The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  “Damn considerate of him. He tells you to get there or your girlfriend’ll be in dire straights.”

  “He said—he indicated that he would do to her what had been done to Marlena.”

  A jolt of pity, of understanding, of great regret thudded through her. But she couldn’t offer it. “Okay, you’ve got a cop in the house, but you don’t bother to tell this cop of a possible abduction and/or assault.”

  His eyes were dark and cold on hers, but she saw the fear riding just behind the pride. “I am not in the habit of depending on the police department.”

  “If your story’s clean, you wouldn’t be sitting here if you had.” Their eyes held as she leaned forward. “You’re aware that there have been three murders and that you were under suspicion for those three murders. Though the evidence is circumstantial, and your testing results were negative, you weren’t sitting on a garden bench there.”

  She wanted to shake him for being stupid, for disliking her so intensely he hadn’t asked for help even when she would have had no choice but to give it. “Now, you claim to have gotten an anonymous call and end up on the scene of an attempted murder.”

  “It isn’t a claim, it’s a fact. I couldn’t risk someone else I cared for being hurt.” It was as much as he could bear to give, that one reminder of his daughter. “I wouldn’t risk it. When the transmission came through, I acted as I thought I had to act.”

  It would have been easier if she hadn’t understood. She eased back again. “The scene and method of this attempted murder follows the same pattern as the three more successful murders.”

  She reached down into the bag she’d brought in and took out a small glass jar. It wasn’t Patrick Murray’s eye that floated in it. The surgeons had hope they could reattach it. But the simulation carried the same impact.

  She watched as Summerset stared at the small, floating organ, then turned her head away.

  “Do you believe in an eye for an eye?”

  “I thought I did.” His voice trembled, then he steadied it. “I don’t know what I believe.”

  Saying nothing, she reached down again and picked out the statue of the Madonna. “The Virgin. Marlena was innocent. She was pure.”

  “She was fourteen. Only fourteen.” Tears swam in his eyes, paining them both. “I have to believe she’s at peace. To survive I have to believe. Do you think I could do what’s been done here, in her name?” He closed his eyes, desperate for control. “She was gentle, and unspoiled. I won’t answer any more questions about her. Not to you.”

  She nodded and rose. But before she turned he caught the pity dark and deep in her eyes. He’d opened his mouth without any idea what he would say, when she spoke again.

  “Are you aware that electronics play a primary part in said crimes, and that your incoming log is worth squat?”

  Again he opened his mouth, closed it again. What kind of woman was it, he wondered, who could go from melting compassion to whiplash in less than a blink. This time he took a deeper drink. “The transmission came in, just as I’ve said.”

  Steady again, Eve came back, sat. The image of Marlena was ruthlessly blocked from her mind. “Did you attempt to contact Audrey Morrell and access her status?”

  “No, I—”

  “How did you travel to the Mermaid Club?”

  “I took my personal vehicle and, following the instructions I was given, parked near the side entrance of the club on Fifteenth Street.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “The side door was unlocked.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I called out. No one answered, but the music was very loud. All the lights were on. I went into the lounge area. I saw him right away, in the tank. He—I think he was moving. I thought I saw his lips move. His eye—his eye was gone and his face was battered.”

  He began to lose color as he spoke, as the image played back in his head. “Water was still going into the tank. I didn’t know how to shut it off. I started up the ladder, thinking I could pull him out. Then you came in.”

  “How were you going to pull him out when he was cuffed to the tank floor?”

  “I didn’t see that. I didn’t see. I only saw his face.”

  “You knew Patrick Murray in Dublin?”

  “I knew a number of people. I don’t remember a Patrick Murray.”

  “Okay, let’s try this again.”

  She worked him for two hours, and worked him hard. His story never shifted by an inch. When she stepped out of Interview, she signaled to Peabody. “Check and see if my new vehicle’s come through and what slot I’ll find it in. Let me know, then meet me there in five minutes.”

