by J. D. Robb
“Yes. I’m Lieutenant Dallas. You spoke with Deena yesterday.”
“Yes, right here, right out front. Is she—God—is she in that bag?”
No point in evading. It would all hit soon enough. “Deena MacMasters was killed last night.”
The woman stumbled back a step, then wrapped both arms around her torso. “But how? How?” Tears gathered in eyes gone wide with shock. “Was there a break-in? She’s so vigilant with the alarms and locks. She babysits my twins, my boys—and she lectures me about making sure the house is secure. Oh God, my God. My boys adore her. What will I tell them? Can I do something, anything? Jonah and Carol. They’re away. I have the contact information. I can—”
“They returned this morning. They’re inside.”
Hester closed her eyes a moment, took several breaths. “I—I almost went over and knocked. To check? To make sure she didn’t want to come over and hang, have dinner. But I talked myself out of it. I wish I’d . . . Is there anything I can do? Anything?”
“Did Deena ever have anyone over when she watched your children? A friend?”
“Sometimes Jo came with her. Jo Jennings, her best friend.”
“Any boys?”
“No. God.” She used the backs of her hands to wipe her wet cheeks. “Against the rules, and Deena didn’t really date.”
“Did she always follow the rules?”
“Yes, from what I could tell. I often wished she’d break one.” Hester swiped at another tear. “She seemed, to me, so young and innocent for her age, and on the other hand so mature. Responsible. I trusted her absolutely with my sons. I should have checked on her more while her parents were gone, kept a closer eye. I should’ve insisted she come over for dinner. But it was only a couple of days, and I didn’t think. Just didn’t think.”
“Did she ever talk to you about a boy?”
“No one specific. We did talk about boys now and then, in general. She has—had—such a good relationship with her mother, but sometimes a girl can’t say things to her mom. And we were closer in age. Plus, I pried,” Hester admitted with a twisted smile. “I think she had a crush on someone because I’d noticed she was taking more care with her wardrobe, her hair. And . . . well, there was just a look in her eye. You know?”
“Yeah.”
“I commented on it, and she just said she was trying some new things. But there was this look in her eye. This I’ve-got-a-secret look. Did some boy hurt her? Did some . . .” Realization and horror struck her face. “Oh God.”
“I can’t give you details at this time. I’m going to give you my card. If you think of anything you saw, anything she may have said to you, I want you to contact me. I don’t care how inconsequential it may seem, I want to hear it.” Eve passed over a card. “One thing. Did you happen to notice when you saw her yesterday morning if she had her nails done? Painted fingers and toes?”
“She didn’t. I would’ve noticed as she rarely did. And she was bare-foot. Watering the plants there, in her bare feet, so I’d have noticed.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“I have to tell my husband, and our boys. They’re only four. I don’t know how to tell them.”
Peabody came out as Hester walked away. “EDD’s on the way, and the sweepers are on it. Mrs. Whitney’s packing a few things up for Mrs. MacMasters. They’ll stay at the Whitneys’ for a day or two, depending.”
“We’ll leave them to it then. We need to interview the friends. It’s too late in the day to scope the park, the jogging trails. Her habit was to run there between eight and nine on weekends, the same weekdays when she didn’t have school. We’ll hit that tomorrow. We’ll take Jamie first.”
“Jamie? Our Jamie?”
“Lingstrom. He was a friend.”
“It’s a damn small world when it sucks.”
Couldn’t argue.
She knew Jamie was home for the summer, and staying with his mother. She kept tabs—loosely. He was the grandson of a dead cop—a damn good cop, and a boy who’d lost his sister to murder when he’d been sixteen.
He was no stranger to death.
And at sixteen, he’d intrigued her husband by using a homemade jam mer to bypass Roarke’s home security enough to gain access to the estate.
She knew Jamie had a job in one of Roarke’s R&D departments for the summer—just as she knew Roarke harbored a bit of frustration that the boy’s goals were toward the Electronic Detective Division and cops rather than the private sector.
