The In Death Collection, Books 21-25

by J. D. Robb

  “And if I find that measure of compensation a bit too dear?”

  “For a man of your means, I can’t imagine, but . . . I’d be forced to mention the possibility of my—being upset by all this—discussing the situation with someone. Maybe a reporter.”

  He swiveled lazily again. “And that would concern me, because . . .”

  “Being a sentimental woman, I kept files on every one of the children I was in charge of. I have histories, details—and some of those might be difficult, even embarrassing for you and for Eve. Did you know, for instance, that she’d had sexual relations repeatedly, and all before she was nine years old?”

  “And do you equate rape with sexual relations?” His tone was mild as milk, even as his blood boiled. “That’s quite unenlightened of you, Ms. Lombard.”

  “Regardless of what you call it, I think some people might feel a woman with that kind of thing in her makeup isn’t the sort who should be a lieutenant of the police department. I’m not sure of that myself,” she added. “Maybe it’s my civic duty to talk to the media, maybe her superiors at the police station.”

  “But two million—that’s USD—would outweigh your civic duty.”

  “I just want what’s coming to me. Did you know she had blood on her when she was found? She . . . or someone else . . . washed most of it off, but they did tests.”

  Her eyes were brighter now, as bold and as sharp as her long red nails. “And not all the blood was hers.

  “She used to have nightmares,” Trudy continued. “And it seemed to me that she was stabbing somebody to death in those nightmares. I wonder what people would make of that, if I was upset and said something. I bet people’d pay good money for a story like that, considering who she is now. And who she’s married to.”

  “They might,” Roarke agreed. “People often enjoy wallowing in another’s pain and misery.”

  “So I don’t think the compensation I mentioned is too dear. I’ll just take it and go back to Texas. Eve won’t have to think about me again, even after all I did for her.”

  “You’ve misspoken. It was to her, not for her. Now then, what you don’t understand, Ms. Lombard, is I’m compensating you right now.”

  “You’d better think before—”

  “I’m compensating you,” he interrupted, “by not getting up, coming over there, and twisting your head off your neck with my bare hands.”

  She gasped, theatrically. “You’re threatening me?”

  “Indeed, I’m not,” he continued in the same easy tone. “I’m explaining to you how you’re being compensated for walking away from this. I’m telling you what’s not happening to you, and believe me, it’s costing me dearly not to put my hands on you for what you did to my wife when she was defenseless.”

  He rose, slowly. There wasn’t a gasp this time, and no theatrics. She simply froze as all the blood drained out of her face. Finally, he decided, she saw what was under his own shell, under the sophistication, the style, the manners money had bought him.

  Even a viper hadn’t a prayer against it.

  With his eyes on hers, he came around the desk, then leaned back against it. Close enough that he heard her breath shudder out.

  “Do you know what could be done, what I could do like that?” He snapped his fingers. “I could kill you, here and now, without a flinch. I could have as many people as I deemed appropriate swear you’d left this office hale and hearty. I could have security discs altered to prove it. They’d never find your body—what was left of it when I was done with you. So consider your life—which I assume is worth a considerable amount to you—your compensation.”

  “You must be crazy.” She shrank back in her chair. “You must be out of your mind.”

  “Consider that if you ever think of bargaining with me again . . . If you consider lining your pockets by speaking of a child’s torture and nightmare for money. . . If you ever attempt to contact my wife again . . . Think of that, and be afraid. Be afraid,” he repeated, leaning toward her a bit, “because restraining myself from carving pieces of you away, slowly, one at a time, is irritating. I dislike being irritated.”

  He took one step toward her, had her scrambling to her feet and backing toward the door. “Oh, and you may want to pass the message on to your son, should he feel inclined to try my patience.”

  When she reached the door, fumbled behind her for it, he spoke softly. “There’s nowhere in or off this world you could hide from me if you do anything more to hurt my wife. Nowhere I wouldn’t go to settle with you for it.” He waited a beat, smiled, and said: “Run.”

  She ran, and he heard a thin scream, like a wheezing breath as her footsteps pounded away. He dipped his hands in his pockets, closed one over Eve’s button again as he walked back to study the dank gloom of the December sky.

  “Sir?”

  He didn’t turn as his admin stepped into his office. “Yes, Caro.”

  “Did you want Security to monitor Ms. Lombard’s exit?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “She seemed to be in a hurry.”

  He watched the ghost of his reflection smile a little. “She had a sudden change of plans.” He turned now, glanced at his wrist unit. “Well, it’s time for lunch, isn’t it? I’ll go up, greet our guests. I have quite the appetite this afternoon.”

  “I imagine,” Caro murmured.

  “Oh, and Caro?” he said as he strolled toward his private elevator. “Would you notify Security that neither Ms. Lombard nor her son—I’ll see they have an ID print of him—should be given access to this building?”

