The In Death Collection 06-10

by J. D. Robb

  “I need to see her records,” Eve muttered when she was alone with Roarke. “How did she die, what did she take or do? Who found her and when? Damn it, I don’t even know who pulled her case.”

  “Find a source.”

  “How the hell can I—” She broke off. “Hell, give me your porta-link.”

  He handed it to her and smiled. “Say hello to Nadine for me. I’ll see if they’ll page Peabody again.”

  “Such a smart guy,” she muttered and tagged Nadine at Channel 75.

  “Dallas, for God’s sake, you’ve been dodging me for days. What’s going on? Are you okay? Those stupid bastards! Did you see my feature? We’re flooded with calls on it.”

  “I don’t have time for questions. I need data. Contact whoever you bribe at the ME’s office and get me everything you can on Tia Wo, self-termination. She’ll be coming in within the hour. I need method, time of death, who found her and called it in, who’s handling the case, attending physician. Everything.”

  “I don’t hear from you for days, then you want everything. And who says I bribe anybody?” She sniffed, looked insulted. “Bribing public officials is illegal.”

  “I’m not a cop at the moment, remember? The sooner the better, Nadine. And wait, can you dig any dirt on Senator Brian Waylan, Illinois?”

  “You want to know if I can dig any dirt on a U.S. senator?” She gave a low, rumbling laugh. “You want a truckload or a tanker?”

  “Whatever there is—emphasis on his stand on artificial organs. You can get me at home or on Roarke’s porta.”

  “I don’t happen to have Roarke’s private numbers. Even I have my limits.”

  “Have Summerset patch you in. Thanks.”

  “Wait, Dallas, are you okay? I want to—”

  “Sorry, no time.” She broke transmission and rushed to the doorway just as Peabody strode down the corridor. “Where the hell have you been? I had you paged twice.”

  “We’re just a little busy. Feeney sent me down to check on Wo, who kicked about fifteen minutes ago. Her current cohabitant was there and got hysterical. It took me and two orderlies to hold her down so they could sedate her.”

  “I thought she lived alone.”

  “Turned out she had a lover, kept it quiet. She got home and found Wo in bed pumped full of barbs.”

  “When?”

  “I guess it’s been a couple hours. We got word after we came in on Louise. Cartright hooked the suspicious death, but it looks like straight self-termination. I have to risk this coffee.”

  She crossed to the counter, sniffed the pot, gagged a little, but poured a cup anyway. “She didn’t show for interview,” Peabody continued. “Feeney and I went to her place, got a warrant for entry. She wasn’t there. We looked for her here and came up empty. We had a couple of confirmations that she’d been in her office and the organ wing. We picked up Young and he lawyered up before you could swallow spit. We’re holding him for formal in the morning, but he could dance on bail for the night. We were heading back to Wo’s when we got word on Louise, so we came in, got her status.”

  She gulped down coffee and shuddered. “So, how was your day?”

  “It sucked. What can you give me on Louise?”

  Peabody glanced at her wrist unit, then looked over before Eve could control the wince. “Sorry. Damn, Dallas.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re on duty and pressed for time.”

  “I’m supposed to be having a fancy French dinner followed by what I figured might be some fancy sex.” She tried a smile. “But there you go. Louise got hit at the clinic. Blow to the head. Fractured right wrist indicates defensive wound. We figure she saw whoever bashed her. They used the desk ’link.”

  “Christ, that took some muscle.”

  “Yeah, and they did a number on her with it. She was in her office. Whoever did it left her there. There’s a small drug cabinet in there, for samples. It was broken open and rifled. It happened between three and four this afternoon. She was off shift at three, logged her last patient at three-ten. A doctor on the next rotation found her just after four. They called it in and started work on her there.”

  “What’s your take on her chances?”

  “It’s a damn good center. Some of the equipment looks like it should be at NASA II. She’s had a fleet of doctors in and out of her room. We’ve got a uniform on the door twenty-four/seven.” She finished off the coffee. “I heard the nurses saying that she’s young and strong. Her heart and lungs are prime. The brain scans haven’t shown anything to worry about yet. But you can tell they want her to come out of it. The longer she stays under, the more worried they look.”