“Since they were friends, and knowing Jamie, he’s going to want in.”
Eve picked her way through the holiday traffic. Gathering crowds, souvenir and snack stands prepared for the afternoon parade.
“That’ll be up to Feeney.” There was a connection there, too, as Feeney and Jamie’s grandfather had been tight back in the day. “More to the point, he is in. He’s on the short list of the vic’s friends, and the only male on it.”
“You think they were involved, romantically?”
“The parents don’t think so—but according to one of the neighbors, and the mother—there was somebody. Somebody fairly recent that the vic was keeping to herself.”
Peabody pondered a moment. “If she had a thing for Jamie—and he had one back—I don’t think she’d have kept it to herself. He’s just the type the parents would approve of. He’s smart, responsible, has the cop connection. He’s on scholarship to Columbia, and had plenty of other offers from top-level colleges. He took Columbia so he could stay close to home, not leave his mother too much alone.”
At Eve’s sidelong stare, Peabody shrugged. “He chats up with McNab, which is also how I know Jamie’s been dating the field the last few months. No one girl, nothing serious. I don’t think he’s even mentioned Deena. I’d’ve remembered, since I knew her. Plus most college guys don’t go for high school girls, or not for long.”
“What do high school girls go for?”
“Boys. A college boy would be a big status coup. But . . . Deena wasn’t the type. She was kind of sweet and serious and shy.”
“Vulnerable. A guy pays attention, knew how to play it. She got her nails done.”
“Huh?”
“Sometime Saturday, she did her nails or had them done. She dressed up—skirt, nice shirt, jewelry, put on makeup. If you’re hanging at home for the evening, alone, what’re you wearing?”
“My pajamas or sweats, probably my rattiest.”
“She didn’t just let him in. She was expecting him.” Eve pulled over to the curb of the modest town house.
She’d done all this before, walked this same path to tell Brenda Lingstrom her daughter was dead.
This time Jamie answered the door.
When had he gotten taller? She had to shift her gaze up to meet his, an odd sensation. He’d let his hair grow a little longer so it tumbled around his face in blond disarray. His jeans were full of holes, his T-shirt baggy with the faded faces of what she recognized as a popular trash rock group sneering out.
His face had fined down since she’d last seen him, and had gone handsome on her. Another mild shock. She wasn’t looking at a boy anymore, she realized, but a man.
His sleepy eyes brightened in friendly pleasure, then immediately went blank. He said, “Oh shit.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“Who’s dead? You’re not at the door because you were passing by. Who’s—my mother.”
Panic leaped, even as his hand shot out and gripped her arm hard enough to bruise.
“No. She’s not here?”
“She and Grandma left Friday to hook up with some friends for a girl week, take advantage of the holiday. They’re okay?”
“As far as I know. We need to come in, Jamie.”
“Who is it? Tell me who it is.”
No point trying to soften the blow. “Deena MacMasters.”
“What? No. No. Deena? Oh God. Oh, goddamn!”
He turned away, strode into the living area that had changed little sinc
e she’d brought death into it almost two years before. He paced it, veering around tables, chairs, circling like a cat in a cage. “Give me a minute, okay? Give me a minute.”
Eve gestured Peabody to a chair herself, and remained standing while Jamie took his minute.
He stopped, turned, with an air of weary resignation at odds with his youth. “When?”
“Early this morning.”
“How?”
“We’re going to talk about that. When’s the last time you saw her?”
“Ah.” He rubbed the space between his eyebrows. The gesture seemed to steady him a little. “A couple weeks ago. Wait.” He lowered to the arm of a chair, then stared hard into space for a few minutes.
And Eve watched him pull control and composure back. If he decided to pursue law enforcement, he had the spine to make a cop, she thought.
