by J. D. Robb
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, now that I’m thinking about it. Blondie here didn’t look like the road-trip sort, and they never got out to use the john. Women hardly ever pass up a trip to the john, they pull into a rest area. The other one tosses it out the door, and I think: ‘There goes breakfast.’ I remember ’cause I expected they’d go into the john, clean up the sick one. But the blonde, she just drives around to the truck lot, parks again. I let maintenance know they had a cleanup, got me some coffee. Can’t say I noticed how long they sat there or when they left.”
Back in the car, Roarke stretched his legs. “Are you going to pass up a trip to the john?”
“Ha-ha. I can put her here with Suzanne. Right here in the Alexander Hamilton rest area off the Turnpike. Who the hell was Alexander Hamilton, and why is there a rest area off the Turnpike named after him?”
“Ah…”
“Never mind. There’s a new model Mercedes sedan, black, registered to Ava Anders. This little chat with Vince confirms the day, the time—and I’ll back that up because I’ll betcha that big, black Mercedes has a pass scanner for the toll. Can’t confirm what was said, but it puts Ava with Suzanne here. How’s she going to explain that one?”
“She’ll have something. Hamilton was one of America’s Founding Fathers, and its first Secretary of the Treasury.”
“Who? Huh?”
“You asked,” Roarke said, pocketing his PPC again. “Where to now?”
Eve frowned at him a moment. “Is that what you’re doing, playing with that thing all the time? Looking up trivia?”
“Among other things. Something else you’d like to know?”
“Whole bunches of things. Right now, we’re going to go to the market to find out a few.” She answered her dash ’link. “Dallas.”
“We got it. Bag was in the closet,” Peabody said, “as advertised. A disposable ’link, several security discs, and a very rocking bypass remote—along with a pair of light blue men’s pajamas, the pressure syringes, and the meds.”
“Get them in, log them. I want chain of evidence pristine. Have Feeney and McNab start on the contents. I’m in the field, got a couple more stops to make.”
“It’s falling apart on her,” Roarke commented.
“She’s going to hire a big, fat, sneaky lawyer. A fucking fleet of big, fat, sneaky lawyers. The type who get shit suppressed, tossed out, who pump in reasonable doubt. I don’t have enough. I can put her with Suzanne in Jersey a few days after Custer’s murder. Proves nothing. What Peabody just picked up only proves Suzanne was in the Anderses’ house, and pretty much sews up she killed him. We’ve got her confession already. She’s locked. Your acquaintance can state that the device was taken to the Anders residence. He can’t put it in Ava’s hands. I’ve got her lies, her association with an LC, I’ve got her father-in-law’s death, which I wheedled the local cops into opening again. Disposable ’link. Batt’s going to be dead, and when the battery dies on those, it wipes the transmissions. I need more.”
The chubby and cheerful Mr. Isaacs gave her a bit more.
“Right after her husband was killed, yes? I remember very well. Terrible thing. She comes in on Mondays, about nine-thirty on Monday mornings, poor Mrs. Custer. But this day, a few days after I hear her husband’s dead, I see her go right by carrying her market bag.”
“Was she alone?”
“No. I started to go outside, call out to her, thinking she’d forgotten where she was going. Being upset about her husband. But then I saw she was with someone. She was with a very fancy lady. Beautiful coat with fur on the collar,” Isaacs added, brushing his fingers down the front of his apron to demonstrate. “Long black coat, brown fur trim. Very nice. I think I’ve seen the fancy lady once or twice before, but not that coat.”
“You saw the woman before that day?”
“Once or twice. I know my neighborhood, I know my people.”
“Is this the woman?” Eve offered Ava’s photo.
“Yes, yes, this is the woman poor Mrs. Custer was with that morning. Such pretty hair she has. I remember, it was a very sunny day, and the sunshine seemed to bounce off her pretty hair. She wore shades. As I said, it was a very bright day, but she’s very striking. I’m sure this is the same woman. They walked right by. Mrs. Custer looked so sad and tired. She came back, by herself, a couple hours later. Maybe more, we were busy. I thought, ‘Poor little thing—Mrs. Custer—she’s been crying.’ I gave her some pop treats for the children.”
