Trevor flicked on the intercom. "Yes?"
"Delivery for Dix. Chad Dix."
"Leave it there."
"No can do. Need a sig. Come on, buddy, I gotta get back on my horse and ride."
Cautious, Trevor widened his view. He saw the purple skinpants, the pink air boots. Where did these people get their wardrobes? He reached for the locks, then drew his hand back.
Wasn't worth the risk. There'd be too many questions if he accepted a package, if he signed Dix's name, or his own, for that matter.
"Leave it with the downstairs desk. They'll sign. I'm busy."
"Hey, buddy-"
"I'm busy!" Trevor snapped, and disengaged the intercom. He watched, just to be sure, and sneered as the messenger flipped up his middle finger and walked out of view.
Satisfied, he switched off the screen. It was time he accepted his own special delivery, long overdue.
***
"Shut down the coms and screens," Eve ordered Feeney through her communicator. "We'll have to take the door."
"Shutting them down."
She turned to McNab. "Nice job. I'd've bought it."
"If that was Dix and he wasn't under duress, he'd have opened the door." McNab drew his weapon from the base of his spine and holstered it at his side.
"Yeah. Take care of the locks," she told Roarke. "Weapons on stun," she ordered the team. "I don't want a hostage taken down. Hold fire until my command. Peabody and I go in first. You take the right. McNab, you're left. You, you, you, fan out, second wave. I want this door secured behind us. Roarke?"
"Nearly there, Lieutenant." He was crouched, delicately disarming locks and alarms with tools as thin as threads.
She squatted beside him, lowered her voice. "You're not going in."
"Yes, I don't believe I heard my name in today's lineup."
She suspected he was armed-illegally-and that he would-probably-be discreet about it. But she couldn't justify the risk. "I can't take a civilian through the door until the suspect is contained. Not with this many cops around."
He shifted his gaze and those laser blue eyes met hers. "You don't need to explain or attempt to quell even my infamous ego."
"Good."
"And you're in."
She nodded. "You're a handy guy to have around. Now step back so we can take this asshole."
She knew it was hard for him to do just that, to stand aside while she went through the door. Whittier was almost certainly armed, and he would kill without hesitation. But Roarke straightened, moved away from the team.
She'd remember that, she thought-or she'd try to remember that-when things got heated between them as they tended to do. She'd remind herself that, when it mattered to her, he'd stepped aside so she could do her job.
"Feeney? Emergency evac?"
"It's down. He's boxed."
"We're on the door. Peabody?"
"Ready, sir."
With her weapon in her right hand, Eve eased the unsecured door open with her left. With one sharp nod, she booted it, went in low and fast.
"Police!" She swept, eyes and weapon, as Peabody peeled to the right and McNab came in from behind and shot left. "Trevor Whittier, this is the police. This building is surrounded. All exits are blocked. Come out, hands up and in full view."
She used hand signals to direct her team to other areas, other rooms as she moved forward.
"You've got nowhere to go, Trevor."
"Stay back! I'll kill him. I have a hostage. I have Dix, and I'll kill him." She held up a closed fist, signaling her team to stop, to hold positions, then eased around the corner. "I said I'll kill him."
"I heard you." Eve stayed where she was, looking through the open glass doors. Light glittered on the toy-decked shelves and on the blood smeared on the white floor.
Trevor sat in the center of it, the prize he'd killed for beside him. He had an arm hooked around Dix's neck, and a knife to his throat.
Dix's eyes were closed, and there was blood on the otherwise spotless floor. But she could see the subtle rise and fall of Dix's chest. Alive then. Still alive.
They looked like two overgrown boys who'd played just a little too hard and rough.
She kept her weapon trained and steady. "Looks like you already did. Kill him."
"He's breathing." Trevor dug the point of the knife into flesh, carving a shallow slice. Blood dribbled over the blade. "I can change that, and I will. Put down that weapon."
"That's my line, Trevor. There are two ways you can leave this room. You can leave it walking, or we can carry you out."
"I'll kill him first. Even if you stun me, I'll have time to slit his throat. You know it, or you'd have hit me already. You want to keep him alive, you back out. You back out now!"
"Kill him and the only thing I put down is you. Do you want to die today, Trevor?"
"You want him to die?" He jerked Dix's head back, and stirring slightly, Dix moaned. "If you don't clear this place, that's what's going to happen. We start negotiating, and we start now. Back out."
"You've been watching too many vids. You think I'm going to deal with you over a single civilian who's probably going to die anyway from the looks of things? Grab some reality, Trev." She smiled when she said it, wide and white. "I got pictures in my head of the two women you killed. It'd just fucking make my day to end you. So go ahead, finish him off."
"You're bluffing. Do you think I'm stupid?"