“Tuesday, two weeks ago this coming Tuesday. A bunch of us went to see this new group—Crusher—play at Club Zero. I asked her to come along because we hadn’t seen much of each other in a while, and she’s into music. All kinds, even the old stuff. It’s an underage club, so she could get in, no prob. They sucked extra large, so she and I split off after the first set and went for pizza, caught up some. I took her home, got her home before midnight. She’s got a curfew.”
“What did you talk about?”
“All kinds of shit. School, music, vids, e-bits. She’s not much into the e-scene, but she liked to hear me talk about it. We’ve known each other forever. Grandpa knew her dad, and she was looking hard at Columbia for next year. We talked about that since I’ve done two semesters.”
“Did she talk about her boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?” His eyes went on alert. “She wasn’t tuned into anybody I knew about. She wasn’t hooked up. She got all spazmotic when it came to guys, hardly ever did the one-on-one.”
“One-on-one?”
“Dating, you know? She didn’t think she was pretty, but she was. And she said she couldn’t think of what to say or how to say it. Mom said how she was just self-conscious and shy, and she’d grow out of it. Now she won’t.” Bitterness coated the words. “What happened to her, Dallas?”
“Her parents were away for the weekend.” Eve kept her tone brisk and neutral. “Sometime yesterday, she let someone into the house. It appears she expected him, and given what we know of her at this point, we conclude she knew him and trusted him.”
He’d get the details soon enough, Eve knew. Better to hear them now, and from her. “He restrained her. He raped her. He killed her.”
His gaze didn’t waver from hers. Fury snapped into it as he got to his feet, then his eyes went cold. Yeah, he’d be a good cop, she decided.
“She was harmless. I want to say she was the kind of person who’d go out of her way not to hurt anyone. But she was strong and fast, and smart. She knew self-defense. She took me down a few times when we practiced. He wouldn’t have been able to restrain her without a fight. You’ve got to have some trace.”
“It may be he slipped her a drug to incapacitate her so he was able to restrain her and prevent her from causing him any harm. She fought, Jamie, and hard, but it was too late.”
“If she let someone in, she knew him. You’re right there. We haven’t been as tight since I started college, so I don’t know everyone she might have . . .”
“What?”
“When we peeled off from the group, were hanging out over pizza, she asked me what college guys looked at in a girl. I made some crack like the same thing every guy looks for. But she wanted to know, like, if it was looks or common ground, and if we all really expected sex. We could talk like that because we didn’t have that kind of thing.”
He eased back down on the arm of the chair. “I think I said it wasn’t expected, it was hoped for. Pretty much always. But I didn’t score with every girl I went out with. I said how she could worry about college guys when she was a college girl. She smiled. I didn’t think anything of it, the way she smiled and bounced off topic. She wasn’t just talking about guys. There was a guy. Son of a bitch.”
“Who would she have told about him?”
“Jo, if anybody. Jo Jennings. BGPFAE.”
“Sorry?”
“Ah, best girl pals forever and ever. They’ve been hooked since grade school. But Deena could keep things tight when she wanted or needed. Plus, she’d rather listen than talk. She didn’t like to stand out, got wizzy if people paid too much attention to her.”
“All right. We’re going to be talking to Jo Jennings.”
“What about the security?” Jamie demanded. “She wouldn’t have turned off the cams, not even for someone she knew. House rule, h and f—hard and fast. Cams on and activated twenty-four/seven.”
“It appears the killer deactivated them, and removed the record discs.”
“Then he’d have to access the control room, and it’s passcoded. He had to know how. He had to know . . .” Already pale, his face seemed to whiten to bone. “He planned it, right along. He scoped her. Did he jam them first?”
“We haven’t gotten that far.”
“Even if he figured how to delete the hard drive, took the disc—and he’d have to have some skills on the e-side for the delete, he’d be on there. He’d still be on there in shadows and echoes. You have the captain on this? You have Feeney?”
“He should be there now, with a team.”
“I want in. Dallas, you have to let me in.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” she said coolly. “Captain Feeney will have autonomy on e-details.”
