by Robb, J. D.
“Why did she wait so long to take the kids?”
“She had to find her sister. Maybe she started the hunt while she was vamping the idiot doctor. She has to find them, scope things out, get a place she can keep them.”
“How was he killed?”
“Stabbed. Like her father—and like the father, like the nanny, she carved her little witch symbol on his chest. The cops over there haven’t been able to trace her. Edquist’s body wasn’t found for three days. He’d taken vacation time, so nobody was looking for him. She had plenty of time to get gone. Plenty of time to track Tosha and plan the rest.”
Eve took out her signaling ’link again. “Contact Jenkinson, let him and Reineke know we’re setting up here.”
“Eve.” Mira came on. “I was able to reach out to the head of the institution in Stockholm. He believes Maj Borgstrom may be responsible for the deaths of two psychiatrists, father and son, who treated her.”
“I got the second one, stabbed during burglary, with a heavy suspicion the suspect vamped—Peabody’s term—the doctor.”
“The term’s likely accurate. The senior doctor treated her for nearly eighteen years, with limited success. Though during her first few years she displayed violent behavior, had to be restrained or given sedation, she learned to control the behavior. The key is control,” Mira stressed. “And to use that control for gain. More privileges. Though she expressed remorse for her actions, the senior doctor considered this a mask. His son began to assist in her treatment about five years ago, and disagreed with his father’s analysis.”
Mira paused. “We’ll make a long story short. Less than thirty minutes after a session with the suspect—which was recorded—the senior doctor died of an apparent cardiac arrest. He was alive when she left his office, but there are a number of medications or combination of medications on site that could induce a heart attack. The suspect had spent considerable time in the infirmary, and in fact, had studied alternative medicine while confined.”
“Not enough to lay it on her.”
“No, there wasn’t enough. The younger doctor took over her case and her treatment.”
“And had her released to a halfway facility. Six months later, he’s dead, she’s gone.”
“Yes. Eve, there were two more deaths at the institution during her last ten years there. One patient, one medical. There wasn’t enough evidence to charge her.”
“Stabbings?”
“The patient, yes. The medical initially looked like an accidental overdose, but was ruled homicide.”
“And still she gets a pass to a halfway house?”
“I’ll send you the case files. In talking with the head of psychiatry, and with his permission reading some of the first Dr. Edquist’s findings, I can tell you she’s paranoid delusional. She believes her sister’s very existence diminishes her, threatens her. Where most healthy twins form a bond, she sees her sister as an opposing force. She needs to eradicate her in order to be completely whole, to reach her true potential.”
“Then why not just kill the sister? Why take the kids?”
“It may be to punish, to torture. She has strong sadistic tendencies. She may delude herself into replacing her sister as their mother. Taking what belongs to her sister, as she might a doll or an outfit. This is mine now.”
“So they’d likely be safe, unharmed.”
“For now. But her sister still exists, and from her sister came the children.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
“I want to review all the data I have. It may help us see her, and her purposes and actions, more clearly.”
“Get back to me whenever you have more.”
She went back to the living room to see Baxter and Trueheart working with Peabody to set up a temporary HQ.
Baxter, a solid detective despite looking like a model for an upscale men’s fashion designer, muscled the murder board in place with Trueheart’s assistance.
Trueheart, with his young hero’s face and squared-away uniform, had come a long way under Baxter’s training, Eve thought. She liked the contrast of them, in looks—and the dynamics in how they worked as a team.
“Nearly got the comps set up,” Peabody told her as she worked. “I should be able to rig it so we can use the wall screen there.”
“If she can’t, the geek squad’s on its way.” Baxter lifted a bag. “Disc bag, laser pointers, and anything else we could think of. Nice digs,” he commented. “But why the remote HQ?”
“Our strongest lead is that toy,” Eve began.
“The Jamboree.” Curious, Trueheart picked one up. “Cassie’s little brother has one,” he said referring to his current girlfriend. “Fun stuff.”
“It may end up saving those kids. How far is Feeney behind you?”