"Yeah, actually. You're sitting there on the floor trying to talk me into negotiating when you're holding a knife, and I have this handy little thing. You know what they do when they're on full? It's not pretty. And I'm getting a little tired of this conversation. You want to die over a toy truck, your choice."
"You have no idea what I have. Clear the others out. I know there are others out there. Clear them out, and we'll talk. I'll make you the deal of a lifetime."
"You mean the diamonds." She gave a quick, rude snort. "Jesus, you are stupid. I gave you too much credit. I've already got them, Trevor. That's a plant. Set you up. I set you up and used that clown for bait. Worked like a charm. It's just an old toy, Trevor, and you fell for it."
"You're lying!" There was shock now, and there was anger, clear on his face.
As his head whipped around toward the bright yellow truck, and his knife hand lowered a fraction, Eve shot a stream into his right shoulder. His arm spasmed, and the knife fell from his shaking fingers.
Even as his body jerked back in reaction, she was across the room, with her weapon pressed to his throat. "Gee, you caught me. I was lying."
She was glad he was conscious, glad she could see it sink in. Tears of rage gathered in the corners of his eyes as she dragged him clear of Dix.
"Suspect's contained. Get medical in here!" It gave her a dark satisfaction to flip him onto his belly, to drag his hands back for the restraints.
She'd lied about the diamonds, but not about the pictures in her head. "Andrea Jacobs," she said in a whisper, close to his ear. "Tina Cobb. Think about them, you worthless fuck. Think about them for the rest of your miserable life."
"I want what's mine! I want what belongs to me!"
"So did they. You have the right to remain silent," she began, and flipped him back over so she could watch his face while she read him his rights.
"You got all that?"
"I want a lawyer."
"There you go, being predictable." But she wanted a few moments with him first. She looked over her shoulder where the medical techs were readying Dix for transport. "How's he doing?"
"Got a good chance."
"Isn't that happy news, Trev? You may only get an attempted murder hit on this one. That's no big after the two first degrees. What's a few years tacked onto two life terms anyway?"
"You can't prove anything."
She leaned close. "Yes, I can. Got you with both murder weapons. Really appreciate your bringing them both along today."
She watched his eye track over to where Peabody was bagging
the baton.
Leaning back again, she laid her hand on the bulldozer, rolled it gently back and forth. "You really figure they're in here? All those shiny stones? Be a joke on you, wouldn't it, if your grandfather pulled a fast one. Maybe this is just a kid's toy. Everything you did, all the years you'll pay for it would be for nothing. You ever consider that?"
"They're in there. And they're mine."
"That's a matter of debate, isn't it?" Idly, she worked the lever that brought the blade up and down. "Pretty freaking arrogant of him to pass this to a kid. Guess you take after him."
"It was brilliant." There were lawyers, he thought. His father would pay for the best. "Better than a vault. Didn't they do exactly what he told them? Even after he was dead, they kept it."
"Got me there. You want me to tell you where you weren't brilliant? Right from the start. You didn't do your homework, Trevor, didn't dot all your i's. Your grandfather wouldn't have been so sloppy. He'd have known Samantha Gannon had a house-sitter. Those diamonds slipped through your fingers the instant you put that knife to Andrea Jacobs's throat. Sooner really. Then killing Tina Cobb on your father's job site."
She enjoyed watching his face go gray in shock. It was small of her, she admitted, but she enjoyed it. "That was sloppy, too. You just needed a little more forethought. Take her over to New Jersey, say. Romantic picnic in the woods, get what you needed from her, take her out, bury her." Eve shrugged. "But you didn't think it through."
"You can't trace her back to me. No one ever saw-" He cut himself off.
"No one ever saw you together? Wrong. I got an eyewitness. And when Dix comes out of it, he'll tell us how he talked to you about Gannon's book. Your father will fill in the blanks, testifying how he told you about your grandfather, about the diamonds."
"He'll never testify against me."
"Your grandmother's alive." She saw his eyes flicker. "He's with her now, and he knows you left his mother, the woman who spent her life trying to protect him, lying in the dirt like garbage. What would it have cost you? Fifteen minutes, a half hour? You call for help, play the concerned, devoted grandson. Then you slip away. But she wasn't worth even that much effort from you. When you think about it, she was still protecting her son. Only this time, she protected him from you."
She lifted the bulldozer, held it between them. "History repeats. You're going to pay, just the way your grandfather paid. You're going to know, just the way he knew, that those big, bright diamonds are forever out of his reach. Which is worse? I wonder. The cage or the knowing?"
She got to her feet, stared down at him. "We'll talk again soon."
"I want to see them."
Eve picked up the truck, tucked it under her arm. "I know. Book him," she ordered, and strolled away while Trevor cursed her.
Epilogue
It wasn't what she'd call standard procedure, but it seemed right. She could even make a case for logical. Precautions and security measures had to be taken, and paperwork filed. As all parties were cooperative, the red tape was minimal.