He got to his feet again, every line in his body tensed. “You won’t block me.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
He remembered himself—and her. “A request.”
“As I said, e-detail is under Feeney’s province. The work’s harder when it’s someone you care about. You already know that.”
His throat worked as he nodded. “When Alice was murdered, Deena was a rock for me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but she just kept being there until I had to. I’m going to be there for her now. I can handle it. In three years when I’m finished college, I’m joining the force. College first, that’s the deal I made, but then I’m going for the badge. I can handle it.”
“Deal with who?”
“With Roarke, since he’s picking up the freight the scholarship doesn’t cover. And you didn’t know that.” The faintest smile came back to his eyes. “I guess he knows how to keep things tight, too.”
“Apparently. If Feeney gives you the nod, I’ve got no problem with it. I’m sorry you lost your friend, Jamie.”
“Do her parents know?”
“They found her this morning.”
He sighed. “I’d like to go over. Not just for the work, but I may be able to help them.”
“They’re with the Whitneys.”
He nodded. “I’m going to go over anyway, speak to the captain. Ask him to let me in.”
“Clean up first. Even e-geeks should have some standards.”
“McNab will be there.” Peabody spoke for the first time, then rose. She crossed to Jamie, hugged him. “You could toss some stuff in a bag, and hang out at our place if you don’t want to be alone here.”
“Maybe. Thanks.” He sighed again. “Yeah, maybe.”
And when he laid his head on Peabody’s shoulder Eve saw there was still a boy in there. “I went to a party last night. Maybe if I’d asked her to go. Maybe—”
“You couldn’t have changed anything.” Peabody drew him back. “We go from here.”
He nodded. “From here.”
He’s going to be thinking of his sister, too,” Peabody commented when they were back in the vehicle. “He won’t be able to help it. Most people get through their lives without violent death touching it. He’s eighteen, and dealt with it three times.”
“Working with EDD might help him deal. If you had a secret guy, would you keep him secret?”
�
��I had such crap luck with guys for such a long stretch a serious date would have been cause for taking out an airtram ad. But Jamie’s right—at least it jibes with my sense—she could keep things tight.”
Eve pulled up at the next address—a well-maintained multi-family building. “She was only sixteen, and going by our current theory very likely infatuated with an older boy. Jaime said she asked about college guys. She had to tell someone something. I vote for the BGPFAE.”
The Jennings’s apartment took up the corner on the third and fourth floor. The woman who answered the door appeared to be harassed. The root might have been, Eve concluded, the shouted argument in full swing. Furious voices—a girl, a boy—blasted down the stairs.
“Yes. What is it?”
“Mrs. Jennings?”
“Yes.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD, and Detective Peabody.”
“God, are the neighbors complaining?” She held out her hands, wrists together. “Will you arrest me if I just go up and bash their heads together? Please, please do. I could use the quiet.”
“May we come in?”
The woman gave the badges the briefest of glances. “Yes, yes. I don’t even know what they’re fighting about now. They’ve been at each other most of the morning about one thing or the other. Peace Day, my ass,” she said with weary bitterness. “Their father’s golfing. Bastard,” she added with the smallest hint of a smile. “Maybe you could just arrest them, then I could have five minutes of peace!”
She shouted the last word, aiming for the stairs. It didn’t make a dent in the noise.
“Mrs. Jennings we’re not here about a complaint.” Why didn’t she tell them to shut the hell up? Eve wondered. “We’re Homicide.”
“I haven’t killed anyone. Yet. Was there an incident in the building?”
“No, ma’am. We’re here about Deena MacMasters?”
“Deena? Why would you . . . Deena?”
Eve watched it sink in, but pushed through. “She was killed early this morning. We understand she and your daughter, Jo, were friends.”
“Deena?” she repeated, backing up. “But how?” She reached up as if to push at her hair. It was already pulled back in a tail, and her fingers stayed at her temple. “Are you sure?”