by J. D. Robb
“Jeez, who’d want to be Hitler’s grandson?”
“People who think white’s right, lunatics, and selfish bastard cowards who want recognition.”
“Yeah, I guess there are those, but …”
“Your Free-Ager’s showing, Peabody. A lot of people are no damn good, and a lot of those people are proud of it.”
She got in the car. Maybe that was an opening, she thought as she programmed Cattery’s address.
“You should know what went down in Dallas.”
“With McQueen?”
“With McQueen’s partner.” She drove out of the garage, concentrated on traffic. It might be easier to lay it out if she had to pay attention to the external. “She was no damn good, and I’d say she was proud of it.”
“She was as fucked up as he is. Maybe more.”
“Yeah.” It tightened her belly to hear it, but she could live with it. That was the key, she reminded herself. Just living with it. “When we were looking for his partner, running the list and images of women who’d visited him in prison, something about her—as Sister Suzan—kept pulling me back. I thought maybe I’d busted her sometime, or interviewed her. Same deal with her other IDs. Just something that tugged, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”
Curious, Peabody shifted toward Eve. “Had you busted her?”
“No.”
“Maybe you just recognized the type. Instinct kicking in.”
“That’s what I thought, but that wasn’t it. Or not all of it. You read the reports. You know we had her and her place covered. We were right there when she walked out of that townhouse, going to meet up with McQueen. Bad luck. A kid on a bike, a little dog, oncoming car. She made us, took off.”
“I wish I’d been there. I probably wouldn’t have at the time, flying down the streets after her van, crashing. You got banged up.”
“Not bad, it wasn’t bad.” A little bloody, a little bruised, Eve thought. The bad came later.
“She got banged up more—no air bags, safety gel in that clunky van. And she hadn’t taken time to hook her seat belt.”
“Good. She deserved to get banged up.”
“I was so pissed,” Eve continued. “Afraid she’d been able to tag McQueen during the chase, knowing damn well, we’d lost the best chance to find him and get the kid and Melanie back safe. So fucking pissed.”
All that rage, Eve thought, gushing through her like an open wound. And then …
“I yanked her out of the van, got her blood on me. I spun her around. Stupid pink sunglasses, crooked on her face. Pulled them off her … I looked at her face, into her eyes. And I knew her.”
It was Eve’s tone that had a chill working up Peabody’s spine. She spoke carefully. “You didn’t put that in your report.”
“No. It didn’t have anything to do with the case. It’s personal. She went by Stella back then, where I remember her from. She’d changed her eyes, her hair, had some work done, but I knew her. I knew Stella. She was my mother.”
“Jesus.” Peabody laid her hand on Eve’s arm, just a light touch though her fingers wanted to tremble. “You’re sure? I guess I thought she was dead. I mean, had been dead all along.”
“I had the blood. Hers, mine. I had Roarke run DNA to verify, but I knew. I don’t remember much about her, she left me with him when I was about four or five. I’m not sure; it’s vague. But I remember enough.”
“She left you with … did she know?” Even the thought of it had sickness coating Peabody’s throat. “Did she know what he did to you?”
“She had to know. She didn’t care.”
“But …”
“There’s no bittersweet aside here, Peabody. She didn’t care and never had. I was a commodity, and the investment was taking too long, was too much trouble to suit her. That’s what I figure.”
The sickness faded. It its place rose a vicious disgust, icy hot. “Did she recognize you?”
“No. I wasn’t that important. All she saw was the cop who’d fucked up her plans with McQueen, who put her in the hospital, who was going to put her in a cage. I’d’ve put her in a cage. Maybe I should’ve put two men on her.”
“Dallas, I read the reports. You had her restrained, and under guard. There were still cops in the hospital when she escaped.”
“She wouldn’t tell me where McQueen was. I couldn’t flip her, and I went at her hard. Maybe too hard.”
“Stop.” Peabody’s voice roughened and firmed. “You did the job. If you weren’t sure you could do it, you’d have gotten somebody else to sweat her. But you did the job.”
