The In Death Collection, Books 26-29

by J. D. Robb

  He pushed his hands over his face. “Lieutenant, I’ve been a boss for some years, and rarely work the streets. Rarely work cases. I supervise them. That was a deliberate choice on my part. I assist, I advise, I coordinate. I’ve taken primary on an investigation no more than a dozen times in the last six years.”

  “You’re in charge and therefore responsible. That’s both reality and perception.”

  “You’re saying this could have come through any of the cases any of my men worked.”

  “Yes. I believe you had some active part, some visibility or gained some credit. He has not, as far as we know, sought revenge against any of your men. But on you. And the revenge was enacted shortly after your promotion was announced.”

  Now his face was stricken. “He killed her because I got bars?”

  She took the shot, dead-on, unsure if it would shock or revive. “Captain, he was always going to kill her. I’m sorry for it, but that’s the reality.”

  He pushed up, lurched toward the windows to stare out.

  “Go on, Lieutenant,” Whitney ordered.

  “The timing may be important. You were promoted, Captain, and Deena was alone in the house for a period of time. In that part, I do believe he seized an opportunity. I think Dr. Mira’s opinions and theories will be valuable, but until I confer with her, we’ll approach it this way. We’ll go back ten years to start, and begin with terminations and/or arrests and imprisonments resulting in death. Next, arrests or imprisonments resulting in grievous injuries. Then life stretches.”

  She paused as MacMasters stayed where he was, said nothing. Whitney signaled for her to continue.

  “This was no small deal. To murder, to plan, to risk, it had to matter a great deal. We look for a connection to the perpetrator who corresponds with the age zone of our suspect.

  “You get me the names,” she added, “I’ll run them down. Right now, give me the gut. Who pops out?”

  With his back to the room, MacMasters took a breath that shuddered. “Leonard and Gia Wentz. They ran a cookshop, used primarily minors for dealers, to drum up trade around schools and vid dens. I had four detectives on that. We ran an op that busted them in January. Leonard drew down, and there was a brief firefight. Two of my men were injured. He’s doing a hard twenty-five, and she’s in for fifteen.”

  “I remember that. Mid-January. It’s too close. Nothing this year. He stole the ID New Year’s Eve. He was already planning. Go back more.”

  MacMasters turned from the window to pace. “My men do good work. It’s like trying to hold back the tide, but we do good work. We have a solid arrest and conviction rate. Low termination percentage.”

  “Don’t overthink it, Captain. Don’t justify it. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  Eve moved into the kitchen. It wasn’t going to work, she thought. Not yet in any case. He couldn’t pull himself out and think cop. Why should he? How could he?

  But she got coffee together, took it out.

  “We ruin lives,” she said. “If you look at it from the other end, some guy’s doing what he does—raping, killing, stealing, dealing, whatever. It’s what he does, or what he did this time for whatever reason. We come along and we stop him. More, we do whatever we can to put him in a cage for it. He loses his freedom, his scratch. Could lose his home or family if he’s got one. Sometimes if things go south, he loses his life.”

  She drank coffee, hoping she was getting through. “We ruined it. We’re responsible. You’re responsible. Think about the lives you’ve ruined. Think about it that way, not about doing the job, but the results. From the other side.”

  “Okay.” He took the coffee, met her eyes. “Okay. Nattie Simpson. She’s an accountant, nice little place on the Upper East, decent income, husband, one kid. On the side Nattie was dealing illegals and cooking the books for a mid-level operation. When we took it down, we took her down with it. She’s in Rikers doing the last year of five. They lost the nice little place on the Upper East. The husband divorced her two years ago, got full custody of the kid.”

  “How old’s the kid?”

  “He’d be about ten, twelve.”

  “Too young. Maybe she has a brother, a lover. We’ll look at her.”

  MacMasters dragged a hand over his hair. She could see him grasping, reaching, trying to come back. “Maybe this was a hired hit.”

  “I don’t think so. Give me one more name, off the top.”

  “Cecil Banks. Bad guy. Dealt Zeus, hunted runaways and kids who ran the streets, got them hooked, pimped them out. Ran an underage sex business. We worked with SVU on that. When we busted the main operation he tried to rabbit. He went out a window, missed the fire escape, and took a header down four stories. A lot of people lost heavy income and access when we took him and his operations out.”

  “When?”

  “Two years ago last September.”

  “Family?”

  “Ah, yeah. Yeah. He had a couple of women, addicts. Both claimed to be his wife. Neither were, legally. He had a brother, younger brother. He did some running for Cecil, but copped a plea down to rehab and community service. Risso. Risso Banks. He’d be about twenty-two, twenty-three.”

  “They’re not in your threat file.”

  “I was in on the busts, but not as primary. The women made a lot of noise, but nothing that worried me. The kid, the brother? Cried like a baby, which helped him with the plea.”

  “Good. We’ll check it out. That’s what I want you to do. Whatever springs, write it down, note the dates, the basic circumstances. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Lieutenant, what is the probability Deena’s murder is connected to me, to the job? You’d have run that.”

