Delusion in Death edahr-44

by J. D. Robb

  “That’s a little scary.”

  “I’d say he’s plenty scary, the fuck.”

  “No, I mean you, being him. That’s a little scary.”

  “She gave me a nice picture of him and she doesn’t much like him, that came through.”

  “It did.”

  Eve started the car, pulled away. “No particular feeling for him, which tells me Joe likely didn’t warm up to him either. She talked about Weaver coming out here, and there was emotion when she did. She talked about Vann and Callaway contacting her, and she was grateful. Vann sent a big-ass ham so she wouldn’t have to think about food. It meant something to her.”

  “People send food for death.”

  “They do?”

  “It’s a line from a book, I can’t think what book. But yeah, people send food for death, flowers for sickness. To Kill a Mockingbird! That’s it. Score for me.”

  “I’ll make a note,” Eve said dryly. “Weaver comes all the way out to Brooklyn to see the widow, and I’ll bet they had a weep together. Vann contacts her, talks to her, and sends food. But Callaway, just the contact. He does what he has to do, and nothing more. That’s why somebody like Joe wouldn’t especially warm to him, and why his widow didn’t either. Weaver doesn’t like him either, or she’d have slept with him. He does a good job, he has some good ideas, but he doesn’t shine for her. Carly Fisher did.”

  “We should find out who else did. If we can’t close him down, he’s going to go after another.”

  “You’re right about that.” Eve tapped her fingers on the wheel as she drove. “We’ll talk to Fisher’s roommate, find out who she hung with from work. And we’ll bring him in. I want to talk to the parents, get a—”

  She broke off when her ’link signaled, then switched it to her wrist unit. “Dallas.”

  “That is so iced,” Peabody murmured.

  “Lieutenant, Agent Teasdale. I’ve arranged for the Callaways to be brought into New York. They should be at Central by fourteen hundred.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “The search warrant proved more problematic. However, given the scope of the investigation, and the crime, I was able to persuade the appropriate judge to sign off. If you agree, a team from HSO will assist whoever you send to Arkansas.”

  “That works, too. I’ll get back to you on that. I’ve got some arranging of my own to do.” She clicked off, tagged Baxter.

  “Get Trueheart, huddle with Teasdale. You’re going to join an HSO team in Arkansas on a search of Callaway’s parents’ house.”

  “Arkansas? Barbecue!”

  “Glad I can bring a smile to your face. Look for mementos of the Urbans, letters, journals, photos, discs. Religious stuff, political stuff—anything personal Callaway might have left there. Anything from when he was a kid. Schoolwork, music, books. See if there’s anything that shows he had an interest or aptitude for science.”

  “I got it, Dallas. When do we leave?”

  “Teasdale will let you know. And contact the locals, Baxter. HSO might shoulder them aside. Let’s reach out there, cop to cop.”

  “Got that, too. Are we using Roarke’s transpo?”

  “Forget it,” she said, and cut him off. “Peabody, contact Callaway.”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t squeak. Jesus. You tag him. The lieutenant would appreciate him coming down to Central, if he has the time.”

  “So I’m polite.”

  “Polite, even deferential. We could use his help. He’s familiar with both attack locations, and knew several of the victims. You can let it slip we had a lead fizzle out, and we’re backtracking. He wants to be involved, he wants to know what’s going on and have some role in the investigation. I haven’t given him much chance. Now I am. He’s going to jump at it. He’ll make noises about his schedule,” she speculated, “but he’ll come in. When he does, we’ll take him in the conference room.”

  “You want him to see the boards?”

  “With a few adjustments. Ask him if he can come in about three, three-thirty.”

  “After you’ve got his parents in.”

  “And it’ll give him time to plan what he wants to say, how he wants to behave. It’ll also tip him away from any impulse he might have to hit some deli or sandwich shop at lunchtime.”

  “Should I tag him now?”

