by J. D. Robb
“Tourist from Ohio, right?”
“Omaha. Same difference. The concerned citizen Trueheart’s escorting out has come forward as a wit.”
“That mope one of your weasels?”
“Yeah, he’s on my roll.” Baxter got comfortable, planting his ass on the table. “Thing is, he saw it go down, scratched his butt over it for a day or so, then tagged me. Vic went down the underground, under Broadway and Thirty-eighth. Hell’s Fire. You know the joint?”
“Yeah. S-and-M theme, lots of party favors. Mock human sacrifices nightly. I like to drop in to relax after a long shift.”
Baxter grinned. “Just your style. So the vic strolls in, flashy wrist unit, shiny shoes, big attitude. Rents a slave, pays for the deluxe bondage package.”
“Deluxe?”
“That would be your chains, whips, ball gag in your choice of colors, mini-Taser, leash, and collar. Three-hour rental.”
“What, no costumes?”
“Costumes are the super deluxe pack. But he sprang for one of the display cubes so he could put on a show for the crowd.”
“Nice.”
“He wants to score before he gets his rocks off, so he zeros in on Sykes.” Baxter, not as fussy about coffee as Eve, walked over and keyed in his code on the machine. “You want?”
“No. I can live without drinking mud made from dirt and horse piss.”
“He wants a free sample—can you beat it—wants a freebie before he pays. Sykes tells him to fuck off, but the guy hounds him. He’s got plenty to spend, but he wants a taste first. Pokes at Sykes, flashes a wad. ‘Gimme a taste and if I like it, I’ll buy a full bag.’ So Sykes, who’d had a free sample or two himself, says, ‘I’ll give you a taste, fuckface, see how you like this.’ And proceeds to stick him a couple dozen times with his buck knife.”
Eve waited until Baxter planted his ass again. “He got the point across.”
“Har. After said point is made, Sykes hauls Barrister’s dead body up, carries him out of the club, and dumps him at the bottom of the stairs on the passage down on Broadway. Where he was subsequently tripped over by a couple of idiot college kids who thought they’d like an underground adventure.”
“An urban fable. You know where to find Sykes?”
“Got a couple of haunts in addition to his last known. I figure on trying the last known first. Try to keep my kid above the sidewalk. It’s a jungle down there.”
“Either way, close it up.”
“I thought I’d let Trueheart take the lead on the interview once we have Sykes in the box. Give him some play.”
Eve thought of the baby-faced Trueheart. It would probably be good for him, and Baxter wouldn’t let it go south. “Your call. Notify Illegals after you close it up. They can tag on whatever charges they want to pick from the menu. But sew up the Murder Two first.”
“That’s the plan. Oh, and break a leg.”
“What?”
“That’s what you say to somebody before a performance, which seems pretty damn stupid to me. Now. Nadine.”
“Christ,” was all she said, and stalked out.
She found Peabody at Vending just down from the bull pen. Peabody’s face was a study in concentration as she scanned the offerings. “Energy Bar or Goo-Goo bar. The Energy Bar is, of course, nutritionally balanced, but the Goo-Goo is delicious and will provide me with great joy until the guilt sets in. Which should it be?”
“You’re going to go for the fake chocolate and sugar. Why torture yourself over it?”
“Please, Lieutenant, this is a process. The torture is part of the process. Goo-Goo it is. You want?”
What she wanted was the candy bar she’d hidden in her office, but that was not to be. “Yeah, what the hell.”
While the machine chirped out the Goo-Goo jingle and the nutritional data until Eve wanted to smash it with a hammer, she and Peabody stood munching on candy. “I want Williams picked up, brought down for questioning. We’ll send a couple of big, stone-faced, intimidating uniforms to the school.”
“Nice touch. Scary, but it’s like you’re saying you don’t have time to go get him yourself.”
“We’ll book Interview Room B. Baxter and Trueheart are bringing in a suspect. We’ll leave A for them.”
“I know a couple of uniforms who’d be perfect for the pickup.”