  “I have to ask you to call me if there’s any change. I need to know.”

  “You don’t have to ask. I should get back.”

  “Yeah. Tell Feeney I’m working on a couple of angles. I’ll pass along anything that looks worthwhile.”

  “Will do.” She started out, hesitated. “I think you should know: Word is the commander’s been dogging the chief. He’s taken some pokes at IAB, and he’s breathing down Baxter’s neck to close off on Bowers. He’s been over to the one-six-two to do some digging on her on his own. Basically, he’s busting his ass to get you reinstated.”

  Unsure how to feel, she simply stared. “I appreciate you telling me.”

  “One more thing: Rosswell’s personal account showed regular deposits over the last two months of ten thousand a pop. All E-transfers.” Her lips curved when Eve’s eyes narrowed and gleamed. “He’s dirty. Feeney’s already sicced Webster on him.”

  “Times in nicely with Spindler’s murder. Nice work.”

  Roarke waited until she was alone before he came back in. He found her sitting on the arm of a sofa, staring down at her hands. “You’ve had a long day, Lieutenant.”

  “Yeah.” She rubbed her hands on her knees, shook off the mood, then looked at him. “I was thinking about topping it off with something special.”

  “Is that so?”

  “How about a little nighttime B and E?”

  His grin flashed. “Darling. I thought you’d never ask.”

  chapter twenty-one

  “I’m driving.”

  Roarke’s hand paused as it reached for the car door, and his brow winged up. “It’s my car.”

  “It’s my deal.”

  They studied each other a minute, crowded together at the driver’s side door. “Why are you driving?”

  “Because.” Vaguely embarrassed, she dug her hands in her pockets. “Don’t smirk.”

  “I’ll try to resist. Why?”

  “Because,” she said again, “I drive when I’m on a case, so if I drive, it’ll feel like—it’ll feel official instead of criminal.”

  “I see. Well, that makes perfect sense. You drive.”

  She started to climb in while he circled around to the passenger side. “Are you smirking behind my back?”

  “Yes, of course.” He sat, stretched out his legs. “Now, to make it really official, I should have a uniform. I’ll go that far, but I refuse to wear those amazingly ugly cop shoes.”

  “You’re a real joker,” she muttered and jerked the car into reverse, did a quick, squealing spin, and shot out of the garage.

  “Too bad this vehicle doesn’t have a siren. But we can pretend nothing works on it, so you’ll feel official.”

  “Keep it up. Just keep it up.”

  “Maybe I’ll call you sir. Could be sexy.” He smiled blandly when she glared at him. “Okay, I’m done. How do you want to play this?”

  “I want to get into the clinic, search for the data I sent Louise in for, and anything else interesting, then get out. Without getting caught by some beat droid. I figure with your light and sticky fingers, it should be a walk.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  “That’s sir to you, ace.”

  She streamed through the smoke of a corner glida grill and headed south. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be crazy. I
must have lost my mind. I keep crossing lines.”

  “Think of it this way. The lines keep moving. You’re just keeping up.”

  “I continue keeping up this way, I’ll end up wearing security bracelets. I used to go by the book. I believe in the book. Now I just rewrite the pages.”

  “Either that or go back to bed and pull the covers over your head.”

  “Yeah, well . . . we make choices. I’ve made mine.”

  She found a second-level spot four blocks north of the Canal Street Clinic and tucked the car between a sky scooter and a dented utility truck. If anyone bothered to look, she mused, Roarke’s elegant two-seater would stick out like a swan among toads, but it wasn’t against the law to drive a hot-looking car in this sector.

  “I don’t want to park any closer. This thing has antitheft and antivandalism features, right?”

  “Naturally. Engage all security,” he ordered as they climbed out. “One more thing. He reached in his pocket. “Your clutch piece . . . sir.”

  “What the hell are you doing with this?” She snatched it from him.

  “Giving it to you.”

