by J. D. Robb
Feeney, Eve thought, where the hell are you? “What else have you got?”
“The transmission had the same echo as the others. Exact match.”
“Even better. Now find the source.” She rose. “It’s time for me to put in a public appearance. Let’s get this jerk now that I’m up for another round. Peabody, you’re with me.”
“My favorite place, Lieutenant.”
“Sucking up noted.” She pulled her palm ’link as she started out, coded in for Nadine Furst at Channel 75.
“Hey, Dallas, you look pretty good for an invalid.”
“Get this. Lieutenant Eve Dallas has recovered from her injuries and is reporting back to duty. She remains in charge of the investigation involving the murders of Brennen, Conroy, and O’Leary. She is confident a suspect will be in custody shortly.”
“Hold it, let me get my recorder.”
“That’s all you get, pal. Put it on.” She clicked off as she jogged down the stairs. There, draped across the newel post, was a new and butter-smooth leather jacket of golden brown. “He doesn’t miss a trick,” Eve murmured as she picked it up.
“Man oh man.” Unable to resist, Peabody stroked a hand down the sleeve as Eve shrugged into it. “Like a baby’s bottom.”
“It had to cost ten times what my old one did, and I’ll have it banged up in a week. I don’t know why he—Shit, where’s Roarke?” She turned to the house computer. “Locate Roarke.”
Roarke is not on the premises at this time.
“Well, hell,” Eve muttered. “Where the hell did he go so fast? He damn well better be out buying some country and not poking into this.”
“Does he really buy countries?” Peabody wanted to know as she hurried outside after Eve.
“How the hell do I know? I stay out of his business, which is more than he does for me. Central Park Arms.” She swore, suddenly sure that’s where he’d gone. Then she stopped, stared at the empty space in front of the steps. “I don’t have a vehicle,” she remembered. “Goddamn it, I don’t have a ride.”
“Auto requisition hasn’t come through. You can make a personal order.”
“Oh yeah, that’ll only take a week or two. Shit.” Jamming her hands in new, silky pockets, she jogged to the end of the house.
The garage attachment melded with the main structure. The massive doors were wood with thick brass fittings. The windows, arched and majestic, were sunscreened to keep the finish on the vehicles housed there from fading. Inside the temperature would be kept, year-round, at a comfortable seventy-two degrees.
Eve uncoded the locks, identified herself through voice and palm print. The doors swung gracefully open.
So did Peabody’s mouth. “Holy cow.”
“It’s excessive,” Eve said, sniffing. “It’s ridiculous and such a clichéd man-thing.”
“It’s frigid,” Peabody said reverently.
Vehicles were housed in individual bays, on two levels. Sports cars, limos, air cycles, all-terrains, sedate sedans, and sleek solo-riders. Colors ranged from flashy neon shades to classic blacks. Peabody stared dreamily at a tandem-style air cycle and imagined herself riding the skies, wind in her hair, with some muscled hunk behind her.
She snapped out of it when she saw Eve heading toward a discreet compact model in industrial gray.
“Dallas, how about this one?” Hopefully, Peabody gestured up to a snazzy electric blue sportster, its silver wheels gleaming, its narrow grille a piece of automotive art.
“That’s a fuck-me car, and you know it.”
“Well, yeah, maybe, but it’s got to be fast, and really efficient. It’d be loaded, too.” She smiled winningly.
“Everything in here’s loaded.”
Peabody danced forward when Eve reached for the button to release the sedan. “Come on, Dallas, live a little. Don’t you want to see how she moves? And it’s only temporary. You’ll be back in some departmental clunker before you know it. It’s a 6000XX.” Her voice came perilously close to a whine. “Most people live their whole lives without even touching one. Just one ride. What could it hurt?”
“Don’t beg,” Eve muttered. “Jesus.” But she gave in and lowered the sportster to the scrubbed tile floor.
“Oh, look at the interior. It’s real leather, isn’t it? White leather.” Unable to control herself, Peabody opened the door of the car and breathed deep. “Just smell it. Oh, oh, check the controls. It’s even got an airjet gauge. We could be on the beach in New L.A. in under three hours in this baby.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Peabody, or it’s back to the sedan.”