“Get it done.” Eve frowned down at the candy. “These things make you feel a little nauseous?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s part of the thrill.”
Eve handed the last half of her Goo-Goo to Peabody. “Go wild. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to broker us another warrant to go through Williams’s residence, all his e-toys.”
Eve contacted APA Cher Reo, and learned the pretty blonde was already in the building. They met in Eve’s office where the coffee, at least, was prime.
“You know,” Reo began, “you’d think things would slow down in this kind of weather. But despite the cold, the ice, the wind, people are still raping and robbing and ripping at each other.” Reo took an appreciative sip of coffee. “Kind of makes me proud to be a New Yorker.”
“We don’t let winter get in the way of our mayhem. So, about my dead teacher.” Eve brought her up to date, made the pitch for a search warrant.
“Will Sanchez file a complaint?”
“Can’t say. Right now she’s worried if her husband clues in he’ll perform mayhem on Williams. But she came in, and she told it straight. This guy’s hunting on school grounds.”
“Do you suspect he’s hunting students?”
“I’ve got nothing that points that way, but it’s not out of the question. It looks to me like the vic had a come-to-Jesus talk with him. No reason for Williams to back off on Sanchez otherwise. Other statements indicate Craig saw him in a compromising position with someone he shouldn’t have been compromising with. The school’s not only a good gig—pays well, nice bennies, clean and shiny, but it’s an all-you-can-screw buffet for someone like Williams.”
“Gee.” Reo downed coffee. “Why can’t I ever get a nice guy like that?”
“Maybe you’ll prosecute and convict him, then you could be penpals.”
“Oh, if only.”
“So. If the vic threatened Williams’s standing, he may have decided to eliminate the threat.”
“No history of violence, no criminal record, no civil suits?”
“No, but you’ve got to start somewhere. It’s enough for a warrant, Reo.”
“Maybe. I can work it,” she decided. “But the fact that the guy’s a pig doesn’t make him a murdering pig. Find me something that says he is.”
As Reo headed out, she glanced back. “By the way, looking forward to seeing you and Nadine tonight.”
Eve only sighed and rested her head in her hands. Then she shook it, and contacted Feeney, her friend and the captain of the Electronic Detectives Division.
His face came on screen—comfortably lived in, baggy at the eyes, topped with wiry ginger and gray hair that went in any direction it chose.
“Yo,” he said.
“Need a man in the field. Since Peabody hasn’t irritated me today, I’d like McNab if you can spare him. On-scene e-work. Warrant’s coming through.”
“Who’s dead? Anybody I know?”
“Teacher. Private school. Ricin poisoning.”
“Yeah, yeah, got wind of that. Education’s a risky business. You can have my boy.”
“Thanks. Ah…Hey, Feeney, did your wife ever give you any grief about…other women.”
“What other women?”
“Yeah, there’s that. But like, when you were training me, and we partnered up, we worked pretty tight.”
“Wait a minute. You’re a woman?”
It made her laugh and call herself a fool. “Turns out. McNab can meet us in fifteen, in the garage. Appreciate it.”
McNab was a fashion plate from the tips of his long, shiny hair to the stacked soles of his purple airboots. His calf-length parka was in eye-watering orange, a
nd his watch cap had zigzags of both colors. His earlobes were studded with a multitude of tiny silver balls.
Despite what Eve considered his questionable wardrobe choices, he was a solid EDD man. His fingers were nimble, his green eyes sharp.
He stretched out on the backseat on the drive, and from the movements Eve caught in the rearview, and Peabody’s muffled giggles, he was snaking his hand between the front seat and the passenger door to tickle his cohab.
“You want to retain use of that hand, Detective, you’ll keep it off my partner until your personal time.”
“Sorry. Your partner shatters the power of my will.”
“Keep it up, and I’ll shatter all your fingers.” She swung to the curb.
Williams’s building couldn’t boast a doorman, but she noted there was solid security. All three badges had to be scanned and cleared before the outside doors clicked open to the small lobby. She spotted security cams in the lobby along with a couple of chairs and a fake palm tree.
