The In Death Collection, Books 26-29

by J. D. Robb

But he’d aged, Eve thought. Years in a matter of days. He’d gone from lanky to gaunt, from steady to brittle.

  “Early Sunday morning my daughter Deena was brutally murdered in her own home. In her own room. In her own bed. She was sixteen years old, a beautiful, bright, loving young woman who had never in her short life caused harm. She was our only child. She loved music and shopping and spending time with her friends. Deena was a normal teenager, with hopes and dreams—and those hopes and dreams as they often are for the young—were to change the world.”

  His smile was heartbreaking.

  “She was a little shy, and still passionate about her desire to help others. Family and friends who have come or called to comfort my wife and myself speak first, almost always, of Deena’s sweet nature. It’s a testament to her.

  “I have been a police officer half my life. I believe the police will bring Deena’s killer to justice. I ask you, as a police officer who has sworn to serve and protect, and as a father who was unable to protect his only child, to contact the NYPSD if you have any information on the person who murdered Deena.”

  Questions rang out, of course, as he stepped away despite the instructions of the liaison. Eve ignored them as she stepped to the podium. She stood, silent, stony-eyed, until they faded away.

  “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and the primary investigator in the matter of the murder of Deena MacMasters. A full team of investigators, from Homicide, EDD, and support services, is working this case. We are pursuing all leads, and will continue to do so until the individual who murdered Deena MacMasters is identified, apprehended, and charged. We believe Deena MacMasters knew her killer. We believe she admitted him into the house on the Saturday evening, at which time her killer incapacitated her with a drug added to her soft drink. He then bound and raped her repeatedly over a period of several hours before strangling her. The investigative team will work diligently until we are able to exact justice for Deena MacMasters.”

  The questions rained again.

  “Why do you think she knew her killer?”

  “From statements given by her family, her neighbors, and her friends, we don’t believe Deena would have opened the door to a stranger, especially when she was alone in the house. Evidence leads us to conclude the attack occurred inside the house, and that Deena was unconscious and unable to defend herself or attempt to defend herself prior to being bound.”

  “What evidence?”

  “I will not discuss specific evidence on an ongoing investigation.”

  She continued, answering questions, dismissing others, circling more.

  “Lieutenant! Nadine Furst with Now! and Channel Seventy-five. How is the rape-murder of Karlene Robins, whose body was discovered this morning in SoHo, connected to Deena MacMasters?”

  It was a perfectly timed bomb. Reporters scrambled, shouting, checking ’links and PPCs.

  “I’m here to answer questions pertaining to the investigation of the Deena MacMasters homicide.”

  “And I just gave you one.” Nadine pushed forward. “Isn’t it true that the body of another victim was found only this morning? That she, too, was bound, raped, murdered by strangulation?”

  Eve’s stare might have bored through steel. “We have not determined if the two cases are connected.”

  “But there are very specific parallels.”

  “And there are specific differences.”

  “What differences?”

  Eve allowed the leading edge of anger to snap out. “I cannot and will not discuss the details of either of these investigations.”

  “Do you believe these two women were victims of a serial sexual predator?”

  The bomb shot shrapnel throughout the room. Eve shouted over the chaos. “We have drawn no such conclusion. We have drawn no conclusion at this time that these cases are related.”

  “But you don’t discount the possibility of serial. Or copycat.”

  “I will not speculate. I will not feed you—any of you—speculation or conclusions so you can bump your ratings. Two women—one barely old enough to qualify for the term—are dead. That should be enough to spin your current media cycle.”

  She strode away, fury in every step.

  “Lieutenant!” Whitney’s sharp command stopped her. “With me. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She followed him into the media ready room, where he closed the door.

  “Well. Your performance was exceptional. I hope to God it generates exceptional results.”

  “We couldn’t keep a lid on the Robins homicide for long. Bringing it out like this, it makes it look like we’re caught flat-footed, like we’re still a dozen steps behind. If he thinks we’re looking at serial or copycat, he’ll feel smug. We have a chance at the memorial tomorrow. And we may be able to get a line on him through the connections. One or more members of the connected families may have been approached by him in some way. If he thinks he’s still got room, he may try for the next on his list, and soon.”

  “Work it. Brief your team. And consider yourself thoroughly dressed down for allowing a media leak of this nature to get through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She headed straight to her office, putting what she hoped was enough restrained fury on her face, in her stride, to ward off any cops who might approach her to offer support, or to wheedle information.

  Roarke turned from the AutoChef as she slammed her office door to punctuate the moment. He held out a mug of coffee.

  “Victor, spoils,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Just a little reward for your part in that well-timed duet. I think it should play very well, and be lapped up by most. On the other hand, I know you, and Nadine. She wouldn’t have ambushed you that way, and you’d have taken her down harder if she had.”

  “Let’s hope the intended audience does some of the lapping. I don’t like using Karlene Robins that way.”

  “It doesn’t diminish the truth, or what you’ll do.”

  “A day late for her, and a hell of a lot more than a dollar short.”

  She would think that way, he knew. It made her what she was. “I hear—as the grapevine climbs quickly—that you were already taking steps to inform and protect those connected to this old MacMasters arrest when you were called to the scene of this second murder.”