“No way.” Peabody all but dived inside. “You’re not getting me out with a hydro-lift until I get a ride.”
“I wouldn’t think a woman raised by Free-Agers would be so shallow and materialistic.”
“I had to work on it, but I’ve almost got it down.” She smiled happily when Eve slipped in beside her. “Dallas, this rocks. Can I try the music system?”
“No. Strap in. We’ll look for your dignity later.” But because the car called for it, Eve engaged ignition and took off like a rocket.
It took less than ten minutes to reach the Central Park Arms.
“Did you see the way this honey handled the turns? You took that last one at sixty and there wasn’t even a shimmy. Imagine what she’d do in the air. Why don’t we try it when we leave. Man, I think I had an orgasm rounding Sixty-second.”
“I don’t need to know about that.” Eve climbed out, tossed her key code to the doorman. When she flashed her badge, the hand he’d held out for a tip retreated. “I want that vehicle kept close. I don’t want to wait more than thirty seconds for it when I come out.”
Without waiting for an answer, she swung through the auto-doors and crossed the mosaic tiles of the lobby toward the massive front desk.
“You have a suite registered to a Brian Kelly,” she said, holding up her badge.
“Yes, Lieutenant, scheduled for arrival and occupancy this afternoon. Penthouse B, Tower Level.”
“Clear me through.”
“I believe that suite is occupied at the moment. However, if you’d like to wait until—”
“Clear me through,” she repeated. “Now.”
“Right away. The private elevator is down this corridor and to the left. It’s clearly marked. Your key code will access both the elevator and the doors, parlor and bedroom.”
“Any transmissions, messages, deliveries come in for that suite, send them directly up.”
“Of course.”
The clerk winced as she strode off, then quickly rang Penthouse B. “I beg your pardon, sir, but a Lieutenant Dallas and a uniformed officer are on their way up. Excuse me? Ah, yes, sir, of course. I’ll see to it right away.”
Baffled, the clerk hung up, then contacted room service and ordered coffee, tea cakes, and fresh fruit for three.
Outside Penthouse B, Eve drew her weapon. At her signal, Peabody flanked the opposite side of the door. Eve slid her key code toward the lock, gave her aide a quick nod.
They went in low and fast.
She hissed at Roarke, who continued to smile and lounge on the silk-covered sofa pit. “I don’t think the weapon’s necessary, darling. I’ve ordered coffee, and the service here is very swift and efficient.”
“I ought to give you a jolt, just for the hell of it.”
“You’d be sorry later. Hello, Peabody, you look a bit windblown. Very attractive.”
Flushing, she brushed at her straight black hair. “Well, I put the sky roof down for a minute on the XX.”
“Sexy little ride, isn’t it? Well, shall we discuss how to lay the trap now, or wait for the coffee?”
Resigned, Eve shoved her weapon back in its harness. “We’ll wait for the coffee.”
chapter seventeen
“We’re nearly set up here, Commander. If he calls, we’ll be ready.”
“If he calls, Lieutenant, and if he follows the same pattern he used to abduct O’Leary.”
“He used the same pattern when he contacted Brian Kelly this morning.” Beneath the range of the ’link monitor, she jerked a hand so that McNab would stop the chatter. Christ, the man ran his mouth at light speed. “We can take him down here, Commander. All he has to do is move in this direction.”
“You better hope he does, and quickly, Dallas, or both of us are going to get our butts singed.”
“I planted the bait. He’ll take it.”
“Contact me the minute you hear from him.”
“You’ll be the first,” she murmured as the screen went blank. “You guys want to keep it down? This isn’t the damn party suite.”
McNab and two EDD drones were chirping away as they set up equipment in the bedroom that was the temporary command center. Eve worried that she’d thrown this task force together too quickly, but time was the enemy. There were tracers and bypass units, three sets of porta-links, all with headsets and voice mufflers. Recorders were set to clock on with the first beep of the first ’link. McNab had already interfaced it with her office unit.