It helped to hear it. She’d gone over every step, every move, every decision countless times, and believed she’d done everything she could. But it helped to hear it. “I was going to go back at her again. I’d bought some time, wanted to let her think about it, then go back at her. But she got out, went to McQueen, and he killed her.”
“And you found her.”
“She was still warm. We hadn’t missed him by much.”
“You got Melinda Jones and Darlie Morgansten out, safe. I can’t imagine what it was like for you.” Peabody took a quiet, unsteady breath. “What it’s been like since. You had Mira,” Peabody remembered. “Thank God you had Roarke and Mira.”
For a long moment, Peabody stared out the side window. “Dallas, you could’ve called me down. You shouldn’t have had to work that alone. I’d’ve had your back.”
“I know it. I had to work it alone. And I’ve had to work through it. You deserve to know, but I had to work through it before I told you.”
“I read her file.” Voice strong and steady again, Peabody shifted back. “I know who she was, what she was. Now I know she left you with an animal. It’s good she’s dead.”
Stunned, Eve turned her head, stared. “That’s not very Free-Ager.”
“Fuck that.” Peabody’s eyes flashed like supernovas. “Fuck tolerance and understanding. Yeah, you’d have put her in a cage for the rest of her pathetic, evil life. But maybe sometime during her rot, she’d have put it together. Maybe she’d have remembered you. She’d have used that on you; she’d have tried. Before you scared the piss out of her, if you could get to her before Roarke. If he could get there before me. And it’s good she was such a selfish, pitiful excuse for a human being so she didn’t remember you, didn’t think about you all those years. She might’ve recognized you, especially after Roarke. She might’ve seen you on screen, and recognized you, caused you more grief and trouble. Dead’s better.”
The rant was so unPeabody, Eve sat in silence. “I’m not sure how to respond,” she decided.
“We should go get a goddamn drink. A whole shitload of god-damn drinks.”
“Jesus, don’t cry.”
“I’ll cry if I fucking want to.” She sniffled, swiped. “Fucking bitch.”
“It’s mean to call me a bitch when I’ve shared personal trauma.”
“I didn’t mean you! I meant your—I meant McQueen’s fucking bitch. I should’ve been there for you.”
And she’d know not to use the M word, not to say mother. That was very Peabody. “Roarke sent for Mira after McQueen killed Stella. And he had Mira bring Galahad.”
Now the tears really rolled—big, fat drops until Peabody had to dig through her pockets to find an old tissue. “I love him.”
“He’s a pretty good cat.”
Wet laughter blew through the tissue. “Sure he is, but you know I meant Roarke. I love him. And if something terrible happened to McNab, I’d fight you for him. And I’ve been practicing.”
“So warned.”
“You’re okay?”
Eve thought it over. “I’m okay. There’s probably going to be some rough spots here and there, but I’m okay. Sperm and egg—that’s what they were. For eight years, between the two of them, they made me a victim. They made me afraid and gave me pain. Now they’re dead. I’m not a victim. I’m not afraid. And pain? Not much. They can’t hurt me anymore, so what I have, it�
�s just echoes. It’ll pass.”
She pulled up in front of the little house in Brooklyn. “Do something about your face. You’re all splotchy.”
“Crap.” Peabody began lightly slapping her hands over her face.
“What does that do?”
“Makes it all red, distributes the blood. Maybe. It’ll calm down in a few minutes. Just keep Mrs. Cattery focused on you.”
“Christ. Stay behind me.”
Peabody got out, lifted her reddened face. “It’s really windy, and cold. It’ll just look like I’m windburned.” She took a steadying breath. “Did you tell me this when we were in the car and on our way to interview so I couldn’t hug you?”
“It’s a side benefit.”
“I’m going to hug you later. You won’t know when it’s coming.”
“The same goes for my boot up your ass.”
“That’s a given. It’s a daily surprise.”
“Settle down, and let’s do this.”
“It’s a nice house,” Peabody observed as they walked to the door. “Nice neighborhood.”
“He was the only one on the team who did the campaign who didn’t live within blocks of the office.”