As if in answer, Feeney, his suit rumpled, his hair a small ginger and silver explosion over his droopy face, walked in just ahead of the colorfully clad McNab and Callender.
McNab sent Peabody a wink, which Eve chose to ignore. She might never get used to the intimate byplay between those lovebirds, but she didn’t have time to rag on them.
Besides, he carried a tote she assumed held tools of the e-trade.
This would be her core team, she thought. Peabody, Baxter, Trueheart, Feeney—McNab in his screaming orange baggies and shirt of daffodil and kiwi stripes—and Callender, her curvy body snugged into red skin-pants, and her pockets crowding over a long, sleeveless vest covered with silver stars.
Peabody straightened in her pink cowgirl boots and ordered the comp to print the various ID shots for the murder board.
They might resemble a motley crew, Eve thought, but they were some of the best cops in the department.
“Start setting up the board, Peabody, while I brief the team.”
GALA SAT ON THE FLOOR BETWEEN THE BEDS PLAYING WITH her doll. It wasn’t her favorite doll. The evil witch hadn’t brought Princess Elsa. But it was good to have Miss Zelda with her.
She was so scared, and she wanted Mommy. She wanted to be home having a tea party with Darcia.
But Darcia had gone to heaven. She hoped they had tea parties in heaven.
Behind her Henry played with blocks. But he wasn’t really playing, just as she wasn’t really playing. He built a fort, and in it he tried very hard to call the good witch.
Daddy said good beat the pants off evil, so they needed the good witch to come beat the pants off the evil witch.
Gala told Henry they should pretend to be good until the good witch came. Then maybe the evil witch wouldn’t make them drink any more of the stuff that made them feel sick and tired.
And she would be brave, like Henry, and sit in front of the fort so the bad witch saw her playing when she came in again. And Henry could hide the Jamboree.
But when the door opened she wanted to cry. She wanted Mommy and the bad witch looked like Mommy.
She’s not Mommy! Henry shouted in her head.
Crying now, Gala hugged Miss Zelda close.
“Cry baby, cry baby.” Maj sang it. “Keep it up and I’ll give you something to cry about, you stupid, ungrateful baby. Didn’t I give you cookies? Didn’t I give you cakes?”
Reaching down, she yanked the doll out of Gala’s hands. Smiling, she took a knife out of her pocket, held it to the doll’s throat. “If you cry, I’ll cut her head off. Do you want me to do that? Do you want to kill her?”
“No! Please, don’t hurt Miss Zelda! I won’t cry. I won’t, I won’t.”
“Miss Zelda. That’s a stupid name for a stupid doll.” Maj hurled it across the room, and zeroed in on Henry.
He jumped to his feet behind his fort, and stood quivering, hands balled into little fists.
“I don’t like the look on your face, pojke. Maybe I’ll cut your sister’s head off.” She grabbed Gala, waved the knife. “How about that? You’d better show me some respect or I’ll cut her throat just like I did your precious nanny’s.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He choked it out, could h
ardly get his breath.
“What? What did you say? Stop mumbling.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“That’s better.” She shoved Gala aside so the little girl fell. But she didn’t cry. She trembled, but she didn’t cry.
The evil witch smiled as she circled the knife in the air. “What are you doing there, Henry?”
“We . . . we’ve been playing. I built a fort.”
“Is that what you call it?” Lunging forward, she kicked at the blocks, sent them tumbling and flying. “It doesn’t look much like a fort to me. You don’t know how to build anything. You don’t know how to do anything. You’re stupid.”
Her eyes burned when she saw his gaze shift to the knife. She waved it again. “Would you like to get your hands on this, pojke? Would you like to hurt me with this?”
Yes, yes! he said in his head, and hearing him, Gala crawled over to him.
Don’t, Henry. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
He swallowed hard. “We’re not allowed to play with knives.”
“Is that right?” Deliberately, Maj flicked the knife against his arm, laughing, laughing when he jolted back in shock, when tears of fear and pain sprang into his eyes. “I am! I can play with knives all I want. You remember that, little boy. Remember that, little girl.”
