touch anything, you so much as lay a finger on an inch of my home, I’ll have your badge, you arrogant bitch. You touch nothing!” He dragged his ’link out of his pocket. “My lawyer will deal with this, and you.”

  “Peabody, Olsen, Tredway.” After each name, Eve pointed in a direction. “You’re in my way, Mr. Knightly.”

  “Get out of my house. Marco, get Wesley on the ’link. I don’t give a fuck who he’s talking to! Get him now!”

  “You need to move, Mr. Knightly.”

  “You need to move,” he snapped back, and shoved her.

  Eve signaled the others to stay back with a hand held down at her side. Oh, yeah, she knew him. And just which buttons to push.

  “You may think you’re in charge here, but you’re wrong. I’m in charge. You’re going to do what I tell you to do and step back. You don’t want to lay a hand on me again.”

  “You don’t tell me what to do! Get out of my house.” He backhanded her. She could’ve dodged it—he telegraphed the move—but she wanted the hit, wanted the taste of blood in her mouth.

  She heard four weapons slap out of their harnesses.

  “Stand down,” she said easily. “I’ve got this.”

  As she lifted a hand to wipe the blood from her mouth, she shot her foot out, swept it, and took his legs out from under him.

  He fell hard, as she’d meant him to.

  She pulled her restraints, pressed her knee into the small of his back, yanked his arms behind his back as he struggled and spat obscenities. “Kyle Knightly, you’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.” She leaned down closer. “Believe me, other charges will follow. Peabody, send for a couple of uniforms in a black-and-white to take Mr. Knightly into Central for booking. No rush,” she added.

  She pulled her comm. “Baxter, he’s not going to rabbit. Come on in, give us a hand.”

  Tredway hauled Knightly to his feet. “I’ve got him, Dallas. Why don’t we have a seat?”

  “Take your hands off me. Get these things off me. Do you know who I am?”

  “I know exactly who you are,” Eve said.

  She watched his face, his eyes as she wandered the large, open, sleekly furnished main level. Plenty of rage—he shook with rage—but no fear, not yet.

  Then she saw it, watched it leap through the rage as she started up the first curve of open iron steps.

  “Up here, isn’t it?”

  His bedroom and an office area both opened onto the wide balcony that overlooked the main level. But beyond, snug behind a jog in the wall, was a large door, closed and locked.

  She tapped on it, heard the ring of metal.

  “McNab.”

  “Yo.” He came double time.

  “Can you bypass the security on this?”

  “Wowzer. As much as he’s got on the exterior. It’ll take some time, but I’ll get you in.”

  “Let me know.”

  She walked back to the bedroom, and Trueheart came upstairs. “Baxter said you might want some help up here.”

  “Take the office, Detective. Let’s be thorough.”

  She found porn—no law against it—some sex aids for solo flights. He wouldn’t bring women here, she thought. No need for women here.

  McNab had been right about the security screens in every room—and the audio.

  She stepped out again when she heard Kyle shouting.

  He looked up as two uniforms gripped his arms. “I’ll make you pay.”

  “You know what we’re going to find when my e-guy gets through that door, Kyle. We both know. You’ll be the one paying for the rest of your miserable life.”

  When the uniforms hauled him out, Olsen shut the door behind them. “Whew, listen to the quiet.”

  “McNab, how much longer?”

  “Nearly got it! This bitch is slick, she is crazy slick.”

  “Peabody, the battering ram, and this time I mean it.”

  “Come on, Dallas!” A kind of
panic hit McNab’s voice. “It’s a matter of pride now. Five minutes. Five more.”

  It took ten, but he let out a war whoop. “She’s down.”

  He glanced back as Eve walked to him. “Could be booby-trapped inside.”

  “He’s the best, remember? He’d never believe anybody would get this far. But … stand back.”

  Eve eased the door open, shoved it clear, stared into pitch dark. “Lights on full,” she ordered.

  The dark remained.

  “Probably cued to his voiceprint,” McNab told her. “I can fix that, but—”

  “It’ll take a minute.”

  “I’ve got a flashlight.” Tredway stepped behind her, turned on his flash, swept the area slowly.

  Eve thought: Aladdin’s Cave.

  21

  While McNab worked, Peabody handed Eve another flashlight from a field kit. Eve walked into the room.

  Larger than the master bedroom and bath, she noted on her first scan. More a priority, she supposed, as he’d spend the biggest chunk of his time in this space. The long work counter of comps and comms and screens and other e-toys would likely give McNab a small orgasm—and whatever EDD dug out would surely add to the prosecution’s case.

  She might not understand the geeky wonders of electronics, but she damn sure knew a stack of hard drives and motherboards when she saw them tidily stored on shelves.

  She’d bet her magic coat they’d find the victims’ security equipment among them, waiting to be stripped for parts or used in builds.

  She left that for the time being, angled her light to the left. She heard Peabody’s quickly indrawn breath, understood it. The droid looked very human, very beautiful. It wore the red cocktail dress and sparkling shoes, carried the red bird evening bag Nina Washington had described after the last murders.

  Miko’s jewelry as well, Eve observed. Then she shined the light on a square-cut diamond and diamond-encrusted band on the third finger of the droid’s left hand.

  All of the victims’ wedding rings had been stolen, but none matched this set.

  “He put those rings on her finger. In his head, he married her. Replicated his aunt,” she said, “played dress up, and God knows what else with it. McNab, once you get those lights on, see what you can do with this droid.”