She hit the lot next, a small, overpriced two-decker.
“This sort of lot won’t have security discs for two months ago,” Roarke reminded her. “And their records won’t include license number, make, or model. It’s just the time in and out, the fee, the slot.”
“They’d have tag number, make, and model for reserved parking. No way Ava would cruise around looking for a parking spot. Not someone who plans, who researches. She’d book one. Scanner reads reservation number, and to reserve you need to verify tag number.”
“Well now, you’re right about that.”
“She’d’ve done the same thing for the Custer stalking and hit. She’d be thinking of her own convenience, and never seriously consider we’d get here. I put her vehicle here, I put it there, it adds weight. You’ve got a new assignment.”
“I’m going to be talking to auto lot owners. With her vehicle number I could find it quicker myself.”
“Channels. Pristine chain. We take the long way. I’ll drive. You get started.”
She closed herself off for twenty minutes back at Central. She shut her door, closed everyone out while she sat, feet up, eyes closed to walk herself through the steps, the stages, the routes.
With a glance at the time, she made another call. “Mrs. Horowitz, Lieutenant Dallas. I have a couple of questions.”
“Of course.”
“Mrs. Anders attends a lot of functions—balls, parties, and so on. Does she ever attend costume types—masked balls, fancy dress, that sort of thing?”
“There’s a fancy-dress gala in October every year.”
“Where does she keep her wigs?”
“All the costume pieces she has made or purchased are kept in storage on the third floor.”
“Does she own a red wig?”
“I believe she owns a few, in different shades and styles. I haven’t been in the storage area for some time.”
“Thanks.”
Eve ended transmission, and placed another to APA Reo.
Then she called in the team.
In the conference room, Eve paced while Baxter brooded into his coffee and Roarke passed the time on his PPC. Peabody, with no new visible piercings, huddled together with Trueheart. EDD had yet to arrive. Cher Reo entered next, the pretty blonde with the Southern drawl and the raptor claws in court.
“Hello, gang.” She nodded at Eve. “Let’s hear the pitch.”
“We’re not all here. Feeney—” Eve narrowed a stare at him as he strolled in with McNab. “You’re late.”
“You want it fast or you want it right?”
“I just want it. Status, EDD first.”
Feeney took out his notebook. “Pill dispenser, vic’s, opened and reprogrammed the morning Ava Anders left for St. Lucia. None of her prints inside or out. Office ’links, Anders Worldwide. No transmissions to or from Suzanne Custer during the last six months. Same for the home and personal ’links we were given access to. Security discs recovered from Custer apartment show no unusual activity. Remote recovered from Custer apartment is extreme. Custom job, specific for the system at Anders’s residence. We found two uses. One use six weeks ago, and one the morning of the Anders murder.”
“Ava test drove it.”
“Be my take. Disposable ’link, dead as disco. Those type don’t hold transmissions much over twenty-four anyway. If they do that. And this one’s cheap shit.”
“You’re telling me you got zip?”
“I didn’t say zip.” He stretc
hed out his legs, crossed them at the ankles. “Every electronic byte leaves an imprint. A smudge anyway. You go in right, and you can finesse. We got what you could call echoes. ’Link’s a piece of crap, but crap can be manipulated. We need to process the echoes, tune them up, sort them out. Something’s there. Give us a day or two, and we’ll pull it out.”
“Good. Peabody?”
“Adult toy items matching those at the Anders crime scene were purchased by Suzanne Custer, or earlier by Ned Custer. All but the ropes were obtained by her at Just Sex. She purchased the ropes, with cash, at Bondage Baby. Custer also obtained, by doctor’s prescription, lotrominaphine, the medication found in Thomas Anders, as well as six pressure syringes. Four syringes were also found in the bag recovered from the Custer apartment, as was the partially used prescription of the tranq. She’s wrapped.”
“And yet,” Reo commented, “Murder Two.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Eve told her. “In Interview, Suzanne Custer stated that at Ava Anders’s suggestion the two women entered into a bargain to kill each other’s husbands. Reportedly, Anders recorded their promise.”
“That’s dumbass,” McNab put in. “Why incriminate yourself on record?”