And the most horrible thing happened. They watched her as she licked Henry’s blood off the knife, and smiled.
“Delicious! Now, I have things to do. I’m a very busy woman. Later I’ll bring you something to eat. Maybe more cakes and cookies. Or maybe worms and bugs. Whatever I bring, you’ll eat or I’ll slice off your piggy fingers and toes and fry them up in a pan.”
She went out, shut the door, turned the locks.
Henry looked down at the hand he’d pressed to his arm, and saw the blood. His stomach rolled; his head swam. His legs gave way so he sat hard on the floor.
“It’s all right, Henry.” Though the tears came now, Gala kissed his white cheek. “I’ll take care of you, just like Mommy and Daddy and Darcia take care of us when we get hurt. I know how.”
The little bathroom only had a sink and a toilet, but she ran water over the rough paper towel, scrubbed soap into it—because of germs. And she promised she would eat worms and bugs. She would do anything so the evil witch didn’t hurt Henry again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eve had to block the e-speak out of her head. The EDD team huddled in its corner with the toys, tools, and other equipment she didn’t want or need to understand.
At one point, McNab went racing out of the house with one of the handhelds. She didn’t ask why, but continued to circle her board.
More than a murder board this time, she reminded herself. She couldn’t stand for the dead until she brought the living to safety.
“Money’s not her motive,” Baxter commented. “It’s a by-product. She scammed and killed the doctor not just for money, but to get out. She couldn’t get to the sister when she was locked up, so she needed a key, and that was this Edquist. The money she got from him. By-product.”
“Agreed. She needs funds to hide, to eat, to travel, to have the time to find the sister. But getting out was primary. Killing him,” Eve continued, “means he can’t talk, confess his duplicity, and give the name on her new ID. But I’d say that was another by-product. Killing him was purpose and reward in itself.”
“She doesn’t have a motive to kill the kids,” Trueheart began. “It doesn’t gain her anything. If the sister is her focus, the kids are a way to get to her. Dead, she’s alive and there’s nothing to use as bait.”
“Kill the kids, cut out the sister’s heart,” Peabody disagreed. “That’s as good as dead.”
“That’s a point, but as good as dead isn’t enough.” Eve stopped, studied Maj’s ID, rocked on her heels. “She can’t win, can’t have or be everything she wants as long as Tosha’s breathing. But those kids are a living, breathing piece of the sister. The one who crowded her in the womb, who shares her face, her body, who she likes to blame for the death of the mother, who sucked up too much of the father’s attention. There can only be one. Now there’s not just the sister, but . . . by-products.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Baxter agreed. “I don’t know if we’re going to logic this out, LT. She’s batshit crazy.”
“Even batshit has routines, patterns, goals. We have to figure hers out.”
She wanted the case files, police reports. Wanted data.
“She waited until the sister and husband were out of town,” Eve continued. “That says she didn’t go directly for the sister. She had the element of concealment, of surprise. But instead of going at the sister when she was, say, taking a walk, doing some shopping, heading to work, she waits, then takes the kids.”
“So she wanted the kids more than she wanted the sister dead?” Peabody suggested.
Too simple, Eve thought. And too rational. “No. She wants them all dead.”
“We got damn near a mile,” Feeney called out. “McNab’s out eleven blocks, and we’re getting a weak signal. That’s more than triple the standard range.”
“She could be farther out, but the probability is she’s within a mile.” Eve crossed to their workstation. “She needed the car. She couldn’t stroll along even a couple blocks with two drugged kids and their stuff. Too much to handle, too big a chance to be seen, remembered. What are a couple of kids doing walking around after midnight?
“And she brought the car back.” Eve paced away, paced back. “The time line presents she drove the kids to her secure location, locked them up, drove the car back to the garage, logging in roughly twenty-three minutes after she exited the house with the kids.”
“I’d put the drive time between five and eight minutes. She’d need the rest of the time to haul the kids inside, secure them.”