“Five-E,” Peabody told her.
They stepped into one of the two elevators where Eve asked for the fifth floor. “A couple of steps up from the vic’s living space.”
“Williams has been certified and teaching for nearly fifteen years. He also has his master’s. He’d make easily four times what the vic did. Not counting any private tutoring he might pull in on the side and not report.” Peabody linked pinkies with McNab, then unhooked as they reached five.
“Record on,” Eve announced, then drew out her master. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve; Peabody, Detective Delia; McNab, Detective Ian, entering the apartment of Willaims, Reed, by duly authorized warrant.”
She dealt with the locks. “McNab, I want you to check out any D-and-C’s, correspondence, conversations, what he’s been looking at, what he’s been buying. The whole shot.”
She frowned at the apartment. The living area wasn’t spacious, but it was as large as the victim’s entire place. It boasted no particularly exciting view, but there was a wide gel couch in gleaming black, lots of shiny chrome. She noted a mood screen, a snazzy entertainment system.
The art on the walls was stark and modern. A circle, a line, all in primary colors on white. The windows had privacy screens, and they were engaged. She wandered to the turnout that was the kitchen. Sleek and shiny there, too, she noted. White, black, red. What equipment there was looked glossy to her, and she was willing to bet it was trendy.
“Take the kitchen, Peabody. If he dabbles in poison, he might just be stupid or arrogant enough to keep it in there. I’ll take the bedroom.”
It was an eyeful. She imagined Williams thought of it as sexy. She found it just a little creepy. The bed was the focal point, a wide pool draped in a shimmering red spread that looked wet. Flanking it were two thick faux-fur rugs in black.
She considered the lighted mirror angling from the ceiling a cliché, and laughable. Art here ran to pencil drawings of stupendously endowed couples copulating in various positions.
She lifted the shimmering red spread, found black sheets, and beneath them a gel mattress that undulated under pressure.
Ick.
The drawers in the table beside the bed held a cornucopia of sex toys and enhancements, including a couple of illegal substances classified as date rape devices. She bagged them into evidence.
“You make this part easy,” she said aloud, and moved to the closet.
She noted his professional wardrobe on one side—a couple of suits, sports jackets, shirts, trousers. His leisure wear on the other was considerably less conservative.
She wondered who would actually enjoy seeing a grown man in a black skin-suit.
“Hey, Dallas, you’ve gotta see—” McNab stopped, whistled. “Wow. Sexcapades.” He studied one of the black-framed sketches. “These two have to be double-jointed.” He scratched his throat, then bent from the waist to study it from a different angle.
“What do I have to see?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, got sucked in. Sex is this guy’s religion. It’s kind of admirable in a sick way. He spends a lot of time on his comp: chat rooms, websites—all sex spots. Orders a lot of toys.”
“Yeah, he’s got a nice supply. Including a little Whore, a little Rabbit.”
McNab’s easy amusement vanished. “Not admirable, even in a sick way.”
“Any correspondence with the vic?”
“Not on that unit.”
“Research on poisons? Ricin or others?”
“Nothing. May be buried deeper, and I can take it in and look. His schoolwork is on there, too. Lesson plans, grade book, like that. Nothing that looks off on that end.” He cocked his head up. “Bet there’s a camera in there.”
“Camera.” She narrowed her eyes at the mirror. “Really.”
“Five gets you ten on it. Want me to have a look?”
“You do that.” She moved to search the bath. “Stay out of the toy drawer.”
“Aw. Lieutenant Spoilsport.”
10
THEY FOUND NO EVIDENCE LINKING WILLIAMS to the poison, or Craig Foster’s death, but they found plenty to tangle him up. Eve ordered in a team of sweepers, just to tie it off, then prepped for the interview.
“We’re going to start with the murder, standard routine questions,” Eve told Peabody. “He hasn’t lawyered up. Feels too cocky.”
“You ask me, this guy thinks with his cock most of the time.”