“Wife and kids. Fenced yard. Dog.” She nodded toward the back. “See, doghouse.”
“What’s in a doghouse? Mini-screen, AutoChef?”
“Probably a ratty blanket and a collection of soup bones. How’s my face?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
With that ringing endorsement, Peabody angled herself slightly behind her partner as Eve knocked on the door.
16
Eve pegged the woman who answered as a well-toned sixty-five. Her hair, a stylishly streaky sweep, swung around a tired face currently dominated by suspicious eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We—”
“Of course, I recognize you. Have you found the person responsible for Joe?”
“We’re pursuing all leads. We’d like to speak to Mrs. Cattery if she’s available.”
“She’s resting. Can you talk to me? I’m her mother. I’m Dana Forest. I don’t want to disturb Elaine if there’s nothing new. She’s barely slept since—”
“I’m up, Mom.”
Eve caught a glimpse of the woman on the stairs. She wore a bulky sweater over blue and green sleep pants, thick red socks on her feet. Her hair, a deep, bark brown, hung in a lank tail down her back. Bruises of grief and exhaustion provided the only color in her face. If her mother looked tired, Elaine Cattery looked utterly depleted.
“Lainey, you need some rest.”
“Don’t worry.” She came down, leaned against her mother in a way that made them a unit. “Where are the kids?”
“Sam and Hannah took them to the park to let the dog run, just to get them out for a little while.”
“It’s so cold.”
“Everyone’s bundled up. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m sorry. We’re leaving you out in the wind. Please, come in.”
“How about some tea?” Dana kept her arm around her daughter.
“I’ll make some tea.”
“That’d be great.” Elaine stepped away, moved into a living area with a bold-colored sofa, brightly striped chairs. A comfortable home, Eve thought, with cheerful colors, deep cushions, surfaces holding framed photos, flowers, pretty little bowls.
“Sit down, won’t you? I didn’t expect … I’ve already talked to the police.”
“I know. We’re doing a follow-up. If you could answer some questions, Mrs. Cattery.”
“Are you seeing everyone? There are so many. So many. I’ve stopped watching the news. Are there more? Has something else happened?”
“No, ma’am. Mrs. Cattery, there are many, too many. And every one who died deserves our time and attention.”
“I wasn’t here, you see. I’d taken the kids to see my mother and my brother. Now they’re here, with us. But I wasn’t home. Joe was working on that campaign. He worked so hard on it, so long, and I’d just finished up a project for work. I thought I’ll get the kids out of his hair for a few days, they can keep up with school on screen, have a nice visit with my family. Everybody could just take a breath, I thought. So we weren’t here, and he didn’t come home. If I’d been here—”
“Mrs. Cattery.” Peabody reached out, laid a hand on Elaine’s. “You can’t think that, or wonder that.”
“That’s what my mother says, and still … I’m pregnant.” On a choked sob, Elaine pressed her fingers to her lips. “I found out, confirmed, while I was at Mom’s. We weren’t trying, weren’t not trying. We said we were finished, then we both got this itch. Let’s just see what happens, that’s what Joe said. I never got the chance to tell him. I wanted to tell him when I got home, but it was too late. I don’t know what to do now. I can’t think of what I’m going to do.”
“I’m sorry,” Peabody murmured. “I’m so sorry for your loss. We’re going to do everything we can to find the person responsible.”
“Will it help? My brother, he’s so angry, and he’s so sure when you find who did this, put them away, it’ll help. But Joe still won’t be here. He won’t watch his children grow up. He won’t see this one born. So I don’t know if it’ll help.”
“It will,” Eve assured her. “Maybe not right away, but it will.
You’ll know the person who did this won’t ever be able to hurt anyone again. He won’t ever take another father from his children.”
“Joe never hurt anyone. He’s such a sweet man, so easygoing. Sometimes too easy, that’s what I’d tell him. He never pushed at work, and the kids could always twist him around their fingers. He never hurt anyone.”
“He was up for a promotion.”
“Was he?” The faintest of smiles touched her lips. “He didn’t tell me.”