Eve nodded at Feeney. “So close, most likely within that mile. How do you find the kid’s signal?”
Feeney rubbed his face, the back of his neck. “We’re going to open up. We’ll pick up a lot of signals from anybody using one of these things, but we’ll filter it out. The problem is, we’ve got the booster, so we can pick up. But the kid’s unit doesn’t have it, so its signal is limited. It’s just a toy, Dallas,” he continued. “Enhancing on this end’s going to help us pick him up, but he’s still just got a toy in his hand.”
She turned her circle, tried to think. And asked herself if she was putting too much time and effort, too much hope into a damn toy. “What if we could trace the exact unit. We find out when and where it was purchased, see if we can get the schematics on the exact unit.”
“They’re all pretty much the same. They’re mass-produced. It is what it is, Dallas.” Feeney pulled a wrinkled bag of candied almonds out of his pocket, popped a couple. “We took this one apart, so we know how it works, how it’s put together. Maybe if we talked to the designer, I don’t know, we’d have a brainstorm, but—”
“Why not? We can try it. Who makes it?”
“It’s Kidware. That’s Roarke’s.” His ginger eyebrows arched. “I figured you knew.”
“How would I know?” She pulled out her ’link, then paused as the door opened. McNab stepped in. And HSO Agent Teasdale and a whip-thin man in a bad black suit came in behind him.
“Tag him,” she snapped to Feeney. “Agent Teasdale.”
“Lieutenant.” In her calm, precise way, Teasdale gestured to the man beside her. “This is Agent Slattery with the FBI. We’ve been fully briefed on the situation, and will be conducting a joint agency investigation.”
Eve kept her tone and gaze even. “Okay.”
“The priority of our part of the investigation will be the kidnapping. I’m sure we agree the safety of the children, and their quick return, is the most vital goal.”
“No argument. Our e-team has boosted the range of the toy—the same toy we believe Henry MacDermit has in his possession—to nearly a mile radius. We’ll attempt to intercept any transmissions or communications he
makes, and use that to triangulate his and his sister’s location.”
“That’s excellent, though we can’t know if he still has his unit, or the opportunity and wherewithal to attempt a transmission.”
“He was smart enough to make a recording when he was drugged and being kidnapped, after he saw the nanny who was part of his family dead on the floor. I think he’s smart enough to keep the unit hidden, and to keep trying.”
“To reach the good witch.” Teasdale nodded. “Fully briefed, as I said. He’s just a child, but yes, I agree, a smart one.”
“There’s still been no communication or demand for ransom from the abductor?” Slattery asked.
“None. I have two men with the MacDermits, in a safe house downtown. I . . . Can I have a moment, Agent Teasdale?”
“Of course.”
Eve led the way into the kitchen, paused to assess the woman she’d learned to trust during another investigation. Deceptively slight in built, cool, enigmatic Asian eyes. “Listen, I’m not trying to shut you out.”
“I think we understand each other, and should, given our past collaboration.”
“Good. Is he solid, Slattery?”
“Very, and he has considerably more experience than I with kidnappings, particularly with minors.”
“I don’t know if she’s going to try for ransom, but at some point she has to communicate with her sister. She’d need to gloat, to twist the knife.”
“I agree.”
“I could use my men here, Teasdale, that’s a fact. And another is, I think you and Slattery are better suited to deal with parents, to be on top of it when the sister contacts them. She will. She has to. She may try to lure the sister out.”
Teasdale inclined her head in the slightest nod. “Because she doesn’t just want all of them dead, she needs all of them dead.”
“That’s how I see it, yeah. My men are good, and if you weren’t on tap, I’d trust them to see that end through. But you are, and I think you’d do better. Constant communication, complete open line. My word on it.”
“I don’t doubt your word, and don’t need it. I understand your priorities, and shutting out valuable assistance isn’t one of them. We’ll take the parents, but we’ll move them to one of the federal safe houses, locate them back uptown. I want to be closer, geographically.”