Judgment in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “My pretty ass,” Nadine reminded her. “I’ll be there. Bells on.”

  She broke the connection, mulled over what she was about to do, then turned to see both Peabody and McNab staring at her. “Problem?”

  “No, sir, working away here. I’ve already got the first ten minutes run.”

  “Work faster.”

  “Maybe if I had some breakfast.”

  “You’ve been here about eight hours. There’s probably nothing left to eat.” She looked toward Roarke’s door again. Tempted, very tempted. Then was saved from making the decision as Feeney came in.

  “Got the breakdown.” He laid discs on her desk, took a chair, stretched out his legs. “Diagnostics, computer analysis. Ran it through up, down, and sideways. The programming wasn’t jumped. I’ll swear to that.”

  “Was Mills’s code used?” Eve demanded.

  “No. If it had been, I’d’ve figured whoever killed him got the code from him first, one way or the other.” Feeney rattled in his pocket and began to nibble mournfully from a bag of nuts. “It was an emergency clearance code—an old one, but it still works on that unit. It’s one Maintenance used to go by to transport or run scans on disabled units. They’ve got a new system the past few years, but the older units still respond to this one. Thing is, he had to have a master to tie it in. He didn’t bypass.”

  “Mills’s master was still in his pocket.”

  “Yeah.” Feeney sighed. “Yeah, you said. Anyway, the killer went right through the stages. I can follow it like a map.”

  She nodded because it fit, and the dread in her stomach was ignored. On Feeney’s face she read her own thoughts and her own conflict.

  “Okay, odds are we’re looking for a cop, retired or active.”

  Feeney crunched down on an almond. “Hell.”

  “Both victims knew their killer and trusted him or considered him no particular threat.” She moved behind her desk, brought up a wall screen. “Kohli,” she began, drawing a diagram. “To Mills. Mills to Martinez. Roth connects to all three. At the center of it is Max Ricker. Who else connects?” As an answer, she brought up a list of the names of the task force from Illegals who worked on Ricker’s case. “We run all these cops.”

  She paused long enough to scan faces. “Inside and out. I want it done without sending up any flags. Concentrate on financials. Both Kohli and Mills had suspicious funds. Follow the money.”

  “Sucks,” McNab commented. His eyes were cool and flat as he studied the names. “Lieutenant, if these two were dirty, taking money from Ricker or one of his sources, why take them out? Why would another cop on the take go after them?”

  “You think there’s honor among thieves, McNab?”

  “No . . . well, sort of. I mean what would be the point?”

  “Self-protection, covering your ass. Guilt, remorse.” She lifted a shoulder. “Or it could be as simple as Ricker paying one more to cut down the field. Thirty pieces of silver,” she mused. “Ricker’s really fond of silver. You may not find the killer on this list. But you may find the next target. Thirty pieces of silver,” she said again. “A symbol of betrayal. Maybe whoever killed these men wanted us to know they were wrong cops. We need to find out why. You start by finding out how many more are wrong.”

  “Shit’s going to hit the fan when this comes out,” Feeney told her. “Some aren’t going to be happy you tossed mud on the badge.”

  “There’s already blood on it. I’ve got to get to Central, then over to court. We’d better work out of here today. I’ll get another computer brought in so you can network.”

  The lock light was still on the adjoining door. She wasn’t about to humiliate herself by knocking on it in front of her associates. Instead, she went out, walked down the hall and, swallowing pride, knocked from there.

  Roarke opened it himself, briefcase in hand. “Lieutenant. I was just heading out.”

  “Yeah, well, me, too. My team’s going to set up here today. It’d be helpful if they had another computer unit or two.”

  “Summerset will get them whatever they need.”

  “Yeah, good. Well . . .”

  He touched her arm, turning her so that they walked toward the steps together. “Was there something else?”

  “It’s really distracting trying to work and knowing you’re still torqued at me.”

  “I imagine so. What would you like me to do about it?”

  It was said so pleasantly, she wanted to kick him. “I said I was sorry. Damn it.”

  “So you did. How rude of me to still be . . . what was it? Torqued.”

  “You’re better at this than I am,” she said grimly. “We’re not on even ground.”

  “Life has very little even ground.” But he couldn’t hold out against her misery and stopped halfway down the stairs. “I love you, Eve. Nothing changes that, nothing could. But Christ, you piss me off.”

  The wash of relief at hearing him say he loved her warred with irritation that she should be slapped, again, for doing what she’d thought best. “Look, I just didn’t want you involved in—”

  “Ah.” He tapped a finger on her lips to silence her. “There it is. There’s quite a world of trouble with that single statement. As I doubt you have time, and know I don’t, to explore that world right at the moment, why don’t you, between your quests for justice today, give it some thought.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a moron.”

  He kissed her, which was something, but did so lightly before continuing down the steps. “Go to work, Eve. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “How come he’s in charge?” she muttered. She heard him say something to Summerset, something quick and careless before the door opened. Closed.

  She started down, replaying the scene in her head, with all the sharp, pithy, and clever things she would have said if she’d had a few minutes to think about it.