  “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  “One more thing? They’re staying at the West Side Hotel, over on Tenth. I’d like to know when they check out.”

  “I’ll see to that, sir.”

  He glanced back as the elevator opened. “You’re a treasure, Caro.”

  She thought, as the door closed behind him, that at moments like this she was pleased he thought so.

  4

  TO KEEP HER MIND BUSY, EVE CONCENTRATED on paperwork and follow-ups. Dealing with the drone work had the added benefit of getting her desk reasonably clear before the holidays snuck up and bit her in the ass.

  She was making considerable headway when Peabody came to her office door.

  “Tubbs’s tox came back positive for traces of Zeus, and various others. Other vic was clean. The bodies, such as they are, will be released to next of kin tomorrow.”

  “Good job.”

  “Dallas?”

  “Mmm. I’m sending the squad’s expense chits up. Most of them,” she said with a sneer. “Baxter and I are going to have a little chat.”

  “Dallas.” Eve glanced up, saw Peabody’s face. “What?”

  “I’ve got to go to court. Celina.”

  Eve got to her feet. “We’ve already given our testimony.”

  “Prosecution called me separately, remember? As one of the victims.”

  “Yeah, but . . . I thought you weren’t coming up for that yet, not for another week or two anyway. With the holidays . . .”

  “It’s moving along pretty fast. I need to go in.”

  “When?”

  “Sort of now. It shouldn’t take long, but . . . You’re going with me?” Peabody asked as Eve grabbed her coat.

  “What do you think?”

  On a long breath, Peabody closed her eyes. “Thanks. Thanks. McNab’s going to meet me there. He’s out in the field, and he’s going to try to . . . Thanks.”

  On the way out, Eve stopped at one of the vending units. “Get yourself some water,” she told Peabody. “Get me the cold caffeine.”

  “Good idea. My throat’s already dry. I’m prepped,” Peabody continued as she entered her code, made her choices. “The prosecution team drilled me good. And it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve testified in court.”

  “It’s the first time you’ve testified as a victim. It’s different. You know it’s different.”

&
nbsp; She passed Eve a tube of Pepsi, and took a long pull from the water as they walked. “It wasn’t even Celina who hurt me. I don’t know why I’m so spooked.”

  “She was part of it. She had foreknowledge and did nothing. She’s charged with accessory for a reason, Peabody. You go in, you lay out what happened, you don’t let the defense shake you. Then you walk away from it.”

  You could walk away from it, Eve thought, but you never really got away. Peabody would remember every moment of that attack. She’d remember the pain and the fear. Justice might be served, but even justice couldn’t wipe away the memories.

  She went out the main doors. However crappy the day, the short walk would settle Peabody down. “You’re a cop,” she began, “and you took a hard hit in the line. That matters to juries. You’re a woman.” Eve slid her hands into her pockets, out of the cold rain. “Whether or not it should apply, that matters to juries, too. The fact that this big, crazy son of a bitch—one who’d killed and mutilated multiple women—kicked you around . . . it matters big time.”

  “He’s sewed up.” And that was a huge relief. “Too damn crazy to stand trial. He’ll be locked up in an institution for the mentally defective, violence sector, ’til he croaks.”

  “Your job here is to make what Celina didn’t do matter. To help the prosecution prove she was responsible.”

  “They’ll get her cold on Annalisa Sommers’s murder, the one she did herself. She’ll go up for that. Maybe it’s enough.”

  “Enough for you?”

  Peabody stared straight ahead, chugged more water. “I’m working on it being enough.”

  “Then you’re doing better than I am. You made it through, others didn’t. She watched. Every one of the dead after she linked psychically with John Blue is on her. Every minute you spent in the hospital, in recovery. Every bad moment you’ve had about it is on her, too. I damn well want her to pay.”

  As they walked up the courthouse steps, Peabody swallowed hard. “Hands are shaking.”

  “Toughen up” was all Eve said.

  Once they were through security, she could have badged her way into the courtroom. Instead she waited with Peabody while APA Cher Reo made her way over.

  “We’ve got a short recess,” Reo began. “You’ll testify next.”

  “How’s it going in there?” Eve asked.

  “She’s got good lawyers.” Reo glanced back toward the double doors. She was pretty and blonde, with perky blue eyes and a faint Southern drawl. She was also tough as titanium. “We’re both playing the psychic card, in different ways. Their stand is that the images Celina received—the murders, the violence—resulted in trauma, diminished capacity. They’ve got their experts swearing to it, and as a result they’re trying to hang all the responsibility on Blue. He’s crazy, he invaded her mind, and there you go.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Well, yes.” Reo fluffed at her hair. “On our end we have her snuggled up safe in bed at home, watching Blue torture and mutilate and kill, which gave her the bright idea to do the same, with his MO, to her former lover’s fiancée. Under the guise of working with the cops, she held back while women were murdered, and while a NYPSD detective was critically injured. A decorated officer, who courageously fought back and was intimately involved in closing the case.”