  “I knew it was connected to MacMasters, something on the job. I knew it was personal, and I believed it was a mirror of another crime. But it took me two days to find it.”

  “Eve, don’t do this. The data wasn’t there to be found. There was no Irene Schultz to show up on your search of rape-murder victims. The very nature of who these people are—were—may be tomorrow—makes it tricky and time-consuming to find them. Consider the fact you found this connection at all, and will save the lives of other targets.”

  “I know you can’t save them all. I know it. But when you have to swallow that hours would have made the difference, it doesn’t go down easy. She was getting married on Saturday. Robins.”

  “Ah. Well.” Following instinct he put his hands on her shoulders, drew her in.

  “I’m standing in that apartment where she lived with the man she was marrying in a couple days, and I’m seeing all that wedding junk. Like at Louise’s. Goddamn it, Roarke.”

  He said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

  “I know you can’t save them all,” she repeated. “I know you can’t catch them all, and even some you catch will slither through the system. But this one’s not going to. Sick, smug son of a bitch.”

  “All right then. What’s next?”

  She stepped away. “We interview all those involved in the Irene Schultz matter, and we find out if he’s made contact with anyone’s daughter, son, sister, brother, mother, father, second cousin twice removed. We set up for tomorrow’s memorial. We work the case. We push on the electronics. And why aren’t you huddled with your EDD pals?”

  “We’ll discuss that at the briefing.”

  “Then le
t’s get started.”

  In the conference room, Eve gave a brief overview of the investigation for the benefit of the members she’d added to the team. She followed it with a report on the early steps of the Robins case.

  “Peabody.”

  “After the notification to Hampton, I went to City Choice. I spoke with the vic’s supervisor and two of her coworkers. None of them could identify the suspect by the pictures we have. It’s not unusual for a client not to come in to the offices, and in fact, more usual for the real estate agent to meet same at a property or another location.”

  “Handy for him.”

  “All three individuals I spoke with recall the vic speaking of a Drew Pittering, and one, specifically recalls the vic telling her she’d tapped a new client when he contacted her. Her office log lists a contact from Pittering on May fifteenth, with the note he was looking most specifically for space in SoHo, and his preferences for same. It also lists meeting him at two properties in that sector, and providing him with two virtual tours of other locations. Finally, it lists her appointment with him at the SoHo loft for nine-thirty a.m., yesterday.”

  “Reineke, Jenkinson, you’ll follow up with the other properties, knock on doors, show the photo. Peabody,” she repeated.

  “EDD has all the electronics from her home and her work space, as well as those from the crime scene. With a grief counselor I notified the victim’s parents.” She let out a breath. “Um. When questioned, Jaynie Robins did not immediately recall Irene Schultz or the case. She agreed to come into Central today to speak with the lieutenant, and stated she would look through her archive of case notes and files to try to refresh herself on the matter. The fact is, she was pretty shaken up, and I’m not sure she was taking in any of the details on this old case. I left them with the grief counselor, and they’ll be escorted in shortly.”

  “Okay. Good work. Feeney, progress?”

  “I’m going to pass this to the civilian.”

  When Eve looked toward Roarke, Feeney shook his head. “Wrong civilian. Brief the lieutenant, Jamie.”

  “McNab and I have been putting in some long hours on this, and back with Feeney and Roarke and a couple of the others upstairs. But we just couldn’t figure any way to speed the cleaning process. Not with the extent of the corruption. Then Roarke said something about trying to split another matrix clone on a second JPL and merge texels with the corrupted pixels and stir up the ppi to defuck the bitmapping.”

  “Did you say defuck?” Eve asked. “Is that a technical term?”

  “Ah, it just sort of expresses the procedure. See, for this particular application, the regions are made up of supixels, and when infected the standard triad—”

  “Stop the madness.” She resisted, barely, just slapping her hands over her ears. “I’m begging you.”

  “Well, it’s frosty max if you get how it works and why. When Roarke talked about the clone and merge, I started thinking maybe we could go rad and do a merge and ramp, input an HIP to counteract, then extrapolate, do the clone, and restart the defuck from that point.”

  “Makes me proud,” Feeney said as Eve pressed her fingers to her eyes.

  “Will somebody just give me the progress. In English?”

  “Picture’s worth a thousand. Put it up, Jamie,” Feeney ordered.

  “Roger that.” Using a remote, Jamie displayed an image on screen.

  Eve shifted, stepped back. There, on screen, Darrin Pauley was captured in midstep as he climbed the stairs to the victim’s front door. He wore a cap, which she identified as from Columbia, shades, and a shy smile. Deena, young, pretty, beaming, stood in the open doorway, her hand held out for his.

  “Excellent,” Eve murmured.

  “Bloody brilliant,” Roarke stated.

  “I wouldn’t’ve thought of it if you hadn’t started the ball.” Jamie nodded toward Roarke. “And you were the one who actually did the conversion and—”

  Roarke shot a finger at Jamie. “Bloody brilliant.”

  “Well.” Though he shrugged, pleasure shone on Jamie’s face. “Yeah.”