  No way to soften it. And to do so insulted him and his child. “At this time, with the data gathered, the probability is ninety-eight point eight.”

  He sat again, and the mug in his hand trembled slightly. “It’s better to know. Better to know. Do I tell her mother? I have to, but how? How do I tell her mother? We’re planning her memorial. Thursday. It seems too fast, too soon. Thursday. We just couldn’t . . . I’ll write it down. But how do I stand it?”

  He broke. And watching him shatter twisted her heart, her guts. She stood where she was as Whitney went to him, as her commander gently took the mug of coffee, set it aside, and put his arms around MacMasters.

  Whitney looked at her, signaled for her to go.

  She left, headed downstairs. She wanted out, just for a moment, just for a breath of air. When Summerset paused on the bottom landing, some of the anger, some of the pity must have shown on her face before she schooled it away.

  “The loss of a child goes deeper than any,” he said. “It doesn’t pass the way other losses may. However the loss came, a parent looks inward. What could I have done, what didn’t I do? When the loss comes from violence, there are more questions. Every answer you give him is both pain and comfort, but there can’t be any comfort without the pain.”

  “None of the answers I gave him today lead to comfort.”

  “Not yet.”

  When he continued on, Eve simply sat on the steps. She’d take her moment there.

  Before she could take the moment, her ’link beeped. “Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant Dallas, this is Dr. Lapkoff of Columbia University. I spoke with you and your husband last night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d appreciate a few moments of your time today, regarding this matter.”

  “This matter is a homicide investigation.”

  “I’m aware.” Lapkoff’s face remained cool and set. “As portions of that investigation cross my milieu, I’d like to discuss it. This institution will cooperate with you as much as possible. I would appreciate the same from you and your department.”

  “Are you on campus now?”

  “I am.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Eve said and clicked off.

  She took out her communicator to contact Peabody. “Status?”


  “More of those shoes have been sold in the past six months than you’d think. I’m concentrating on New York venues and online sources.”

  “Keep at it then. I’m going to meet with the president of Columbia, then with Mira. After, we’re going to check out a couple of possibles. I’ll swing back and get you, or tell you where to meet me.”

  She clicked off, contacted Mira’s admin. “I need the doctor to meet me rather than come into her office. I’m going to be in the field.”

  “Dr. Mira is—”

  “An essential member of this investigative team. The commander has given this investigation top priority. I need her to meet me at the building housing the offices of the president of Columbia University in an hour.”

  “She can’t make it in an hour. Ninety minutes.”

  “Ninety minutes,” Eve confirmed.

  She drove to Morningside Heights, and to the beauty and the age, the dignity of Columbia. She parked as close as she could manage to Administration, ordered her On Duty light and security on.

  Any campus dick who tried to cite it or move it would be shut down, quick and fast.

  Summer students lolled on the greens, sat near the fountains or strolled along the paths from building to building. Ages ranged from shy of twenty to nearing the century mark. Some of those older were staff, she assumed, but some would be students as well. Furthering their education, going for advanced degrees, taking a short course like a hobby.

  Dress also ranged, she noted, from slick suits to maxicargos, jeans to microskirts. Plenty of ball caps, plenty of University tees and sweats.

  The UNSUB could have blended here so easily, on a campus that sprawled and spread with dignified greens and stately old buildings. Like Central Park, she thought, it was a world within a world where a strange face wouldn’t cause a single lifted eyebrow. Particularly if he looked as if he belonged.

  Know where you’re going and go there. Sit on the grass or a bench and take in the air, or do a little outdoor studying.

  Observing. He’d have observed, even as she was now. The look, the rhythm, the feel.

  She made her way into Administration, offered her badge for scanning. “I have an appointment with Dr. Lapkoff.”

  The guard nodded, read the scan. “She put you on the log, cleared you through.”

  He shifted, gave her quick, concise directions to the office of the president.

  Rarified, Eve thought as she took the stairs. The air, the architecture. The Urban Wars had missed defiling or destroying most of the older buildings here. She imagined there were contemporary touches—cams, security, alarms, animated guides. But they’d tucked them away, out of view so the ambiance was age and tradition.

  Before she’d reached the offices, a man of about thirty in one of those slick suits crossed the wide marble floor and waylaid her.

  “Lieutenant Dallas?” His smile was as slick as his suit, his accent faintly, very faintly, Italian. “I’m Dr. Lapkoff’s administrative assistant. She’d like me to bring you right in.”

  Good-looking guy, she noted, but he’d never pass for nineteen again. And his mocha skin couldn’t be mistaken for white. Too bad, the admin of the president would’ve been an excellent possibility.

  “How many people work in this building, administratively?”

  “In the summer?”

  “No, fall through spring.”

  “I can certainly get you that information. Dr. Lapkoff has an administrative assistant, an executive secretary, and a personal assistant. Each of us also has an assistant. Then, of course, there’s the provost and his staff, the vice presidents and theirs. Right this way.”

  He led her through a reception area and straight into the president’s domain.