She’d had all the equipment brought from Central in a delivery van. If her man had the hotel under surveillance, all he would have seen was yet another commercial vehicle pulling into the hotel’s rear dock.
No uniforms, no black and whites.
Six cops were on surveillance in the lobby posing as bellstaff, clerks, maintenance. A detective from her squad had taken over for the doorman. She had two more in the kitchen as line chefs, another two covering the penthouse floor as housekeeping staff.
The man power and equipment were eating a moon-sized hole in the departmental budget. If it went wrong, there would be hell to pay, and she’d be the one to pay it.
She wasn’t going to let it go wrong.
Restless, she moved out into the spacious parlor. The bank of windows was privacy screened there, as were the bedroom windows. Only Roarke, as owner of the hotel, and his manager were aware of the infiltration of police. At two P.M., one hour after the flight from Dublin landed at Kennedy, another cop would check in to the hotel as Brian Kelly.
It was going to work. All he had to do was call Eve’s ’link.
Why the hell didn’t he call?
Roarke came in from the second bedroom and saw her frowning at the screened windows. “You’ve covered all the details, Eve.”
“I’ve gone over it and over it. He can’t wait long to move on Brian. He won’t risk Brian contacting you on his own and finding out it’s all a scam. On his call to Jennie he got her to promise she wouldn’t try to contact anyone, that she wouldn’t speak to anyone unless it came through you. But Brian wouldn’t commit, wouldn’t promise anything.”
“And if our man knows him at all, he’d know Brian tends to do as he chooses.”
“That’s right, so he’ll arrange for the meet quickly. He’s already got the place where he’ll kill him set up. And he’s not going to want to take chances. Brian’s a tough, muscular man in his prime. And he’s street smart. He’d put up a hell of a fight.”
“He’d have to be taken by surprise,” Roarke agreed, “caught off guard.”
“Exactly. My guess is he plans to do it all right here. Brian’ll be expecting a driver, a messenger, a liaison for you, so he’ll open the door. He would have to get a tranq in him then and there, quick, quiet.”
“Lieutenant,” Roarke said and held out a hand, and when Eve automatically put hers in it, he smiled and squeezed. “If I’d had a minipopper in my hand, you’d be tranqed just that fast and easy. They were popular in certain unsettled areas during the twenties, only they were most often laced with strychnine rather than a dozer. Shaking hands became quite unfashionable for several years.”
“You’re a fount of the most disturbing trivia.”
“Wonderful icebreaker at parties.”
“He should have called by now.” She spun away to pace. “With each one he’s narrowed the time between the murder and the earliest possibility of discovery. He wants me to get close, really close. It makes him feel more superior. It’s more of a rush when he knows I’m right behind him, while the blood’s still fresh.”
“He may be planning to call from here, once he’s locked in his prey for this round.”
“I’ve thought of that. It won’t matter. We’ll still get him. He’ll have to call this room. The cop who’s posing as Brian for check-in is a good match in coloring and build. McNab’s already added the jazz to trip the voice into Brian’s tone over the ’link. And he’s got the video fuzzy. But he’s not going to move until he calls me. He wants to make sure I’m ready.”
She looked at her wrist unit, swore. “Jackison’s going to check in as Brian in fifteen minutes. Where is that son of a—”
The second the bedroom ’link beeped, she was streaking inside. “Back off,” she ordered. “All porta-links into the next room. No chatter. Hologram backdrop, McNab.”
“Engaged.” He nodded as an imaged reproduction of her office flickered on around her. “Sitting pretty, Dallas.”
“Trace this bastard,” she ordered and answered. “Dallas, Homicide.”
“So glad you’re feeling better, Lieutenant.”
It was the same voice, the same swimming colors on screen. “Did you miss me? Sending me flowers was such a nice touch, especially since blowing me up didn’t quite work out for you.”
“You were so . . . discourteous in your statement to the press. I found your lack of manners very rude.”