  “The PA will have to be a complete screwup not to cage this bastard for First Degree. But we have to catch him first. Can you do the same with the SoHo security?”

  “Now that we’ve identified the virus, have the process?” Feeney bared his teeth in a smile. “We’ll have all of the MacMasters and the SoHo vids for you before end of shift.”

  “Nice work, all of you. Damn nice work. He’s wearing a backpack, handy for holding his supplies. The same shoes the wit ID’d from the park.”

  “That brings me to retail,” Peabody put in. “I’ve got a strong lead on the shoes, and the rest. An outlet right on campus, which unfortunately screwed my downtown hunch. The shoes, the sweatshirt, sweatpants, cap, shades, backpack, airboard, several T-shirts, and a windbreaker were purchased there by a Donald Petrie, on March thirty-first.”

  “Address?”

  “The address that came up is in Ohio, and actually is the home of one Donal Petri, age sixty-eight, who was pretty steamed when he got the charges for a bunch of stuff from a college outlet in New York. He reported the fraud in mid-April upon getting the bill. I’ve got the name of the clerk whose ID number was on the sale. I haven’t yet been able to contact. She’s a student at the university.”

  “We’ll run it down. Tomorrow’s memorial,” Eve continued and outlined the plan.

  Toward the end of the briefing, Eve received word the Robinses were being escorted into Central. Because she wanted privacy, she directed them to be taken to Interview A. She gathered the case file on Irene Schultz and the mug shot.

  She found them sitting together at the table, hands linked. She supposed the best term for the way they looked would be shell-shocked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Robins, I’m Lieutenant Dallas. You remember Detective Peabody. We want to thank you for coming in like this, and to offer our sincere sympathy for your loss.”

  “I talked to her yesterday morning.” Jaynie’s voice quavered. “When she was on her way to . . . that appointment. I wanted to tell her my sister and her family were getting in this morning. My niece, her cousin, is one of the bridesmaids. We were going to have a get-together tonight. She was so excited. About the wedding, and she was so confident she’d make this sale. She was so happy.”

  “She talked to you about this man?”

  “Not really. She just said it was the perfect client for the perfect property, and the sale would be the perfect wedding gift. I have her dress, her wedding dress.” Disbelief swirled with the grief in Jaynie’s eyes. “I’m keeping it because she doesn’t want Tony to see it. It’s in the closet in her bedroom at home.”

  Peabody put a cup of water on the table, laid a hand on Jaynie’s shoulder before taking her seat across the table.

  “He didn’t care about her, Mrs. Robins. But I do.” Eve waited until the woman looked at her again, focused on her. “I care about Karlene, and with your help I’m going to find the person responsible and see that he pays for what he did to her.”

  “She didn’t do anything to him.” Owen Robins stared out of shattered eyes. “She never hurt anyone.”

  “He doesn’t care,” Eve repeated. “Not about Karlene, not about sixteen-year-old Deena MacMasters. He cares about what he sees as payback. He cares about hurting everyone he believes took something from him. Irene Schultz. That’s all he cares about.”

  Eve took the photo from the file, laid it on the table. “I need you to try to remember her.”

  “I looked back at my archives. It was so long ago. I believed in the work, believed in putting the welfare and best interest of the child above all. Still, it was never easy to remove a child from the home, even when it was best. I lasted almost ten years. A long time. Then we moved to Brooklyn, and I counsel families. I try to help. I always did.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t really remember her, this woman. Not clearly, I’m sorry. There were so many. Too many. M
y notes, I brought them. You can have them. I made note that the living conditions seemed very good, and the child well-cared for. Temporary removal was based on the mother’s arrest, and the suspicion that the father was complicit. There were no friends or relatives, so the boy was placed with a foster family. And he was returned to the father within forty-eight hours. I don’t understand how he could take my child’s life because I put him in a safe place for two days. He wasn’t harmed.”

  “Do you remember anything about the father?”

  “I have in my notes he was upset, but polite. That he appeared to relate well to the child, showed concern for him. He packed toys and clothes for the child himself, and soothed the boy when he said good-bye. I would have testified to that in court, had it become necessary.”

  Her lips trembled until she had to press them hard together to still them. “It’s important to make note of the relationship, the environment. I have in my notes that in the initial observation he appeared to be a good parent. As he was cleared of any knowledge of his wife’s illegal activities, the child was returned to him. There were no follow-ups, and the case was closed.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  “It’s no help. None of it helps Karlene.”

  “I think your notes and impressions will be a great help. I’m going to have you taken back home. I have to ask you not to speak to the media. They’ll come, they’ll push. For the sake of other children he may have targeted, I’m going to ask you to say nothing to anyone about this conversation. For the best interest of the child, Mrs. Robins.”

  “You’ll keep us informed about . . . you’ll tell us?”

  “You have my word.” Rising, she went to the door, signaled the uniforms waiting. “These officers will take you back home.”

  “We need to go to Tony.”

  “They’ll take you there. They’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  Peabody watched them go. “It was good of you to tell them they helped. They really didn’t.”

  “We can’t know what might help.”

  “It breaks my heart, Dallas. Instead of going to their daughter’s wedding, they’ll go to her funeral.”