“If Ava ever recorded her own statement, she’s long since wiped it. But I’ll bet she’s got Suzanne’s tucked away for leverage.”
McNab nodded. “Not so dumbass.”
“Three days after the Custer murder, Anders waylaid Custer on Custer’s way to her usual Monday morning marketing. Custer and Anders were seen together, and today identified by Isaacs, Jerome, the market’s owner.” Eve pointed a finger at McNab before he could speak.
“Yes, dumbass, but we’re dealing with a woman who never believed we’d have any reason to tie her and Suzanne Custer together. And if we asked? She could easily claim she’d dropped by to pay her condolences.
“So moving on. Custer further stated that Anders informed her Anders had killed Ned Custer—and gave all details to same. And it would soon be time to complete the bargain. According to Custer’s statement, Anders used threats and duress to obtain her agreement, while Anders drove into New Jersey, to a rest area. A security tech at same has identified Anders and her vehicle, corroborating Custer’s statement. At that time, Anders gave Custer the disposable ’link, and described how Thomas Anders was to be killed.”
“You’re going to get a lot of she said/she said here, Dallas,” Reo commented.
“Yeah, so we’ll need to make what Custer said stick. We need those echoes cleared, Feeney. Custer did not, as Anders instructed, dispose of the ’link, the remote, the discs. Anders lied about her husband’s sexual proclivities.”
“Prove it,” Reo demanded.
“Your job. But, she told both Custer and one Petrelli, Bebe, that Thomas Anders was a sexual deviate, and a pedophile. She indicated same to a Gordon, Cassie. There is no evidence this was true. In fact, there is weighty evidence it was not. Ava engaged a licensed companion for several months. There is no evidence Thomas Anders used LCs or engaged in extra-marital affairs, as Ava claims. Let her prove it,” Eve added.
“After receiving the news that her husband was dead,” Eve continued, “Ava ordered a tasty breakfast, ate same, dressed, and groomed meticulously. She didn’t wake her friends, but took a shuttle home alone.”
“I just don’t like her.” Reo examined her nails. “I don’t like Ava one little bit.”
“Get in line. Rewind two months. Custer, Ned, was last seen with a tall woman, a redhead, taken to be a pro. She went from a bar to a flop with the victim, and did not exit by the door. Ava told Suzanne that after slitting Custer’s throat, and whacking him off in a permanent manner, she exited via the fire escape. She owns several red wigs.”
“Get me something physical,” Reo insisted. “It’s a good circumstantial case, but—”
“The vehicle registered to Ava Anders was parked eight blocks north and one east of the Custer murder scene,” Roarke put in without looking up. “The vehicle had reserved parking for that slot, in that lot, for a period of two weeks. It was used three times, the last on the night of the murder, clocking in at 10:12 P.M., clocking out at 2:08 A.M.”
“Okay, that’s interesting.” Something lit in Reo’s eyes. “How do we prove she drove it there?”
“Because she fucking did,” Eve snapped. “Because on that night and the ten days prior, Thomas Anders was out of town, and she could come and go as she pleased. Look at the time line. She kills her father-in-law, and that’s the turn.”
“Reginald Anders’s death was deemed accidental.” Reo tossed up a hand. “Don’t bite my head off, that’s the fact. You’ve got the case reopened, and I’m inclined to agree she killed him because I don’t like her. But at this point, we’ve got an old man slipping in the shower.”
“We won’t end with that. She hired a decorator the week before Reginald Anders took the fall. Shortly after it’s reported, she and the old man had a private talk in his office about her charging personal expenses to program budgets. She didn’t walk out happy. And according to the housekeeper, decorating talk began two weeks after the father-in-law’s death, though she’d already contracted with one.
“You’re going to say some spouses sneak in something like that—the decorating crap,” Eve said, anticipating Reo. “Why would she? Every statement we’ve taken on their marriage, on Anders, describes him as indulgent. He wouldn’t have given a shit about that.”
“Then why wait to tell him?” Reo asked. “Picky, I know, but defense attorneys are, as a rule.”
