The In Death Collection, Books 26-29

by J. D. Robb

  “Then let’s make damn sure it’s the last funeral he’s responsible for.”

  18

  WHEN EVE FOUND ROARKE IN HER OFFICE again, she frowned. “Why are you still here?”

  “They don’t need me in EDD at this point. I can deal with some of my own work as easily from here as anywhere, with the benefit of being with my wife.”

  “I’m going back in the field. I have to go by the morgue, then track down the student who sold the suspect his gear.”

  “I’ve nothing more interesting to do.”

  She considered it. She could leave Peabody to write and file the reports, nag the lab, run the probabilities on which target might be next.

  “Fine. You’re with me.”

  “My favorite place.”

  With the work dumped on Peabody, Eve took the morgue first.

  “You don’t need to go in. I don’t expect any surprises here, no revelations. It’s just procedure.”

  “In any case.” He continued down the white tunnel with her. “I remember when we brought Nixie here,” he said, speaking of the little girl whose family had been slaughtered in a home invasion. “Brutal. But then, I suppose, it always is. She’s doing well with Elizabeth and Richard, and young Kevin. They’re making a family. I think she’s able to do that because you gave her resolution.”

  “She’s tough. She’ll make it okay.” She paused outside the doors to Morris’s suite. “The one who’s responsible for what’s in there? He didn’t have to crawl through his mother’s blood like Nixie did, he didn’t have his entire family slaughtered in their own beds. He doesn’t have half Nixie’s spine. He’s weak, and I’m going to give him one hell of a resolution.”

  There, Roarke thought, there she was. She could feel the blame, and the pain—perhaps she needed to—but she could and would always come back to purpose.

  Morris wore mourning black today, with a shirt of deep red. Music wove quietly through the air as he closed the Y-cut on Karlene with sure strokes.

  “You’re done with her?”

  “I started on her immediately. Hello, Roarke.”

  “Morris. How are you?”

  “Better than I was. I hoped I wouldn’t see either of you until the wedding, and under much happier circumstances. I pushed the tox screen,” he told Eve. “And found the same combination, though I might have missed it if I hadn’t been specifically looking. She’d been dosed approximately six and a half hours prior to death, and in a lesser amount than our first.”

  “He realized he didn’t need her to be out as long,” Eve concluded. “And he didn’t have as much time to work on her. Or didn’t want to take as much time.”

  “Other than that, and the use of elasticized cord rather than police restraints, his method remains the same. Bound, ankles and wrists. Ankle restraints removed and reapplied. Multiple rapes, vaginal and anal, an almost casual beating considering the violence of the rapes. Sporadic smothering and choking. COD manual strangulation. She fought. As evidenced by the abrasions, lacerations, contusions on her wrists and ankles.”

  “He varies in small ways to suit the circumstances, but sticks with the overall method.”

  “There’s one other variation,” Morris said. “She was pregnant.”

  “Shit.” It punched straight through her. “Goddamn it.”

  “Under a week along. She may not have known.”

  Eve shoved at her hair. She didn’t bother to curse again. “Her people are going to come in. Her parents, her cohab. They were getting married Saturday.”

  Morris released a long sigh. “Fate’s a cruel bastard.”

  “Fuck fate, people are cruel bastards. There’s no need to tell her people about the pregnancy, unless they ask. Not yet anyway.”

  “No, there’s not.” He stepped back. “First the virgin, now the bride.”

  “What?” Eve’s head came up, her eyes sharpened. “Wait. What comes after?”

  “After?”

  “Virgin, bride—what’s next? If it’s a kind of progression. Logical, organized. What’s after bride?”

  “Newlywed,” Morris suggested.

  “Wife. For some . . .” Roarke looked down at Karlene with pity. “Pregnancy, motherhood. A cynic might say divorce often fits in there at some point.”

  “It might be a way of selecting the order, even the specific vic. You drive. I want to work it. Thanks, Morris.”

  She had her PPC out even as she strode back down the tunnel.

  “It would be monumentally fortunate from his point of view,” Roarke said, “for him to be able to find the proper victims for the sort of progression you’re proposing.”

  “I don’t think so. They don’t have to be female—though I imagine he prefers. Newlywed—either sex. Then you could say husband instead of wife, expectant father, and so on. He’s got kids, grandkids, siblings, parents—maybe extended family—to choose from.”

  She slid into the car. “I told Peabody to work probability on stage of contact. MacMasters, then the CS supervisor, the CS rep, the PD. Maybe he’s picking them in order of appearance. Or maybe this way. But there has to be some sort of selection process. A timetable, for trolling them, researching them, arranging the meet, developing the relationship. And there’s overlap. He contacted Karlene while he was working Deena. Started the second round before finishing the first.”

  “So, by that criteria, he’s started round three.”

  “Yeah, and maybe beyond that. I figured the PD most likely, and we’re on her, but she doesn’t have anyone who fits this other progression.” Eve shook her head as she scanned the data. “She’s been divorced six years, no kids. She has a sister, married over twenty-five years—that’s no newlywed. A niece and a nephew, neither married.”

  “You don’t have to be married to be pregnant, or to have a relationship that results in a pregnancy.”