“He may not have known, but it was in his file. He put a lot of work into this last campaign.”
“Yes, he did. The whole team did.”
“You know the people he worked with.”
“Yes. Nancy—Nancy Weaver, his boss—she’s been by. She’s been wonderful. Steve and Lew, they both contacted me. Steve sent food. This huge ham with bread and … things. For sandwiches.”
“And I wish you’d eat a little more of it.” Dana came in with a tray, set it down.
“I will. I promise.” Elaine took her mother’s hand, drew her down.
“Sometimes when people work so closely together, on an important project, there’s conflict,” Eve began. “Was there any conflict within the team?”
“It’s hard to fight with Joe,” Elaine said while her mother poured out the tea. “He loves his job, and he’s good at it. He likes being part of a team.”
“Was he aware Vann and Weaver had an affair?”
Again, that faint smile. “Joe’s a quiet man, and quiet types see things. He knew.”
“Did it bother him?”
“No. It bothered me, some. I thought—said—how Steve covered all the bets. Family and sex, but Joe just laughed it off. And Steve did good work. He loves his boy. I guess that goes a long way with me—and with Joe. When a father loves his son, and it shows.”
“That leaves Callaway.”
“Lew?” Elaine curled up her legs, pretended to drink her tea. “Another quiet type, but not as naturally outgoing or easygoing as Joe. Joe used to say Lew had to work at the grip and grin. He did better with ideas—big pictures. Joe liked to fiddle and finesse, dig in. I’d get annoyed sometimes when Joe worked out Lew’s concepts, spent all the time to bring them in line, if you understand me. And most of the time, he wouldn’t take credit for it. But I guess people noticed anyway. He was up for a promotion, Mom.”
“Nobody deserved it more.”
“So he never complained to you about his coworkers?”
“Well, he’s not a saint. He’d gripe now and then, in his Joe way. Steve took another two-hour lunch, or left early for a hot date. Lew�
��s on the broody train again.”
“Broody train?”
“Joe’s expression. Lew’d get moody—kind of sulk, I guess, when his ideas got shot down or re-imagined. Stuff like that rolls off Joe’s back, but I guess it stuck to Lew’s.”
“Did you know Carly Fisher?”
“Not really. I met her, and I know Joe thought she was bright, and had a strong future. I hated hearing she’d been killed. She was Nancy’s favorite.”
“Was she?”
“Absolutely. I think Nancy saw a lot of herself in Carly. Joe said he was looking at his next boss.”
“It didn’t bother him?”
“Not Joe. He didn’t want to be the boss. He wanted to be one of the team. That’s what he was good at.”
After they’d left Elaine with her mother, Eve stood out in the wind for a moment. “What did we learn?” she asked Peabody.
“That Joe Cattery was a nice guy who enjoyed his work. His wife loved him, and they’d built a nice life here.”
“And other than the eulogy?”
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Nice guy with a nice life. Not the big idea guy, not the driven guy, the flashy guy. But the nice guy who’s working his way up because he likes his work and he’s good at it, because he’s a team player by nature. He’s willing to help, to take the extra step without making a big deal out of it. And apparently the brass noticed. So he got the juicy bonus, and would’ve been promoted. Then there’s Callaway. He’s got the big ideas. He’s driven. He’s no team player but he pretends to be. Everybody’s always fucking with his concepts, nudging him aside so somebody else can slide by him on the way up. So he sulks and the brass notices.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“Can I talk in the car? It’s freezing out here.”
“Clears the head.” But Eve opened the car door, slid behind the wheel. “Big campaign, and Joe’s out of the way. Promotion’s up for grabs. Vann’s already got the corner office. Callaway’s got to think if somebody’s going to get promoted, get fucking noticed it’s going to be him now. Fisher’s gone, too, so no teacher’s pet’s breathing down his neck. He showed them. Boy, he showed them. Fucking worker bees, buzzing in their hive. He can take them out any time. Whenever he wants, as many as he wants. And they did it to themselves, didn’t they? He wasn’t even there.”