“It was her congratulations present to herself. She didn’t bring it out until after she’d done the old man. Until that was behind her. Weeks after that, she hires Charles Monroe, telling one of her friends—out of the goddamn blue—that she and her husband are sexually incompatible. She revs up the mommy retreat program, and starts to scope. Here, she approaches Petrelli, whose family has ties to organized crime. She suggests Petrelli might find a way to dispose of Anders, who she claims is a pervert. That craps out. She approaches Gordon, an LC who is also in the program, and asks for details about kink. And finally, she finds her mark here, with Custer.”
“Suzanne was prime bait,” Baxter put in.
“Detective Yancy executed a composite of Ava with the style and color of hair witnesses reported re Ned Custer,” Eve added. “We’re going to find somebody who’ll put her in the bar, in the flop.”
“Do it, because I’d love to bring her down.” Reo closed her notebook. “Can you get me a confession?”
“That’s the plan. I need to get her out of the house so we can go in and cop the wig without her being aware. Feeney, I need you to mock me up a disposable ’link exactly like that one. We’ve got her statements on record. I want to hear her voice come out of it. Baxter, talk to Suzanne again, make sure she’s clear on exactly what Ava said the morning Anders was murdered. Peabody, put a couple of the men in soft clothes on the sleazy side. Roarke, see if your acquaintance will come down. He’s not going to have to say a thing. Reo will give him immunity and I’ll authorize two bills.”
“What am I giving immunity for?”
“We’ll get to that. I want Petrelli and Gordon in here, and the night clerk from the flop. Trueheart I’m going to be sending you to bring Ava in.”
He blinked as if something had flown into his eyes. “Sending me?”
“You won’t worry her. You’re too young and pretty, and you’re going to apologize. If she cries lawyer, she cries lawyer, but I don’t think she will. Not right off. Take another uniform. A young, green one. I’ll tell you when to go, and how to handle her. What are you smiling at?” she asked Roarke.
“It’s such an interesting show you’re planning.”
“Yeah, so let’s work out the song and the dance.”
It wasn’t a stretch for Trueheart to appear apologetic and accommodating. Even with seasoning a la Baxter, he remained a sweet-natured, happy-to-help kind of guy. Young and fresh,
and—to the careless or cynical eye—not all that smart. What Ava saw were two young, handsome, somewhat bumbling cops who seemed embarrassed with their current duty.
“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am.” Trueheart added a pained smile. “I know it’s an inconvenience, especially at such a difficult time, but the lieutenant—”
“Yes, it’s very inconvenient, and a very difficult time. I fail to see why I should have to go downtown. Why doesn’t the lieutenant come to me?”
“Um, she would, ma’am, but she’s in this meeting with the commander and the chief, about the, ah…the, ah, media problem in regards to the case.”
“Taking some licks for it.” The second uniform delivered his first scripted line on cue.
“Come on.” Trueheart frowned him down. “And I believe Chief Tibble would like to personally apologize to you about the media stuff. So we were sent to transport you down to Central.”
“Young man, I understand you’re just following orders, but you can’t possibly expect to bundle me in the back of a police car, to add that kind of mortification on top of everything else.”
“Ah, well, um…” Trueheart glanced at his companion, who only shrugged helplessly. “If you wanted to call a cab, I guess—I don’t know. Maybe I could call in and ask—”
“Nonsense, that’s just nonsense. I’ll take my own car. I’m free to come and go as I please, aren’t I? I’m not under arrest, am I?”
“Oh gosh, no, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am on the first part. We could follow you in. I’m sure that’s okay, and I could arrange a parking permit in the VIP visitor lot. Would that be all right?”
“I’d think it’s the least you could do, and thank you. Now, I’ll have to ask you to wait outside while I—”
“You didn’t do the RM.” The second cop delivered his next line, and Trueheart flushed and shifted his feet.
“I don’t know that we’re supposed to—”
“My sergeant kicked my ass—pardon me, ma’am—for not just yesterday. I don’t want to screw up again.”
“Okay, okay. I’m awful sorry, Mrs. Anders, but we’re just going to read you the Revised Miranda before we go, since you’re going to be talking to the lieutenant about the investigation. A formality thing.” Trueheart added an earnest, and nervous smile. “Is that all right with you?”