by J. D. Robb
“Absolutely. I have it on my calendar. One o’clock. Mmm-hmm. Yes, I’m in a meeting.” There was a long silence as she listened, and Eve noted the faint flush that rose to her cheeks. “I’ll look forward to that. Yes, I will. Good-bye.”
She disconnected, slipped off the headset. “Sorry, afternoon meeting. Now—”
“Can you tell me where you were Sunday morning?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She let out a huff of breath. “Sundays, I let Tom sleep in and take Jed to the park, or to some other activity. I’m trying to be cooperative, Lieutenant, since Mavis has asked me to, but I’m finding this very annoying.”
“Almost done. How about the night of September second, between midnight and three?”
Julietta snatched up her calendar again, keyed in. Again, Eve saw the slight change cross her face. “I had a meeting with an associate. I can’t tell you precisely when I got home as I didn’t make note of it, but I think it was after nine, maybe close to ten. I was tired, and went straight up to bed since Tom was working.”
“So he was home the entire night.”
“Why wouldn’t he be? He was working. I took a pill and went to bed. I told him I was going to, so he’d hardly have left the house because of Jed. Tom’s completely devoted, and somewhat overprotective of Jed. What is this?”
“That’s it for now. Thanks for the time.”
“I think I’m entitled to some sort of—”
“If you still want, we can talk about that article.” Mavis popped to her feet. “I just need a minute first.”
She scooted out of the office with Eve, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “So? Did she kill somebody or what?”
“Doubtful. The worst I figure she’s done is cheat on her husband with whoever called her on her private ’link.”
“She did? She is? How do you know?”
“Plenty of tells. Look, if you don’t want to deal with her, you can leave with me and Peabody. We’ll get you home.”
“No, it’s chilly. A spread in Outre’s like my fantasy. And it’ll give a boost to my disc sales. Won’t hurt Leonardo’s biz either. It cooks for all of us. We did good, right?”
“We did good.”
“Night or day, day or night. Hey, what do you think about Vignette or Vidal?”
“What are they?”
“My baby. Vignette for a girl, Vidal for a boy. They’re French. We’re experimenting with French names, and I ditched Fifi. I mean, who names a kid Fifi?”
Eve didn’t know who might name a kid Vignette either, but made a noncommittal mouth noise.
“Somebody will call her Viggy,” Peabody said. “Which rhymes with piggy, so she’ll be Piggy Viggy in school.”
Mavis looked horrified. “You think? Deep-six Vignette.” She gave her belly a comforting rub. “Plenty of time to come up with something else. Catch you later.” She swung back into Julietta’s office.
“Impressions, Peabody?” Eve asked as they rode down.
“She looks great, and she’ll come up with something better than Vignette or Vidal.”
“About Julietta Gates, you moron.”
“I know, I just wanted to annoy you. Sir,” she added when Eve looked at her. “Used to running the show, and likes it. Dresses for power even more than style. Ambitious. She’d have to be to have gotten where she is at her age. Strikes me as a little cold-blooded. There’s no zing when she talks about her kid. That was a good catch with the extramarital. Blew right by me. Then when you said it, and I played it back, it was right there. The way her voice changed, the body language.”
“And from the way her face flushed up, I’d say the voice on the other end was letting her know a few games they’d be playing at their one o’clock today. I’m going to want to confirm the dish on the side, in case we need to push on her later.”
“We going to surveil?”
“No, don’t want to risk her spotting either one of us this close to our little interview. I’ll see if Baxter can handle it. How much does a kid like hers talk?”
“At that age, they rarely shut up. Hardly anybody but immediate family can understand them, but it doesn’t stop them from talking.”
“She met her side piece on Sunday, you can take that to the vault. And she had the kid with her. Wouldn’t he tattle to daddy?”
“She probably told him it was a secret.”
“Huh.” This was foreign territory, so she took Peabody at her word. “Kids keep secrets?”