“You got that right. So we use it. Just a couple of girls. From that quick preview of the discs McNab dug up, this one likes multiples. So we poke at him about the vic, then we jam him with the illegals we found in his place, then we work him on the murder again.”
Juggle it, Eve thought as she went into the interview room. Keep him off balance.
“It’s about damn time. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” Williams demanded. “Do you have any idea what it does to my professional reputation to have a couple of police goons pull me out of class?”
“We’ll get to that professional reputation in a minute. I need to log this interview in, give you your rights and obligations. Formalize it.”
“My rights?” His body twitched, as if he’d experienced a small electric shock. “Am I under arrest?”
“Absolutely not. But this is a formal interview, and there’s procedure designed to protect you. Do you want something to drink besides that water? Coffee—it sucks—a soft drink?”
“I want this done so I can get out of here.”
“We’ll try to keep it moving.” She logged in for the recorder, read him the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter, Mr. Williams?”
“Of course I do. That doesn’t make this any less annoying.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t. Now, let’s go over your movements on the day Craig Foster was murdered.”
“Christ! I’ve given you my statement already. I’ve cooperated.”
“Listen.” Eve sat, stretched out her legs. “This is a homicide, and one that took place in a school where minors have been involved and affected.”
She turned her hand over, palm up, in a gesture of what-can-I-do. “We have to dig for every detail. People often forget details, so we routinely repeat interviews.”
“We’re sorry for the inconvenience,” Peabody added with an understanding smile. “We’ve got to be thorough.”
“Fine, fine. Try to get it right this time?”
Oh, yeah, Eve thought. Very cocky and used to intimidating the girls. “We’ll do our best. From your previous statement, and the statements of others, you saw and/or spoke with the victim at least twice on the day of his death. Is this correct?”
“Yes, yes, yes. In the fitness center, early, then in the lounge just before classes began. I told you.”
“What did you and Mr. Foster talk about in the fitness center?”
“We didn’t. I told you that.”
Eve flipped through the files. “Mmm-hmm. But you and the victim did have occasion to ha
ve conversations previously.”
“Well, Jesus, of course. We worked together.”
“And were those conversations less than friendly?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Eve folded her hands on top of the file, smiled winningly. “Then let me be clear. When Mr. Foster pinned your ears back about fishing in the work and parental pool for sex, would you consider those conversations of a friendly nature?”
“I consider that question insulting.”
“It seems from the statements we have from women you harassed or seduced, many of them found your advances and behavior insulting.” She closed the file and smiled again. “Come on, Reed, we know the score, you and me. These women didn’t complain. They liked the attention, they liked the excitement. You didn’t slap them around and rape them. It was consensual, and Foster—from what I gather—poked his nose in where it didn’t belong.”
Williams drew a deep breath. “Let me be clear. I’ve never denied that I enjoy a certain amount of sexual success with women. It’s not illegal for me to enjoy that success with coworkers or with parents of students, for that matter. Unethical, perhaps.”
“Well, it actually is illegal to perform sexual acts in an educational facility when minors are present. So, if you had that success during school hours, on school grounds—where you kept a supply of condoms—you’ve committed a crime.”
“This is bullshit.”
“It is sort of nitpicky, I grant you, but I have to follow the law. I can talk to the PA about giving you the brush on that, but I need to get the details on record.”
“I never had sex with anyone in an area the students could access.”
“Okay, that’s a plus. But you did have sex in areas the victim could access. Correct?”
“Possibly, but we’re talking about a grown man. I’d like to know exactly what you meant about some women being insulted, giving statements about their relationship with me.”
“I can’t tell you the names, part of the agreement with them. Like I said, it’s obvious to me it was consensual. Who knows why they’re circling now.”
“I’d say it’s the upset about the murder,” Peabody put in. “These women aren’t used to talking to cops, so when they do, especially about something as shocking as murder, things just jump out of their mouths. We’ve got to follow up, Mr. Williams. It’s not exactly the kind of work we like doing. Live and let live, in my opinion, when it comes to this area. But we’ve got to get it taken care of.”