  She’d thought it would be more posh and intimidating. Instead, despite its grand scale and dignified antiques, it looked like the office of a very busy woman. It boasted an excellent view of the campus and a stingy seating area comprised of worn furniture and upholstery faded by time and sun.

  Still, the wall of photographs and degrees could project the intimidating. As could the woman who rose from behind a big, cluttered desk.

  Her height and build earned her the term statuesque, and the strong features vied for dominance with the laser blue eyes.

  Eve imagined that piercing look had given recalcitrant students, faculty, and donors alike a good chill.

  “Lieutenant, thank you for coming, and for being so prompt.” She strode around the desk with the gait of a woman who got where she was going with minimum detours and shook Eve’s hand briskly. “Harry, let’s get Lieutenant Dallas some coffee.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “No? You can go Harry. Lieutenant.” She gestured to a chair, then circled behind her desk again. The position of power. “I understand you paid a visit to one of our dorms last night.”

  “Correct.”

  “I asked Darian about it this morning. He’s afraid he might be in trouble, and is considerably upset about the circumstances.”

  “He’s not in trouble with me. The circumstances are upsetting.”

  “They are. Darian is an excellent student with only a few minor infractions. I vetted his record thoroughly and personally this morning. I’m concerned that one of our students was used to commit a crime, and one of this nature. We’ve provided you with the data you re quested.”

  “Appreciated.”

  Lapkoff sat back, smiled a little. The smile softened her face, but the eyes remained bold and sharp. “You’re annoyed with being summoned here, so to speak. I understand. We’re women of position and authority, and being summoned grates.”

  “Murder grates, Dr. Lapkoff, a hell of a lot more.”

  “Yes, it does. I didn’t ask you to come just to satisfy my curiosity. Though I admit I wanted a look at Roarke’s cop. And Jamie Lingstrom’s. I’ve taken an interest in Jamie, as he brought us Roarke.”

  Those piercing blue eyes sparked with amusement for a moment. “Again, so to speak.”

  “Roarke’s taken a personal interest in Jamie.”

  “So I’m told. And I understand from Darian Jamie’s also connected to this girl.” She angled her head. “Another thing I imagine we share is an ability to interrogate and elicit information.” She waited a moment. “And to keep information to ourselves. I appreciated your discretion, Lieutenant, but—”

  She leaned forward again. “This isn’t just my job. This university and all that goes with it are my responsibility. And my passion. The obvious conclusion is this university may be connected to Deena MacMasters’s death. That disturbs me.”

  She paused, shook her head as if impatient. “No, that’s not accurate. It pisses me off. If the person who killed that girl is associated with Columbia, you can believe I want to find out. I want to offer any assistance I can.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “My paternal grandfather was a cop.”

  Eve’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that so?”

  “In St. Paul. His stories fascinated me as a child. He retired a Detective-Inspector. We were very proud of him. Lieutenant.” Peach folded her hands on the desk. “I believe in law and in order—and in a very dry martini. I also believe in this university, what it stands for. Darian and Jamie are what it stands for. Darian is sick with guilt and worry. Jamie, though I haven’t spoken to him, is probably sick with grief. You, Lieutenant, have a reputation for getting things done, and kicking whatever ass needs to be kicked to do it. So do I. This office, and any office or facility at this university are at your disposal.”

  “That’s quite an offer.”

  Now Peach edged forward and those eyes were frosted glass. “I saw the morning reports on the murder.”

  “So it’s out.”

  “They didn’t have much, but enough. They showed her photo.”

  “I hope to have an artist’s rendering of the suspect by end of day. That may lead to a name and location, but unless he’s in the system already, something like
that can take a great deal of time. Do you have imaging programs?”

  “We do.”

  “It’s possible he was a student here at one time, or employed here. It’s possible that if you ran that artist’s rendition through imaging with your database of student and staff IDs, you could match him before we do.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “It can’t be done by anyone on staff. I need a cop to do it. That would take a warrant without your permission and approval on record.”

  “You’ll have both.”

  “That certainly cuts through the bullshit.”

  This time Peach flashed a brilliant grin. “One of my best skills and favorite occupations.”

  “Well then, when we have the sketch I’ll have an EDD man report here for that duty.”

  “I’ll clear it.”

  “I believe the suspect hacked into your student files in April, added his data, or the data he wished, so that any check would show him as a student here. He would have removed that data on or about the day of the murder. A good e-man might be able to find those hacks, and trace.”

  Peach blew out a breath. “All right. It will be a lot of tedious work, I imagine.”

  “That’s a good portion of what we do. Tedium.”

  “Understood. Not so different from what I do. I suppose I was hoping for something more immediate and exciting.”

  “Then you didn’t listen to your grandfather’s stories very closely.”

  She smiled again. “I suspect he juiced them up. Still you get juice. I’m looking forward to reading Nadine Furst’s book on the Icove case.”

  “Hmm.” Eve got to her feet.

  “Lieutenant. While I do believe in law and order, in education and in that dry martini, I also believe in youth—its potential and its brevity, its marvelous thirst. I’m very sorry about Deena MacMasters, very sorry that youth was taken, and that potential ended.”