“No, but she doesn’t strike me as the type who knows her own kid very well. And the boy seems pretty tight with his dad. My best guess is he kept the secret until she was out of hearing, then blabbed. Daddy, me and Mommy and Uncle Side Dish played on the swings, but it’s a secret.”
Eve let it play in her head, and nodded. “And I doubt it’s the first time. Daddy knows what’s going on, and wouldn’t that irritate him? Wouldn’t he be a bit put out? Here he is, staying at home watching the kid, taking care of the house, while she’s running around town—and Europe—with some other guy. Playing with some other guy with his son in tow. Yeah, that’s a real pisser.
“Mother and whore,” she said as they got back into the vehicle. “We keep coming back to that. No problem for him to get out of the house for either murder, and he might’ve picked up the writing paper—paying cash—on his spring trip to London. Hell, the paper could’ve been a gift from a fan for that matter. And he decided it fit the bill. He knows the prototype murders as well as the initial killers.”
“Means, motive, opportunity.”
“Yeah, Thomas A. just jumped to the top of our list.”
Chapter 15
Eve had barely disconnected with Baxter when her communicator signaled. Whitney’s face filled the screen.
“He’ll see you at ten forty-five. Make it good.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Peabody studied Eve’s satisfied smile. “A person’s fifteen minutes late, one time, and she’s out of the loop?”
“Get me some data on Sophia DiCarlo, the Renquist’s au pair, and I’ll fill you in on the way to the U.N.”
“We’re going back to the U.N., to Renquist, and not risking federal imprisonment?”
“We’re going back to apologize, grovel, and eat massive portions of crow.”
“You don’t know how to do those things.” Peabody looked mournful. “We’re going to the pen.”
“Just get the data. If I don’t know how to apologize, grovel, and eat crow, it’s because it’s rarely appropriate for me to do so. You have to be wrong first.”
When there was silence, Eve glanced over. “No smart-ass comment?”
“My grandmother always says, if you can’t say something positive about someone, keep your trap shut.”
“Yeah, like you listen to her. Renquist is pissed, his wife is pissed, and they’re in the position to crimp the investigation. Nobody knows how to tie up red tape like a politician. And since my impression of them is that they are pompous assholes, I figured slathering on the ‘I’m just a public servant, ergo a bonehead’ line might get me in.”
“You said ergo.”
“It goes with pompous.”
“Sophia DiCarlo, twenty-six and single. Citizen of Italy with green card and work permit. Parents and two sibs reside in Rome. Aha, parents are domestics, employed by Angela Dysert. Bet it’s a relation to Mrs. Pompous Asshole. Sophia’s been employed by the Renquists as domestic, child-care position, for the past six years. No criminal on record.”
“Okay, the girl—Renquist’s girl, she’s old enough for school, right? See what you can find on that.”
“It’s touchy getting data on minors, Dallas, especially foreign nationals, without more clearance.”
“Get what you can.”
Peabody went to work while Eve drove across town. Overhead in the hazy sky, ad blimps and tourist trams moved sluggishly. Inside the relative cool, Eve practiced groveling in her head. Even telling herself it was for the greater g
ood, it rankled.
“They’ve got the kid’s privacy blocked. That’s pretty standard,” Peabody told her. “Especially with more upscale family types. You don’t want kidnappers and unsavory types knowing stuff about your kids. You’re not going to get anything without clearance.”
“Can’t ask for clearance. I don’t want the Renquists to know I’m looking at them. Doesn’t matter. The au pair’s bound to take the kid out sometime, or better, go out on her own. Has to have a day off.”
Eve tucked her thoughts away as they approached the U.N., and prepared to go through the multiple security checks.
It took twenty minutes to get through to Renquist’s outer office. It was his admin who greeted them, and invited them to wait.
Eve figured the extra twenty Renquist kept them cooling their heels was just his way to show who was in charge. Crow was already sticking in her throat when they were admitted.
“Please make it brief,” Renquist said immediately. “I’ve made time for you out of a very busy day only due to the direct request of your chief of police. You’ve already infringed on my time here, and my wife’s.”