  “Good point. Could be one of them for that stage if so, could be the sister for the wife—the long-term kind. We’ll keep them covered, but I don’t think they’re next.”

  “Speaking of next, where am I going?”

  “Hmm? Columbia. I need to find the clerk. She lists a dorm as her address, and the retail place as her employment. She hasn’t answered her ’link and hasn’t returned any of Peabody’s requests for contact. I just want to tie that one up.”

  “Then why not go to the orchard?”

  “Trees?”

  “And pick a Peach.” He used the in-dash ’link to do it himself.

  Dressed in a power-red suit and shoes that emphasized her height— and made Eve’s ankles throb when she noted them—Peach Lapkoff waited outside the administration building. Those razor-sharp eyes took on a sultry hue as she held out both hands to Roarke.

  “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  Eve stood by, brows raised as they bussed cheeks. “And you,” Roarke said. “You look brilliant.”

  “I’m off to reach into the deep pockets of some alumni shortly. It’s best to look the part. Lieutenant.” She offered Eve her hand. “I’ve found Fiona. She’s been in a two-day retreat. No communication devices allowed. I’ve had her pulled out, as it seemed important enough to interrupt. She’ll be brought here. I wasn’t sure if you’d require my office, or some other area.”

  “It’s not necessary. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “I heard the reports that there’d been another murder. Another young woman raped and murdered.”

  “We can’t confirm the cases are connected.”

  “The media doesn’t have a problem throwing out speculations about a serial killer, targeting young women. We have a lot of young women on campus. There’s serious concern.”

  “I’d advise your students and staff to take sensible precautions. But the media’s claims or speculations have no confirmation from the NYPSD.”

  Peach continued to stare at Eve as if trying to X-ray her brain. “I was worried when you requested Fiona Wallace be located. That you might have reason to believe she’s in
some danger.”

  “Absolutely not. It pertains to a sale she made last March in Sports Center that may connect to the investigation.”

  “I’m relieved.” Peach’s gaze shifted over Eve’s head. “Here she comes.”

  “Do you recognize all your students on sight, Dr. Lapkoff?”

  “Peach,” she said. “No, I don’t, but I looked her up when you requested I locate her. Miss Wallace.”

  “Dr. Lapkoff.” The girl was no more than twenty with skin pale as the moon and what looked to be several pounds of red hair piled on top of her head. She was slightly out of breath from, Eve concluded, the trip across campus and fear at being summoned by the president.

  “You’re not in any trouble.” The power female took on a faint maternal tone. “And you won’t be penalized for the time out of the retreat. This is Lieutenant Dallas, with the NYPSD. She hopes you can help her.”

  “Help?”

  “Yes. Would you like me to step away, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s not necessary. You work at Sports Center.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m a year-round student, and I work there to help with living expenses. I’ve worked there for over a year now.”

  “You were working there on March thirty-first.”

  “Ah. I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “You sold several items to this man.” Eve drew out the sketch. “Do you remember him?”

  “I’m not sure. Exactly. It’s over two months ago, and we’re a really popular store. It can get really busy.”

  “I have a list of what he bought. It might help you remember.” Eve started down the list, saw Fiona blink when she got to the shoes. “You remember?”

  “I do. It was a really big sale, and the shoes are really high. I remember because I told him they were going on sale, for one day, in just another week. Ten percent, and that’s a lot when they go for three and a half bills, you know? But he wanted them right then. He looked a little different from this picture. That’s why I didn’t recognize him right away.”

  “How so?”

  “His hair was a lot longer, and wavy. He had mag hair. He was really cute. I guess I flirted with him a little, the way you do, asked if he lived on campus, and what his major was. I think he said he was living off campus. He was nice, but he didn’t flirt back, so I figured he was seeing someone or I didn’t push the buzzer for him. I made some joke about him hitting the jackpot or something because he was buying so much. I remember he smiled, because, wow, killer smile. And he said—because I thought it was funny—clothes make the man. It seemed like a weird thing to say when he’s buying sweatshirts and that kind of thing. I bagged it all up, and he left.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, Fiona. Thanks.”

  “Did he do something illegal?”

  “We’re interested in talking to him. If you do see him, do me a favor. Don’t approach him, and contact me.” Eve handed her a card.

  “Sure. Should I go back to the retreat now?”

  “Yes,” Peach told her. “Straight back.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did that help?” Peach asked as Fiona hurried off.

  “It confirms some information, continues to establish pattern, and tells me he’s got smug going up against careful, and sometimes smug wins. Yeah, that’s helpful. As you’ve been. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy I could help, and I hope the media reports, very soon, that you’ve arrested this man.”

  “So do I.”

  When they reached the car, Roarke asked, “What next?”

  “I need to go back over the list of names and data of those connected with the Irene Schultz arrest. I need to talk to them, all of them, and try to figure out his next target.”

  “They don’t all live in New York.”

  “No.” She got into the car. “But he’s got, apparently, an endless supply of IDs, and credit to go with them. Maybe his next target’s in New York, maybe not. I need to interview all the connections to possible targets to try to work it out.”