  “Yes, sir. He held up,” she commented. “If I got hammered that hard in Interview, I’d probably confess just to get some peace.”

  He’d held up, she thought, but he’d looked ten years older when she’d finished with him. Old and ill and fragile. Her stomach rolled with guilt. “The only thing he did this morning was win a stupidity prize,” Eve muttered as she marched down the corridor.

  She found Roarke, as she’d expected, waiting in her office. “I’m getting you ten minutes with him. Talk him into letting you lawyer him. I don’t care how you do it.”

  “What happened? What was he doing there?”

  “I don’t have time. He’ll tell you. I’ve got some legwork, shouldn’t take more than an hour. Then I’m going home, with Peabody. We have to do a search. Technically, I don’t need a warrant to sweep his quarters as it’s on your property. But you could make it sticky.”

  “I’ve no intention of making this sticky. I want this put away as much as you do.”

  “Then do us all a favor—stay away from the house, and see that he stays away once your lawyers spring bail, until after three this afternoon.”

  “All right. Do you have an ID on the victim?”

  “He’s alive, barely, and his name is Patrick Murray. He was the floor scraper at the club. I’ve got to contact his wife.”

  “Pat Murray. Jesus, I didn’t recognize him.”

  “But you knew him.”

  “More professionally than personally. He liked to gamble, I provided games.” His recollection was vague and misty. “He sold me a tip on where I could find Rory McNee. He must have told someone about it. I certainly didn’t, and we weren’t friends. The fact is he often ran numbers and minor errands for O’Malley and the others. I never thought of him.” He lifted his hand, let it fall. “The tip was a dead end, so I never thought of him.”

  “Someone did. Doesn’t matter if the tip was bogus or not. He sold it to you and that makes him a traitor. Which makes him a target.” Her communicator beeped. “Dallas.”

  “Got your vehicle, Lieutenant, garage section D, level three, slot 101.”

  “On my way. I’ve got to go,” she said to Roarke. “Call the lawyers.”

  He managed to smile a little. “I did that an hour ago. They should be convincing a judge to grant bail about now.”

  Because she was in a hurry, Eve took the motor glide to section D—or as far as section C, where it broke down. She jumped off without bothering to swear and covered the next level at a fast clip. She located slot 101 and found Peabody gawking at a slick new Sunspot with an angled-down hood, converto-roof, and deflector fins, front and rear.

  “I thought you said 101.”

  “I did.”

  “Where’s my replacement vehicle?”

  “This is it.” Peabody turned with wide eyes. “Right here. This one.”

  Eve only snorted. “Nobody in Homicide gets one of these muscle jobs—not even the captains.”

  “Serial plates match. I checked the key code.” She held out a thin metal plate that could be used by the operator if the code was forgotten. “It works. I started to call in to Vehicular Requisitions, then figured why be stupid.”

  “Well.” Eve pursed her lips, whistled lightly. The color might have been an unfortunate pea green, but everything else about it was prime. �
��Wow. Somebody screwed up, but we might as well enjoy it while we can. Get in.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm.” Peabody scooted under the upward-opening door and wiggled down until her butt settled comfortably. “Nice seats. You can program initial for your voiceprint.”

  “We’ll play with it later.” Eve engaged the ignition manually and lifted a brow in approval at the big cat purr of the engine. “Not one hiss or hiccup. This could be the beginning of a fine new partnership. I hope the security shield and jacking deflectors are operational.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Yeah.” Eve backed up, swung around, and headed down the levels. “We’re going back to the Mermaid Club to search out a couple of street ghosts I spotted this morning. Car like this—cop plates or not—someone’s going to try to boost it.”

  “It comes with full shields, deflectors, and a thievery deterrent—graduating electrical shocks.”

  “That ought to work,” Eve mused. When she reached for her car ’link, Peabody shook her head.

  “That’s a hands-free. You just tap the second button down on your wheel stem to engage.