  “You’re not authorized to carry and neither am I.” She hissed out a breath as he met that information with another smirk. “Just shut up,” she muttered and jammed the weapon into her back pocket.

  “When we get home,” he began as they walked down to street level, “you can . . . reprimand me.”

  “Keep your mind off sex.”

  “Why? It’s so happy there.” He laid a casual hand on her shoulder as they moved briskly down the block. The few doorway lurkers faded back, intimidated either by the steely look in Eve’s eyes or the warning glint in Roarke’s.

  “The place is a dump,” she told him. “No palm plate, no camera. But the locks are decent. They’ve got to meet code because of the drugs. They’ll be standard Security Reds, maybe with timers. Antitheft alarms. Cartright caught the scene here, and she’s a straight cop. There’ll be a seal. I don’t have my master anymore.”

  “You have better.” He gave her shoulder a quick rub. “You have me.”

  “Yeah.” She tossed him a look, saw in that fabulous face the glint that told her he was enjoying himself. “Seems like.”

  “I could teach you how to get through locks.”

  It was tempting, much too tempting. God, she missed the weight of her weapon, her badge. “I’ll just keep a lookout for beat droids and other nuisances. If you trip the alarm, we just walk away.”

  “Please. I haven’t tripped an alarm since I was ten.” Insulted, he turned to the door of the clinic while Eve cruised the block.

  She made two passes, lost in her own thoughts. One event, she decided, had built on another. An old resentment from academy days, a dead sleeper, a conspiracy of death, and here she was, stripped of her badge and playing lookout while the man she’d married coolly broke into a building.

  How the hell was she going to get back? How could she get back, if she didn’t get started? She turned, ready to tell him to stop. And he stood, watching her, his eyes calm and blue, with the door open at his back.

  “In or out, Lieutenant?”

  “Fuck it.” She strode past him and went inside.

  He locked up behind them, turned on the narrow beam of a penlight. “Where’s the office?”

  “Through the back. This door works on a release from inside.”

  “Hold this.” He passed her the light, gestured for her to aim it at the lock. Crouching, he gave it a quick scan. “I haven’t seen one of these in years. Your friend Louise was very optimistic with her half million bid.”

  He took out what appeared to be a pen, unscrewed it, then flicked a finger over the tip of the long, thin wire he exposed.

  She’d known him nearly a year, had been as intimate with him as one person could be with another, and he still managed to surprise her. “You carry burglary tools around with you all the time?”

  “Well.” Eyes narrowed, he slid the wire into the slot. “You just never know, do you? There she is, hang on.” He finessed, turning his head to hear the seductive click of tumblers. There was a quiet buzz as locks disengaged. “After you, Lieutenant.”

  “You’re slick.” She breezed through, leading with the light. “There’s no window,” she continued. “We can use the room lights. It’s a manual.” She switched it on, blinked to adjust.

  A quick scan showed her the sweepers had done their work, left behind their usual mess. The crime scene team’s touch was evident in the sticky layer coating every surface.

  “They’ve already lifted prints, swept for fibers, hair, blood, and fluids. Won’t help much. God knows how many of the staff are in and out of this room in any given day. They’ve got their evidence bagged and tagged, but I don’t want to touch or disturb anything that doesn’t need to be.”

  “What you want’s on the computer.”

  “Yeah, or on a disc, if Louise had already found it. You start on the machine. I’ll do the discs.”

  When Roarke sat, making quick work of the pass-lock feature, Eve went through the discs filed on the shelf, flipping through them by the corners. Each was labeled with a patient’s name. Spindler’s was missing.

  Frowning, she moved to the next file, scanning through. These appeared to be records of diseases, conditions, injuries. Straight medical shit, she thought, then stopped, eyes narrowing as she read.

  The label said simply The Dallas Syndrome.

  “I knew she was a smart-ass.” Eve plucked out the disc. “Damn smart. Got it.”

  “I haven’t finished playing.”

  “Just run this,” she began, then stopped to yank Roarke’s porta-link out of her pocket. “Block video. Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant, Peabody. Louise is awake; she asked for you. We’re going to get you in, but it’s got to be fast.”