“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry to have intruded on you, and on Mrs. Renquist. In my zeal to further my investigation, I overstepped. I hope neither you nor Mrs. Renquist will take this offense personally, nor let it reflect on the department.”
He arched his brow, and the surprise—the satisfaction—was obvious in his eyes. “Being considered a suspect in a murder is hardly usual for me, and could hardly be anything but personally offensive.”
“I regret that I gave the impression you were a suspect. Investigative procedure demands that I pursue any and all possible connections. I . . .” She tried a little fumble, wished she could work up a flush. “I can only apologize again, sir, and tell you frankly that my own frustration in being unable to clear this case may have made my demeanor less than courteous to both you and Mrs. Renquist. In actuality, I’m only seeking to remove your name from any list as applies to this investigation. My interview with Mrs. Renquist, however ill-advised, did serve to confirm your whereabouts at the time of the murders.”
“My wife was very distressed that the subject came up in our home, with guests on the point of arriving.”
“I realize that. I apologize again for the inconvenience.”
You schmuck.
“I hardly see why my name should be on any sort of a list merely because I may have some writing paper in my possession.”
She lowered her eyes. “It’s the only lead I have. The killer has taunted me with these notes. It’s very upsetting. But that doesn’t excuse my disturbing your wife at home. Please convey my apologies to Mrs. Renquist.”
He smiled now, thinly. “I will do so. However, Lieutenant, I have the impression that you wouldn’t be here, offering this apology, had your superiors not insisted you do so.”
She lifted her gaze, met his, and let a hint of the resentment show through. “I was doing my job as best I know how. I don’t play politics well. I’m just a cop. And I follow orders, Mr. Renquist.”
He nodded. “I can respect someone who follows orders, and give some leeway to a public servant who allows her zeal for duty to cloud her judgment somewhat. I hope you weren’t reprimanded too harshly.”
“No more than my actions warranted.”
“And you remain as primary in this investigation?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Then I’ll wish you luck with it.” He rose and offered a hand. “And hope that you identify and arrest the person responsible quickly.”
“Thank you.” Eve took his hand, held it and his eyes. “I intend to put him into a cage, personally, very soon.”
He cocked his head. “Confidence, Lieutenant, or arrogance?”
“Whatever works. Thank you again, sir, for your time and your understanding.”
“I take it back,” Peabody said when they were clear of the building. “You’re good. Frustrated apology, with just a hint of resentment. The foot soldier who’d tried to do her job, and got shafted by her superiors. Forced to eat that crow, and swallowing it down stoically. You really sold it.”
“Wasn’t that far off. He could turn up a lot of heat under the department. He’s got both political and media connections. Nobody ordered me to apologize, but nobody’s going to be sorry I did, either. Fucking politics.”
“You make rank, you’ve got to play them sometimes.”
Eve merely shrugged and climbed back into the car. “Don’t have to like it. Don’t have to like him, either. In fact, every time I see him, I like him less.”
“It’s the snooty factor,” Peabody explained. “It’s really hard to like somebody who has a high snooty factor, and his is top of the scale.”
She looked back at the glossy white building, the shining tower, the waving flags. “I guess dealing with diplomats and ambassadors and heads of state every day makes a high snooty factor a prerequisite.”
“Diplomats, ambassadors, and heads of state are supposed to represent the people, which makes them no different than us. Renquist can take his snooty factor and shove it.”
She drove away from the white walls and flags, toward the heart of the city. “Wouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit if it turns out to be him. I’m going to lock the cage on this son of a bitch personally. I meant that. And I wouldn’t mind seeing Renquist’s snotty face on the other side of the bars when I do.”
She hunkered down at Central and used the exercise of clearing her desk to let her thoughts brew. She forwarded a dozen messages and demands from reporters to the media liaison, and happily forgot about them. She imagined there was a press conference in her future, but she didn’t have to think about it now.