  “Lieutenant.” Summerset stood at the base of the stairs, holding out her jacket. It was something he never did. “I’ll see to it that your associates have the equipment they require.”

  “Yeah, great. Fine.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  She shoved her arms into the jacket, snarled at him. “What, goddamn it?”

  He didn’t so much as blink. “Regarding your actions of last evening—”

  “Don’t you start on me, hatchet-face.” She shoved by him, wrenched open the doors.

  “I believe,” he continued in the same mild tone, “those actions were quite correct.”

  He might as well have stunned her with her own weapon. Her mouth fell open as she looked back at him. “What did you say?”

  “I also believe your hearing is unimpaired, and I dislike repeating myself.” That said, he walked down the hall and left her staring at him.

  chapter nine

  Nadine Furst was precisely on time, and ready to roll live. Eve hadn’t agreed to a live feed, but she didn’t object. It was a minor point, but one that Nadine noted.

  They were friends, which didn’t surprise either of them as much as it once had. They settled into the one-on-one interview in Eve’s office with the smooth rhythm of practice. There were no bombshells. Nadine was fully aware Eve Dallas dropped no ammunition unless she intended to use it for her own purposes.

  Still, the early interview with the primary investigator and the precise and carefully edited data put her report and her ratings considerably higher than her competition.

  “With the available information,” Nadine concluded, “it would appear that Detective Kohli and Lieutenant Mills were killed in broadly different manners. Is it their attachment to the same precinct, the same squad, that leads you to believe their deaths are connected?”

  Smart, Eve thought. She had no doubt Nadine had done a quick crash course on both victims and knew of their work on the Ricker bust. But she was clever enough not to bring up the man’s name before Eve gave her the signal.

  “That connection, and certain evidence the department
is not able to make public, leads us to believe both Detective Kohli and Lieutenant Mills were killed by the same individual. In addition to their attachment to the One twenty-eighth, these officers had worked on some of the same cases. Those avenues are being pursued. The New York Police and Security Department will employ all available means to track down, identify, and bring to justice the killer of two of its own.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. This is Nadine Furst reporting live from Cop Central for Channel 75.” She tossed the playback to her station, nodded at her camera operator, then sat back.

  Much like, Eve thought, a cat preparing to feast on a fat canary.

  “Now,” she began.

  “I’m running a little short on time here. I have to be in court.”

  Nadine popped out of the chair. “Dallas—”

  “Why don’t you walk me over?” Eve said casually, and gave the camera person a bland stare.

  “Sure. It’s a nice day for a walk. Lucy, go on back to base. I’ll catch transpo.”

  “Whatever.” Always affable, and perfectly aware something more was up, Lucy hauled her camera out.

  “Talk to me,” Nadine demanded when they were alone. “Ricker.”

  “Not here. Let’s walk.”

  “Oh. You actually meant that.” Nadine glanced down at her stylish but impractical heels. “Hell, how I suffer to give the public their right to know.”

  “You only wear those torture devices because they make your legs look hot.”

  “Damn right.” Resigned, Nadine followed Eve out of the office. “So how are things on a personal front?”

  Eve took the glide down, surprised at how nearly she skimmed toward telling Nadine about her problem with Roarke. Nadine was a woman, after all, and Eve had a feeling she needed to talk to a female about strategy or something.

  Then it occurred to her that Nadine, for all her polished looks, sharp brains, and basic good humor, wasn’t one of the top runners in the successful race of male-female relationships.

  “Fine.”

  “Well, that certainly took some time. A little trouble in paradise?”

  There was just enough sympathy in the tone to have Eve skirting a little closer to the edge. “I’m just distracted.”

  She stepped outside, opting to take the long way around. She wanted the air, she wanted the time. And she wanted the relative privacy of a crowded street.

  “An anonymous police source, Nadine.”

  “I’ll give you that, Dallas, but I have to tell you that coming so hard on the one-on-one, it’s going to be fairly easy to pin you as that source.”

  “No kidding?”

  Nadine studied her friend’s face. “Excuse me for being one step behind. I’ll just catch up now. You want certain parties to tag you, or at least suspect you, as the source of the information you’re going to give me.”

  “I’m not going to give you information so much as supposition. You do what you like with it. You already know, or I’m wasting my time talking to you, that Kohli and Mills were on the task force that busted Max Ricker.”

  “Yeah, I’ve picked that up. But then again, there were more than a dozen cops and various official drones on that task force. Ricker’s bad news, but it’s a long stretch to think he’d scrape his knuckles having a whole group of cops taken out. And for what? The annoyance factor? He lost a big pile of money, but he got off.”

  “There’s reason to believe he had a connection to at least one of the victims.” Keep it vague, Eve thought. Let the reporter do the digging. “There are four men coming up for a hearing this morning who are allegedly employed by Max Ricker. They are charged with various crimes, including the unlawful vehicular pursuit of a police officer. Seems to me if Ricker’s ballsy enough to send goons after a cop in broad daylight, he wouldn’t stick at arranging for the murder of cops.”

  “He came after you? Dallas, as a reporter, that tip makes me incredibly hot and excited.” But she laid a hand on Eve’s arm. “As your friend, I’d like to advise you to take a vacation. Far, far away.”