  “Yeah. We’re in the field, the lead went south. I’m on the ’link with the commander. No, the chief. Let’s take it to the top. We’re scrambling. We’re sweating. We don’t know when or where he’ll hit again.”

  “Got it.”

  Eve checked the time while Peabody made contact. She nodded at the frustration, and yes, deference in Peabody’s tone. Just the right notes.

  By the time Peabody finished, Eve managed to squeeze into a street-level spot a half a block from Fisher’s apartment building.

  “Just like you said,” Peabody reported. “His schedule’s very tight. Lots of work piled up. He’s taken on some of Joe’s outstanding projects. But, of course, he wants to do everything he can to help. He’ll be there.”

  “Okay, we’re going to separate. Talk to the roommate, and whoever she gives you. I want a coworker she was friendly with, hung around with. Get the picture, like we got from the widow.”

  “Okay. What are you doing?”

  “I’m going back to Central, setting the stage. If you’re not back by the time the Callaways are in, sit tight. Just signal me, and I’ll let you know the play.

  “Take the car.”

  “Sorry.” Lips pursed, Peabody tapped at her right ear. “I think standing out in the wind before clogged up my ear. Did you say take the car?”

  “Keep it up, you’ll be the one hoofing it.”

  “I don’t wanna hoof it. But, Dallas, it’s really cold.”

  “I have my magic coat.” She opened it enough for Peabody to see the lining.

  “Sweet! Like the jacket. Oooh, let me—”

  Before Peabody could get her fingers on it, Eve tugged the coat back into place, got out of the car. “If you get anything new, anything useful, pass it to me. Otherwise, just write it up.”

  “You’re not really going to walk all the way back, are you?”

  “I know how to ride a subway.”

  Her coat billowed in the wind as she strode off, and she pulled out her ’link to contact Mira, give her the time, the setup.

  “I’ll be there,” Mira assured her. “Do you intend to bring in Agent Teasdale?”

  “Why?”

  “She’s a steady, unshakable presence, and she’s another woman. He wouldn’t like being outnumbered by women, and at the same time would be supremely confident he can and will outwit and maneuver all of us.”

  “That’s a point. I’ll ask if she wants in.” She hesitated at the steps down to the subway, considered the crowds, the noise, the smells. Considered the wind, the cold—and the fact a few thin flakes of snow began to fall.

  Opted for the cold wind and the fifteen-minute walk. “I’m on my way in. You can observe with the Callaways if you’ve got time, then I’ll see you about three in the conference room.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Actually not far from the first crime scene.”

  “On foot? It’s miserable out. Take a cab.”

  “I feel like the walk. Later.”

  People moved fast, heads down. Busy, busy. She smelled the smoky scent of soy dogs, the heady grease of fries, the bitter edge of take-out coffee. She spotted a girl in high boots, a puffy purple coat, and a rainbow of scarves walking a pair of big white dogs. Or they walked her as she trotted to keep up with their manic prance. A sidewalk sleeper bundled in so many layers only his narrowed eyes showed. He hunched on a threadbare blanket against a building and sported a sign announcing the end of days.

  She wondered if he heard any coins or credits thunk into his cup with such depressing billing.

  She stopped, hunkered down. “If the world’s ending, what do you need money for?”r />
  “Gotta eat, don’t I? Gotta eat. I got a beggar’s license inside my coat.”

  “Which coat?” She dug in her pocket, tossed in some change though she figured he’d spend it on brew rather than a bowl of soup. “This your usual spot?”

  “No. Buncha people killed right down there. People come to look, maybe they spare some change. Like you. ’Cept cops don’t usually spare some change.”

  “Cops don’t usually have it to spare.” She got up, walked on. She passed the bar, resisted the urge to go in. Nothing new to see, she thought. But the sleeper was right. She watched a few people take pictures of the front, a couple more try to see in the window over the door.

  Bloody murder always drew a crowd.