  “I’m there.”

  “Come up the east-side stairs. I’ll get you through. Step on it.”

  “Close it up.” Eve jammed the ’link back in her pocket. “We’ve got to move.”

  “Already done. This time, I drive.”

  It was just as well, Eve thought as she bared her teeth and hung on. She had a rep for being nerveless and occasionally reckless behind the wheel, but compared with Roarke, she was a suburban matron manning a car pool.

  She did no more than hiss when he screamed into a parking slot in the center’s garage. Saving her breath, she shoved out and pounded up the east-side stairs.

  Faithful as a spaniel, Peabody yanked the door open. “Waverly’s going to be back with her in a few minutes. Just give me time to bump the uniform off the door and take over for him. Feeney’s already inside, but she won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  “What’s her prognosis?”

  “I don’t know yet. They’re not talking.” She looked up at Roarke. “I can’t let you in.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Peabody promised. “Watch for it.”

  She strode away, squaring her shoulders back to add authority. Eve moved smoothly to the end of the corridor, shifted slightly to bring Louise’s door into view.

  She saw Peabody glance at her wrist unit, shrug, then jerk her thumb to indicate she’d take over duty while the uniform took a break. He didn’t hesitate. Sprung, he hurried down the hallway toward food, coffee, and a chair.

  “I won’t be long,” Eve promised. She made the dash, slipped through the door Peabody opened.

  The room was larger than she’d expected, and the light was dim. Feeney nodded and flipped the shield on the wide window, closing off the view from outside.

  Louise was propped in the hospital bed, the bandages wrapped around her head no whiter than her cheeks. Scanners and IVs ran from her to machines and monitors that hummed and beeped and blinked with lights.

  She stirred as Eve approached the bed and opened eyes that were deeply bruised and blurry. A smile ghosted around her mouth.

  “I sure as hell earned that half mill
ion.”

  “I’m sorry.” Eve wrapped her fingers around the bed guard.

  “You’re sorry.” With a weak laugh, Louise lifted her right hand. The wrist was cased in a clear stabilizer. “Next time, you get your head bashed in, and I’ll be sorry.”

  “Deal.”

  “I got the data. I put it on a disc. It’s—”

  “I’ve got it.” Feeling helpless, Eve leaned over, laid her hand over Louise’s uninjured one. “Don’t worry.”

  “You’ve got it? What the hell did you need me for?”

  “Insurance.”

  Louise sighed, closed her eyes. “I don’t know how much good it’ll do you. I think it goes deep. Scary. Christ, they gave me primo drugs here, I’m about to go flying.”

  “Tell me who hurt you. You saw them.”

  “Yeah. So stupid. I was pissed. Put the disc away for safe keeping, then figured I’d handle it myself. Confront the enemy on my turf. Fading out here, Dallas.”

  “Tell me who hurt you, Louise.”

  “I called her in, let it rip. Next thing . . . caught me off guard. Never thought . . . Jan. Faithful nurse. Go get the bitch for me, Dallas. I can’t kick her ass until I can stand up.”

  “I’ll get her for you.”

  “Get all the bastards,” she mumbled, then drifted off.

  “She was coherent,” Eve said to Feeney, hardly aware she still held Louise’s hand. “She wouldn’t have been that coherent if there was brain damage.”

  “I’d say the lady has a hard head. Jan?” He took out his memo pad. “Nurse at the clinic? I’ll pick her up.”

  Eve slid her hand away, shoved it into her pocket as she battled impotence. “Will you let me know?”

  His eyes met hers over Louise. “First thing.”

  “Good. Great. I’d better get out before I’m tagged.” She stopped with her hand on the door. “Feeney?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Peabody’s a good cop.”

  “That she is.”

  “If I don’t get back, ask Cartright to take her.”

  His throat closed, so he swallowed hard. “You’ll be back, Dallas.”

  She turned, met his eyes again. “If I don’t get back,” she said evenly, “ask Cartright to take her. Peabody wants Homicide, she wants to make detective. Cartright can bring her along. Just do that for me.”