  Eve stopped at the steps of the courthouse. “Your police source can’t tell you that Ricker is a suspect in the murder, or the conspiracy to murder, two NYPSD officers. But your source can tell you that the investigation is taking a cold, hard look at the activities, associations, and businesses of one Max Edward Ricker.”

  “You won’t nail him, Dallas. He’s like smoke, just keeps shifting and vanishing.”

  “Watch me,” Eve invited, and strode up the steps.

  “I’m going to,” Nadine murmured. “And I’m going to worry, damn it.”

  Eve pushed through the doors and tried not to sigh over the line for the security scan. She chose the shortest for police and city officials, inched her way forward, and had just cleared when all hell broke loose.

  She heard the shouts from the second level where Lewis’s hearing was scheduled and, charging up the stairs, pushed her way through the crowd of lawyers and court groupies that had already gathered.

  Lewis was on the floor, his face gray, his eyes rolled back.

  “He just keeled over!” someone called out. “Just keeled right over. Somebody call the MTs. Get a doctor.”

  She was swearing as she charged forward, crouched down.

  “Ma’am, you’ll have to move back.”

  She looked up at the uniform. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. This one’s mine.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. I’ve called for medical.”

  “He’s not breathing.” She straddled him, ripped open his shirt, and started CPR. “Get these people back. Lock down the area—”

  “Lock down—”

  “Lock it down,” she ordered, and gave her breath to Lewis, knowing it was futile.

  She worked on him until the medical techs arrived and pronounced him. Disgusted, she cornered his guard. “Report. I want to know everything that happened from the time you got him out of his cell.”

  “Standard, sir, right down the line.” The uniform was ready to be resentful that anyone would point the finger at him because some hired hammer’s heart went bad. “Due to the charges, the subject was cuffed, then transported here.”

  “Who was in the transport?”

  “Myself and my partner. The orders were that he wasn’t to come into contact with the other three suspects. We walked him through, walked him up to this level.”

  “You didn’t use the secured elevator?”

  “No, sir.” He twitched very slightly at that. “It was jammed, Lieutenant. We brought him up the steps. He didn’t give us any trouble. His lawyer was here and asked us to wait a moment until he’d finished up a consult with another client, via palm-link. We stood by, then the subject staggered and fell. He gasped for breath, and while my partner checked him over, I attempted to keep the crowd at a distance. Shortly thereafter, you arrived on the scene.”

  “What precinct are you with?” She skimmed a glance over his nameplate. “Officer Harmon.”

  “Sir, I’m assigned to Central, Security Division.”

  “Who approached or had contact with the subject?”

  “No one, sir. My partner and I flanked him, per procedure.”

  “Are you telling me no one came close to this guy before he dropped?”

  “No. That is, we went through security, as required. There were a number of people on line, and a number moving through the area. But no one spoke to the deceased or had physical contact with him. Someone stopped my partner and inquired about directions to the civil court area.”

  “The person who wanted directions—how close did he get to the subject?”

  “She, sir. It was a female. She appeared to be in some distress and stopped as we were walking by each other.”

  “Get a good look at her, Harmon?”

  “Yes, sir. Early twenties, blonde, blue eyes, fair complexion. She’d been crying, sir, was crying but trying not to, if you understand me. She was visibly distressed, and when she dropped her handbag some of the content
s scattered.”

  “I bet you and your partner were very helpful picking up those items for her.”

  Her tone alerted him, and Harmon began to feel slightly ill. “Sir. It couldn’t have taken more than ten seconds, and the suspect was restrained and never out of our sight.”

  “Let me show you something, Harmon, and you can tell your partner once he finishes jerking off.” She signaled the MTs aside. “Come down here,” she ordered, once again crouching by the body. “Do you see this faint red mark, the small circular mark over the deceased’s heart?”

  He had to look hard, but since he was now close to terrified, Harmon all but jammed his nose against Lewis’s chest. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know what that is, Officer?”

  “No, sir. No, sir, I don’t.”

  “It’s the mark left by a pressure syringe. Your weepy blonde assassinated your charge under your goddamn nose.”

  She had every corner of the building searched for a woman matching the description Harmon gave her, but she expected to find nothing. And found exactly that. She called in a crime scene unit to start the process of a homicide investigation and gave herself the pleasure of interrogating Canarde.

  “You knew he was going to roll, didn’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.” Back at Central, idly examining his manicure, Canarde sat placidly in Interview Three. “I will remind you that I’m here voluntarily. I was nowhere near my unfortunate client this morning, and you have yet to determine whether his death was other than by natural causes.”

  “A healthy man, under fifty, keels over from a heart attack. Convenient, particularly since the PA’s office was prepared to offer him immunity for turning evidence against another of your clients.”

  “If immunity was being offered, Lieutenant, I am unaware of it, as I was uninformed of such an offer. As the deceased’s attorney of record, it would have been required that such an offer be made through me or in my presence.”

  He had small teeth, perfect little teeth. And he showed them when he stretched his lips in a smile. “I believe you’ve stepped over, or certainly around, a line of legal procedure. It doesn’t appear to have worked out well for my client.”