  She snagged fries and a tube of Pepsi at the next cart—who could resist that smell? And ate her way back to Central as the thin, pretty flakes of snow turned to a bitter, wetter sleet.

  She stopped by the bullpen first, noted Baxter’s and Trueheart’s absence, Jenkinson’s and Reineke’s empty desks. She walked over to Sanchez.

  “Looks lonely in here.”

  “Baxter and Trueheart headed out. Arkansas. Reineke and Jenkinson just left, going to tug a few lines.”

  “You and Carmichael are picking up a lot of slack. Anything you need?”

  “We’ve got it, LT.”

  “Let me know if that changes.”

  “The Stewart deal—brother of a vic? He’s wrong, but it’s not connected. We’re sniffing him down on embezzlement, and maybe doing the missing accountant. He looks good for both. Thing is, the sister’s death triggers an automatic inventory of the trust. Last thing he’d want. We don’t like him for the bar.”

  “Then get him on the rest.”

  “It’s looking good. I heard you were bringing the suspect in.”

  “You heard right. With any luck we can close this up, get back to what passes for normal.”

  He’d only been assigned to her for a few months, but he’d slipped right into the rhythm. She considered, angled her head.

  “I bet you know who’s stealing my candy.”

  He gave her a blank cop’s stare. “What candy?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say.”

  She went to her office, ditched her coat, sat to write up her report. While she had time, she walked out, into the conference room.

  She turned the boards around, gathered the copies she wanted, began to arrange them. Connected some, wrote in time frames. Kept it all loose, a little scattered, a little vague.

  Except for the board of vics. That one she covered with the images of the dead.

  She studied the table, noted no one had tossed the box Feeney’d brought in that morning—though she didn’t see even a single crumb inside.

  That was fine. She left it there, tossed some files on the table, programmed shitty coffee, poured half of it out, set the mug on the table.

  She hunted up more debris.

  “Lieutenant, I heard you were back in the house.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced over as Teasdale came in, noted the agent’s slight frown at the conference table.

  “It’s like a play. It should look a little disorganized, and like we’re spending lots of time here.”

  “It does. You changed the board.”

  “I’m bringing Callaway in here, make him feel like he’s a kind of consultant. This is what I want him to see.”

  “Hmmm.” Lips pursed now, Teasdale walked forward. “All of the victims. Yes, that will please him. And only a handful of those we’ve connected to them—including himself. He’ll enjoy that as well. The time line isn’t quite right.”

  “No, it’s not. And there’s no mention of Red Horse or Menzini. I’m saving those for a nice surprise. You want in?”

  “On the ‘consult.’ Yes, I do, thank you. The Callaways are en route. They’re slightly behind schedule, but should be here by thirteen-fifteen.”

  “Let’s go to my office, get some decent coffee, and I’ll bring you up to date.”

  In her office, Eve programmed two cups, offered one. “Peabody’s in the field, talking to Fisher’s roommate and whoever else she can dig up. We—”

  “Oh.” After a sip, Teasdale blinked, breathed out. Sipped again. “This isn’t what I’m used to.”

  Eve remembered her own reaction the first time she’d tasted Roarke’s blend. “Nice, huh?”

  “It’s … very. May I sit? I feel this should be savored rather than gulped.”

  “Take the desk chair; the other one’s crap.” Eve settled for a corner of the desk. “Peabody and I talked to Elaine Cattery,” Eve began, and ran it through.

  “So, he remains in pattern,” Teasdale observed. “If he knew Vann had sent food, he’d be compelled to do the same. And more. Something bigger, or more expensive.”

  “You’re right. Competition, standing out. Which makes me think Vann didn’t tell him, and that makes me think more of Vann. He just did the good deed, and wasn’t looking for acknowledgment.”

  “Callaway must have acknowledgment. The lack, or perceived lack of it, burns in him. I believe, after a time, he’ll contact you or the media. It won’t be enough as it is.”