She caught up on paperwork as much as she ever caught up on paperwork, then made some calls of her own.
She took out the notes, reread them, searching for a rhythm, phrasing, word uses, anything that clicked with the speech patterns of the people on her list.
It wasn’t his voice, she thought again. Deliberately not his voice. He assumes and mimics and becomes. Who did he become when he wrote the notes?
Her desk ’link signaled an incoming, and wanting to avoid reporters she waited for the transmission location to flash on. When she read Feeney, Captain Ryan, EDD, she answered.
“You work fast,” she said.
“Kid, I’m a frigging rocket. Got a pop might be your guy. Case is cold. Vic was a fifty-three-year-old female. Schoolteacher. Found strangled in her apartment by a sister. Cooked for a few days first. Raped with a piece of statuary, which he also used to bash her over the head. Strangled with a pair of those panty hose you people wear. Tied in a bow under the chin.”
“Bingo. How cold and where?”
“Went down June of last year, Boston. I’ll send you all the particulars. No note with this one, and he smashed her head and face pretty good with the statue. ME report says she was already on the way out when he strangled her.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“Could be. I got another with enough clicks to make me wonder. Six months before Boston, out in New L.A. Fifty-six-year-old vic. This one was a squatter though, and that doesn’t fit. But somebody did her in her flop, raped her with a ball bat, smashed her up with it before he strangled her with her own scarf. Got a bow there, too, which is what pulled it.”
“Follows, doesn’t it? A squatter’s an easy hit. Not tough to get to, and nobody cares too much. It’d be a good place to perfect your technique.”
“My thinking. I’ll send these to you. Haven’t got any hits on the mutilation. Plenty of slash and gash in the good old U.S. of A., but nothing that hums along with your guy. I’m widening to international.”
“Thanks, Feeney. You got some vacation time coming, don’t you?”
His mournful face drooped. “Wife’s nagging my ass red about putting in for a week. Frigging holiday brochures all over the damn house. Thinks we should rent some big beach house or some shit,
take the whole damn family. Kids, grand-kids.”
“How about Bimini?”
“Who?”
“Where, Feeney.”
“Oh. Bimini. What about it?”
“Roarke’s got a place there, big house, staffed. Beach, waterfall, blah blah. I can clear it with him, have your whole damn family fly down on one of his transports. Interested?”
“Jesus Christ, I go home and tell the wife we’re taking the whole herd to Bimini for a week, she’ll keel over. Shit, yeah, I’m interested, but we don’t have to play payback.”
“I’m not playing. Place is just sitting there. He flipped a deal to Peabody and McNab awhile back, so I figure I can flip one to you. Especially since I’m going to ask you to keep an eye on things when I do some out-of-town work.”
“Sounds like I’m getting the shiny end of the deal. Data coming through.”
She read it through, and felt that quick little buzz in the blood. A cop buzz. She was looking at his work. Practice strokes. Not that sort of thing that merited a signature, she thought, but a building of style and skill he preferred not to add to his credits.
He’d have been sloppier, less cautious. There’d have been mistakes, and though the trail was cold, she might still find a shadow of them.
She took the time to organize the data before taking it to Whitney for her pitch.
With her commander’s go-ahead under her belt, she made tracks back to Homicide, already formulating her next pitch in her head. She breezed through the bull pen, giving Baxter a with-me signal when he called out her name.
“So, you get a look at the guy she’s boinking on the side?”
“She’s not boinking a guy on the side.”
The rush Eve was still riding on drained. “Gotta be. Damn it, Baxter, she had big, secret affair written all over her. I could almost smell the sex.”
“Please, you’re giving me a woody. I’m just going to have some of your coffee and calm myself down.”
“If you couldn’t keep a tail on her—”
“I kept a tail on her.” He ordered up an enormous mug, two sugars, splash of cream. Taking it, he leaned back against her filing cabinet to enjoy the first jolt. “Goddamn, this is coffee. Speaking of tails, which you were, the blonde had a superior one.”