  “Not all the connections live in New York either, or in the city. You could, of course, shuttle around to and from, or conduct the interviews via ’link.”

  “I’d rather a face-to-face, but it’s not practical, so most of it will have to be by ’link. The problem is people expand. They get married and/or have kids. The kids do the same. Or they have sibs who do it. In twenty-odd years, you’ve got a horde spiraling out of one person.”

  “People and their propensity for progeny.” Amused at her, Roarke shook his head. “What can be done?”

  “What I’d like to do is get them all into Central, take them one at a time, then if necessary, pool them altogether, to see if one person’s answers jogs something salient from another.”

  “I can arrange that.”

  She slanted him a bland look as he drove them home. “What? You’ll have everyone transported to Central—from wherever they happen to be? Not only impractical, but plenty of them won’t go for it. Another problem with people is they have lives, and can get fussy when asked to put them on hold to aid in a police investigation they may or may not believe really involves them.”

  “There’s transporting,” he said, “and there’s transporting.”

  “Well, sure, your transports are all slick and shiny, but—”

  “Eve, while I often have to travel for business, or have someone brought in, how much more often do I conduct business halfway around the world, even off planet, without leaving New York?”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got . . .” She had a sudden memory of walking into his office unannounced while he conducted a meeting. A holographic meeting. “It could work,” she considered. “We don’t use holo for interviews generally because if you’re dealing with a suspect, even witnesses in some cases, the defense will try to get anything gathered by that method tossed. It’s tricky because it can be manipulated. You want to make it solid, you need a confession or hard evidence face-to-face, on record. But this . . .”

  “You’re not looking for a confession, not interviewing suspects, or even people of interest.”

  “Yeah, it could work. I’ll want to run it by an APA, make sure there’s no procedural angle I need to cover. If any information I get leads to an arrest, we don’t want some slick lawyer trying to claim the information was tainted, therefore, blah, blah. But I think we can do this.”

  “You used holo on Ricker.”

  “Yeah, and he’s already doing life without possibility of parole. They can try to dance around the method for slapping him with conspiracy on Coltraine. But you order a cop’s murder, from the inside of an off-planet penal colony where holo-visitations and legal consultations are allowed? It’s going to be hard for anyone to argue the method, and I cleared it first. Cleo wasn’t part of the holo, and she was allowed to view it. I didn’t use any evidence, per se, from the holo in drawing her confession, and I, again, cleared it first. The judge already tossed her lawyer’s petition to dismiss on that one.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I think we can use this, if the parties agree. I’d save hours of time, and have the next-best to face-to-face. I just need to make sure our ass is covered on it.”

  “You cover the asses, and I’ll set it up.”

  “How long to set it up?”

  “The basic program, twenty minutes at most. Then I’d need the coordinates of those you want to bring in. It would take a few minutes to triangulate each holo.”

  “It bears repeating. You’re handy to have around.” She took out her ’link and contacted APA Cher Reo.

  There was, as expected, some legal jumbo. But even with it, she would save considerable time. She continued to consult with Reo as she walked into the house, and thought one advantage to legal crap was the opportunity to totally ignore Summerset.

  Once she got the nod, she began making the contacts and arrangements. She’d hit the halfway point w
hen Roarke beeped through. “The program’s set, in the holo-room. I need those coordinates.”

  “I’ll bring them to you. Peabody can make the rest of the contacts. Five minutes.”

  She routed the rest to her partner, then gathered what she needed. She used the elevator, and stepped out into a larger and somehow swankier version of her home office.

  “Hmm.”

  “Appearances can count. One of these days, you might consider replacing that desk of yours with a workstation like this one.”

  She frowned at the dark, shiny surface of the U-shaped console, its built-in D and C unit and sleek control panel.

  “I like my desk.”

  “Yes, I know.” He kissed her lightly, then pointed to a table at the rear of the room. “Have a sandwich.”

  “We have sandwiches?”

  “Eat. You can station yourself at the desk, if you like. Knowing you, I assume you’ll be on your feet most of the time. Your interview subject can be placed at any chair, or the sofa. The unit here, and the wall screen are both fully operational should you need them.”

  Slick, she thought. Very slick. “It has to be recorded.”

  “It will be.”

  Because he pointed at the table again, she picked up a sandwich. “Let’s bring Peabody in first.”

  He nodded, used his own ’link.

  “Peabody.” Peabody’s face went glowy at the sight of Roarke. “Oh, hey. Hi!”

  “Hi. The lieutenant would like you to join us.”

  “Okay. Wow. I’ve never holo’d before.”

  “I’ll be gentle,” he said and made her giggle. “There. I have you. Initiating.”

  Little dots of lights swirled, then the swirl became Peabody.

  “Oh. Gee. That was easy. It didn’t feel weird.” She looked around, blinking. “It is weird, but it didn’t feel weird. What’s that?”

  “What? It’s a sandwich.”

  “Oh, it’s a panini. It really looks good.”

  “There’s more over there. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Peabody turned to the table, reached out, and her hand passed straight through sandwich and tray. “That was just mean. I can’t help myself because I’m not really here. But I am here. I don’t understand holo-science. Every time McNab tries to explain it to me, my brain goes to sleep.”