She had a room full of civilians in conference room A, Cop Central. Plenty of cops, too. Her investigative team were all present, as was the commander.
It had been his idea to alert the media-that was the political side that irked her, even though she understood the reasoning. Understanding or not, she'd have a damn press conference to deal with afterward.
For now, the media hounds were cooling their heels, and despite the number of people in the room, it was very quiet.
She'd put names to faces. Samantha Gannon, of course, and her grandparents, Laine and Max, who stood holding hands.
They looked fit, she thought, and rock steady. And unified. What was that like? she wondered. To have more than half a century together and still have, still need that connection?
Steven Whittier and his wife were there. She hadn't known exactly what to expect by mixing those two elements, but sometimes people surprised you. Not by being morons or assholes, that never surprised her. But by being decent.
Max Gannon had shaken Steven Whittier's hand. Not stiffly, but with warmth. And Laine Gannon had kissed his cheek, and had leaned in to murmur something in his ear that had caused Steven's eyes to swim.
The moment-the decency of that moment-burned Eve's throat. Her eyes met Roarke's, and she saw her reaction mirrored in them.
With or without jewels, a circle had closed.
"Lieutenant." Whitney nodded to her.
"Yes, sir. The New York Police and Security Department appreciates your cooperation and your attendance here today. That cooperation has, in a very large part, assisted this department in closing this case. The deaths of..."
She'd had very specific, very straight-lined statements prepared. She let them go, and said what came into her mind.
"Jerome Myers, William Young, Andrea Jacobs, Tina Cobb. Their deaths can never be resolved, only the investigation into those deaths can be resolved. It's the best we can do. Whatever they did, whoever they were, their lives were taken, and there's never a resolution to murder. The officers in this room-Commander Whitney; Captain Feeney; Detectives Baxter; McNab; Peabody; Officer Trueheart-have done what can be done to resolve the case and find justice for the dead. That's our job and our duty. The civilians here-the Gannons, the Whittiers, Roarke-have given time, cooperation and expertise. Because of that, it's done, and we move on."
She took the bulldozer from the box she'd unsealed. It had been scanned, of course. She'd already seen what was in it on screen. But this, she knew, was personal.
"Or in this case, we move back. Mr. Whittier, for the record. This object has been determined to be your property. You've given written permission for it to be dismantled. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And you've agreed to do this dismantling yourself at this time."
"Yes. Before I... I'd like to say, to apologize for-"
"It isn't necessary, Steven." Laine spoke quietly, her hand still caught in Max's. "Lieutenant Dallas is right. Some things can never be resolved, so we can only do our best."
Saying nothing, he nodded and picked up the tools on the conference table. While he worked, Laine spoke again. Her voice was lighter now, as if she'd determined to lift the mood.
"Do you remember, Max, sitting at the kitchen table with that silly ceramic dog?"
"I do." He brought their joined hands to his lips. "And that damn piggy bank. All it took was a couple whacks with a hammer. Lot more work involved here." He patted Steve's shoulder.
"You were a cop before," Eve put in.
"Before the turn of the century, then I went private. Don't imagine it's all that different. You got slicker toys and tools, but the job's always been the job. If I was born a few decades later, I'd've been an e-man." He grinned at Feeney. "Love to see your setup here."
"I'd be glad to give you a personal tour. You're still working private, aren't you?"
"When a case interests me."
"They almost always do," Laine put in. "Once a cop," she said with a laugh.
"Tell me about it," Roarke agreed.
Metal pieces clattered to the table and cut off conversation.
"There's padding inside." Steve cleared his throat. "It's clear enough to get it out." But he pushed away from the table. "I don't want to do it. Mrs. Gannon?"
"No. We've done our part. All of us. It's police business now, isn't it? It's for Lieutenant Dallas now. But I hope you'll do it fast, so I can breathe again."
To solve the matter, Eve lifted the detached body of the truck, reached in to tug out the padding. She laid it on the table, pulled it apart and picked up the pouch nested inside.
She opened the pouch and poured the stones into her hand.
"I didn't really believe it." Samantha let out a trapped breath. "Even after all this, I didn't really believe it. And there they are."
"After all this time." Laine watched as Eve dripped the glittering diamonds onto the pouch. "My father would have laughed and laughed
. Then tried to figure how he could palm a couple of them on his way out the door."
Peabody edged in, and Eve gave her a moment to goggle before she elbowed her back. "They'll need to be verified, authenticated and appraised, but-"
"Mind?" Without waiting, Roarke plucked one up, drew a loupe out of his pocket. "Mmm, spectacular. First water, full-cut, about seven carats. Probably worth twice what it was when it was tucked away. There'll be all sorts of interesting and complicated maneuvers, I imagine, between the insurance company and the heirs of the original owners."
J D Robb - Dallas 18 - Remember When Page 50