  “Probably. But I don’t want to give him that chance. I want to shut him down today.”

  “You believe you’ll get him to confess.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Maybe it was the coffee, but Teasdale leaned back in the chair, crossed her legs. Seemed to relax. “I believe his sense of self-preservation will be stronger than his need for acknowledgment.”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “There’s no break, as yet, on a supplier for the illegals or the medicals elements. Knowing his source, pulling the source in, that would add weight and pressure.”

  “How about using your power of persuasion to get us a search warrant on his place?”

  Teasdale smiled into her coffee. “I suspected you’d ask. I have it. I was told I could liaise with APA Cher Reo. Between us we managed it. When would you like to move on it?”

  “Before he leaves here. I want to bring Roarke in on that, if he’s able. He’s got a good nose for hidey-holes, and for dealing with encrypted data.”

  “It must be satisfying to be married to someone who not only understands your work, but is willing and able to share in it.”

  “Plus, coffee. Want another hit?”

  “I would, but I’d better not. I’m not used to it. I like your office,” Teasdale said as she rose.

  Mildly surprised, Eve glanced around. “I think you’re the first one who’s ever said that.”

  “It’s small and efficient with few distractions. And it has this coffee in the AutoChef.” She set the empty cup aside. “I’d like to say something to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your files with HSO have been redacted or removed. Some destroyed or … rather inexplicably deleted.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. But before that occurred I had occasion to familiarize myself with some of the data—during the early stages of our internal investigation. I want to say to you that I’m very sorry for what happened to you, and very sorry the organization I represent was culpable, was heartless. Was wrong.”

  “It’s done,” Eve said flatly.

  “Yes, it’s done. I wonder, should our positions have been reversed would I have agreed to work with you. I don’t know the answer.”

  “You weren’t part of it.”

  “No, nor was the man I answer to. Director Hurtz is an honorable man. Our business is often secretive and fueled by deception, so I couldn’t work for less than an honorable man. But you have no reason to know or believe that.”

  “I know and I believe over a hundred and twenty people deserve justice. I’ll use any tool, weapon, or means at my disposal to make certain they get it.”

  “I’m determined to help you make certain.”

  “Then we’re good.”

  She waited while Teasdale
answered her ’link. “Yes, thank you. Interview B, please. The Callaways are here,” she said to Eve.

  “Then let’s dig out the tools.”

  17

  The Callaways, Russell and Audrey, sat on opposite sides of the table in Interview. She looked nervous; he looked belligerent.

  He’d have been in his seventies, but she could clearly see the man Audrey Hubbard had found attractive. Russell emanated strength, steadiness, and a no-bullshit toughness.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Callaway.” Eve kept her tone and her step brisk as she moved to the table, sat. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Agent Teasdale. Thank you for coming.”

  “Don’t see we had much choice.” Russell gave her a hard stare out of faded blue eyes. “Your people come onto the farm, right onto private property and say how we gotta go with them to New York City. Nobody tells us a damn thing, just get and go. We got squash to harvest.”

  She could safely say it was the first time she’d heard that used as a complaint or excuse in Interview.

  “And we’ll try to get you back to that quickly. We’re going to record this interview.”

  “Can I get you anything before we begin?” Teasdale asked. “Coffee, water, a soft drink?”

  “We don’t need anything.” Russell folded his arms, set his squared, weathered face into pugnacious lines.

  “Record on,” Eve said. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Teasdale, Agent Miyu, in Interview with Russell and Audrey Callaway. I’m going to read you your rights.”

  “We haven’t done anything. Russ.” Audrey reached across the table for her husband’s hand.

  He gave hers an impatient pat. “Don’t worry. They’re just trying to scare us.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Eve read them both their rights, asked if they understood.

  “We’ve got the right to mind our own business, too. And that’s what we do.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Callaway. But in minding your own business, I suspect you’ve heard about the two incidents here in New York.”