“You know what I find rude, pal? Taking someone’s life before they’ve finished using it. That kind of thing really ticks me off.”
“I’m sure we could debate the value of our personal annoyances for quite a while, but I know how desperately you’re trying to tape this transmission, with your inferior equipment and your undereducated technicians.”
“I know a couple e-detectives who would find that statement very rude.”
His laughter came through the speaker, genuine and amused. And, she thought as her ear cocked, young.
“Oh, under different circumstances I’m sure I could be very fond of you, Lieutenant. If not for your deplorable lack of taste. What do you see in that Irish street rat you married?”
“He’s great in bed.” Hoping he had clear video, she leaned back and smiled. “I’ve got an expert’s profile here that says you’re likely lacking in that arena. Maybe you should try some Stay-Up. It’s available at your local pharmacy everywhere.”
His breathing hitched once clearly through the speakers. “I am pure of heart and body, sanctified.”
“Is that another word for impotent?”
“You bitch. You don’t know anything about me. Do you think I want to lie with you, is that it? Maybe I will, when this is over, maybe God will demand it. ‘Better to spill seed in the belly of a whore than on the ground.” ’
“Have trouble jacking off, too? That’s rough. Maybe if you tried to keep your mother out of your head when you’re working on yourself you’d finish off and have a cheerier personality.”
“Don’t you speak of my mother.” His voice went ragged and thin, wavering on a high note.
Bingo, Eve thought. Mommy equals female authority figure.
“What’s she like? Is she still yanking your chain, pal, or is she at home, keeping the lights burning without a clue how you spend your free time?” She thought of the ritual she’d witnessed just that morning in a little church near the cliffs. “Do you still go to Mass with her every Sunday? Is that where you go to find your vengeful god?”
“The blood of my enemies flows like tainted wine into Hell. You’ll know such pain before I kill you.”
“You already tried once. You missed. Why don’t you come closer. Take me on, one on one. Do you have the balls for it?”
“When the time comes. I won’t be seduced by the words of a harlot to stray from the path.”
His voice broke, shuddered, making Eve tilt her head as if to catch the nuance. Was he crying?
&n
bsp; “No time like the present.”
“My mission isn’t completed. It isn’t over. I say when, I tell you when. The fourth damned soul meets God’s judgment today. Two hours.” He let out a long, shuddering breath. “Two hours is all you’ve got to find the pig and save him from slaughter. ‘By his own iniquities the wicked man will be caught, in the meshes of his own sin he will be held fast; He will die from lack of discipline, through the greatness of his folly he will be lost.” ’
“Proverbs again? There’s never any variety with you.”
“All that is necessary for life is found in the Bible. He’s walking into my arms, a squealing pig into the land of sleek and pampered dogs and underpaid nannies.”
“That’s not much of a clue. Am I getting too close for you to play a fair game?”
“The game’s fair enough, but here’s another: The sun sets behind, and before it drops to night, the next Judas will pay dearly for his betrayal. Two hours. Starting now.”
“Give me good news, McNab.” Eve demanded when the transmission ended.
McNab looked up, his green eyes shining. “I got him.”
Eve rose slowly, disengaging the hologram herself. “Don’t toy with me, McNab.”
“Transmission source is sector D, grid fifty-four.”
Eve strode over to the chart, scanned quickly. “Son of a bitch, the Luxury Towers is in that grid. The fucker’s in there. He’s working out of the building were he did the first murder.”
“Do we move on him there?” Peabody demanded.
Eve held up a hand to halt the questions until she could think it through. “He said I had less than two hours. He doesn’t rush through his work, so he’ll want at least one of those hours in here. He’ll be contacting this room any minute. Did Jackison get in?”
“He’s in the next room.”
“All right, let’s give our boy a little time. He’s already got his tools packed. He doesn’t leave anything to the last minute. He’ll get his transpo, and he won’t break any traffic laws getting here. He’s on a timetable. We need a second team over at the Luxury Towers, but I don’t want them moving in. If he’s working with anyone and they stay behind, they could tip him off.”