  “I love technology.” Eve did so and watched the ’link screen go to holding blue. “Audrey Morrell, Luxury Towers, New York City. Search number and contact.”

  Searching . . . Number is on public list. Contacting . . .

  An efficient two beeps later, Audrey’s face came on screen. There was a smear of bright yellow paint on her right cheek and a distracted look in her eyes. “Lieutenant Dallas, Ms. Morrell.”

  “Oh, yes, Lieutenant.” Audrey lifted a hand dotted with cerulean blue to her hair. “What can I do for you?”

  “Could you tell me where you were between five and seven A.M. this morning?”

  “Here, here in my apartment. I didn’t get up until just after seven o’clock. I’ve been in all morning working. Why?”

  “Just routine. I’d like to set up a follow-up interview with you. Tomorrow morning, at your residence if that’s convenient.”

  “Well, I, yes, I suppose so. At nine if it won’t take more than an hour. I have a private lesson here at ten-thirty.”

  “Nine’s fine. Thank you. Transmission concluded.” Eve pulled up at the rear of a line of traffic waiting for the light. “Whoever called Summerset this morning had to know that he’s got a thing for Artsy Audrey—as tough as it is to imagine that dried-up stick having a thing for anyone.”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

  “And?”

  “It can’t be one person acting alone—not if we proceed with the belief that Summerset is innocent. It’s not just the murders, but the setup. The killer has to know Summerset’s routine, and he has to be certain he doesn’t deviate from it. Someone’s got to be staking him out, following him, while the killer acts. And the killer, according to profile, requires praise, attention, and rewards. Someone has to be giving them to him.”

  “That’s good, Peabody.”

  Peabody said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “But you already knew all that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s good. Half of detective work is following logic, and you followed it.”

  “What’s the other half?”

  “Following illogic.” She pulled up in front of the Mermaid Club, noted the police seal on the door was blinking red and the security grilles on the windows were still down and locked.

  “Street ghosts don’t walk much in daylight,” Peabody commented.

  “The car will lure them out.” Eve stepped onto the street, waited until Peabody stood on the sidewalk. “Engage all tampering deflectors and security measures.”

  The locks had barely slammed home when she caught the slight movement in the doorway just across from her. “I’ve got fifty credits for information,” she said without bothering to raise her voice. Street ghosts heard everything they wanted to hear. “If I get it, my aide and I won’t have to follow through on a tip we got that there are illegal substances in the building.”

  “It’s twenty credits just to ask. Thirty more for an answer.”

  “Fair enough.” She dug in her pocket, pulled a single twenty chip out.

  The figure that came toward her was gray. Skin, hair, eyes all the same dust tone as the street sweeping coat he wore. His voice was whisper soft, and the fingers that plucked the credit from Eve’s palm did so without touching flesh.

  “Do you know Patrick Murray, the floor scraper?”

  “Seen him, heard him, don’t know him. Dead now though.”

  “No, he’s not quite dead.” Like you, she thought, he’s in some half world. But Patrick still had a chance to come all the way back. “Did you see anybody go in the club after hours this morning?”

  “Seen him.” The ghost’s gray lips split open over gray teeth in a horrid smile. “Heard him. Don’t know him.”

  “What time?”

  “There is no time. Just day, just night. One came when it was more night than day. One came when it was more day than night.”

  “Two?” Her eyes sharpened. “You saw two different people go in, at two different times.”

  “First one rang in, second didn’t.”

  “What did the first one look like?”

  “One head, two arms, two legs. Everyone looks the same to me. Nice coat. Thick and black.”

  “Was he still here when the second man came?”

  “They passed like ghosts.” He smiled again. “One goes out, the other goes in. Then you came.”

  “You got your coffin up there?” She jerked a thumb at the building.

  “I should be in it now. It’s too day out here.”

  “You keep it there.” She passed him another thirty credits. “If I need you and come back, there’ll be another fifty for you.”

  “Easy money,” he said and faded back.

  “Get me a name on him, Peabody. Run the building for tenants.”

  “Yes, sir.” She climbed back in the car. “Two men. That backs Summerset’s story.”

  “Our killer doesn’t know enough about ghosts to have covered himself there. All he had to do was pass over money and promise more.”

  “Those types give me the creeps.” Peabody punched in the request, waited for her ppc to search and find. “You’d think they could walk through walls, the way they look.”

  “You fix on Tranquility for a few years, you’d look the same. File all the names in case our ghost decided to load up his coffin and find another graveyard. Then contact McNab, have him meet us at the house.”

  “McNab?”

  “Don’t be pissy,” Eve ordered, engaging wipers as a thin, wet snow began to fall. “I need Summerset’s ’link logs checked.” She engaged the car ’link again and contacted the hospital for an update on Murray.

  “He could come out of it,” she said as she drove through the gates of her home. “There’s more brain wave activity, and he responded to VR stimulus. His wife’s with him.”

  She barely stopped the car when she noted another vehicle scooting down the drive behind her. Her initial annoyance at the interruption faded when she recognized the car.

  “Feeney.”

  He got out of his car, his skin pink from the Mexican sun, his clothes rumpled, his wiry red hair topped by an incredibly silly straw hat.

  “Hey, kid.” He dragged a box out of the car and, nearly staggering under its weight, carried it toward her. “Just got back, and the wife wanted me to bring you over a little thank-you for lending us the place. Some place.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Peabody, you gotta tag Dallas for a couple weeks there. It’s a frigging Mex palace right on a damn cliff. You can be lying in bed, reach out the window and pluck a mango right off the tree. Got a pool the size of a lake and a droid to do everything but zip your fly in the morning. You going to let me in? This thing weighs fifty pounds if it weighs an ounce.”

  “Sure. I didn’t think you were coming back till . . .” She trailed off when she reached the doo
r and realized today was the day he was due back. “I lost track.”

  He dumped the box on a table in the foyer, rolled his shoulders. “So, what’s new?”

  “Nothing much. I got three homicides and an attempted, connected. Mutilations. Guy contacted me personally, set it up as a game with religious overtones. Last victim’s in a coma, but will probably pull through. Roarke knew all the victims back in Dublin and Summerset just bounced to the top of the suspect list.”

  Feeney shook his head. “Never changes. I tell you I never turned on the screen for two weeks for anything but sports and—” He stopped and his droopy eyes went wide. “Summerset?”

  “I’ll fill you in while we do the search. McNab’s on his way over.”

  “McNab.” Feeney danced after her, ditching his straw hat and his vacation mood as he went. “EDD’s working with you on this?”

  “Our guy’s an electronics and communications whiz. He’s got a high-end jammer among his toys. McNab’s been cutting through the layers, and he managed to nail the source. But we haven’t found his hole.”

  “McNab. The boy’s good. I’ve been bringing him along.”

  “You can talk techno-jazz when he gets here. Right now I’ve got a straight search—and a ’link log to verify.” She paused at the entrance to Summerset’s quarters. “You want in, or do you want to go back and find your party hat?”

  “I’ll just call the wife and tell her I won’t be home for supper.”

  Eve grinned. “I missed you, Feeney. Damned if I didn’t.”

  He grinned wickedly. “The wife took six hours of video. She wants you and Roarke to come over for dinner next week, and the show.” Wiggling his brows, he turned to Peabody. “You come too.”

  “Oh, well, Captain, I wouldn’t want to horn in on—”

  “Stow it, Peabody. If I have to suffer, you have to suffer too. That’s chain of command.”

  “Another incentive,” Peabody decided, “for increasing my rank. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “No problem. Recorder on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve; Feeney, Captain Ryan; Peabody, Officer Delia entering quarters of Summerset, Lawrence Charles, standard search for evidence.”