  Reo put a hand on Peabody’s arm, gave it a little rub in what Eve recognized as a woman-to-woman support gesture. “You want to go over it again? We’ve got a few more minutes.”

  “Maybe. Okay, maybe.” Peabody turned to Eve. Her eyes were a little too bright, her smile a little too tight. “You can go on in. I’ll get one more briefing from Reo, then I might want to throw up. I’d do that better alone.”

  Eve waited until Reo took Peabody into a conference room, then she pulled out her communicator and tagged McNab. “Where are you?”

  “On my way.” His pretty face and the long blond tail he wore bobbed on her screen. “Three blocks south. I had to hoof it. Who the hell let all these people out on the street?”

  “There’s a recess, nearly over. You’ve got a few minutes. I’ll be in the back. Save you a seat.”

  She clicked off, walked in, and sat, as she had countless times in the course of her career. Halls of justice, she thought as she studied the bench, the gallery, the reporters and those who piled in out of curiosity. Sometimes—she liked to think most times—justice was served here.

  She wanted it for Peabody.

  They’d dunked the ball of the case in the net for the arrest, for the indictment. Now the ball was passed to the lawyers, to the judge, and to the twelve citizens who sat on the jury.

  She studied them when they filed in.

  A moment later, Celina Sanchez was led in with her legal team.

  Their eyes met, held with that quick, buzzing connection between hunter and prey. It all came back, all the bodies, all the blood, the waste, and the cruelty.

  For love, Celina had said at the end of it. She’d done it all for love.

  And that, Eve thought, was the biggest bullshit of all.

  Celina took her seat, faced front. Her luxurious hair was worn back and up—sleek and almost prim. Instead of her preferred bold colors, there was a staid gray suit.

  Just packaging, Eve noted. She knew what was inside it. Unless the jury was dirt stupid, they knew, too.

  Reo stepped in, leaned down briefly. “She’s going to be fine. It’s good you’re here.” Then she walked to the front to take her place with the State’s team.

  As the bailiff called for the court to rise, McNab bolted through the doors. His face was pink from cold and exertion, but was still a few shades calmer than the puce shirt he wore under a jacket with a blue and pink zigzag pattern so bright and busy it stung the eyes. On matching puce airboots, he nipped in beside Eve, spoke in a breathless whisper.

  “Didn’t want me to sit with her—needed a minute. We thought we had ’til Monday. Damn it.”

  “She knows how to handle herself.”

  There was no point telling him her stomach was tying itself into greasy knots. No point in telling him she knew what he saw in his head as they took their seats and the PA called Peabody.

  He’d see himself running, with his heart slamming in his throat, hear himself shouting, “Officer down!” into his communicator as he flew down the steps of the apartment building to get to her.

  Eve hadn’t been there, but she saw it, too. She hadn’t been there to see Peabody broken and bloody and crumpled on the street. But she could see.

  She wanted every member of the jury to see it, too.

  As directed, Peabody gave her name, her rank, her badge number. The PA was brisk with her—good strategy, in Eve’s mind. Treat her like a cop. He reviewed with her some of the testimony already given, and he and the lead for the defense did their little lawyer dance.

  When she was asked to take them through the evening of the attack, she started out strong. The timing, the steps, the way she’d contacted her cohab partner, Detective Ian McNab, as she’d walked home from the subway. So when her voice broke, the jury heard it, they saw it. And they saw a woman’s struggle to stay alive, a cop’s fight to survive.

  “I was able to deploy my weapon.”

  “You were severely injured, and in a life-or-death struggle with a man who was considerably bigger than you, but you were able to reach your weapon?”

  “Yes, sir. I got one off. He threw me, was throwing me. I remember being airborne, and firing. Then I hit the ground, and I don’t remember anything until I woke in the hospital.”

  “I have here a list of the injuries you sustained, Detective. With the court’s permission, I’ll read them off for your verification.”

  As it began, McNab’s hand groped for Eve’s.

  She let him hold it through the recitation, through the verification, the objections, the questions. She said nothing when the defense began their cross, and McNab’s fingers tightened like thin wires on hers.

  Peabody was sha
ky now, and the defense played on that. But that might be a mistake, Eve thought. Screwing with the victim, the only survivor in a series of hideous murders.

  “According to your own testimony, Detective, and the statements and testimony of other witnesses to the attack, John Joseph Blue was alone when he assaulted you.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Ms. Sanchez was not there at the time you were injured.”

  “No, sir. Not physically.”

  “According to prior testimony, Ms. Sanchez had never met or spoken with or had contact with the man who attacked you, with John Joseph Blue.”

  “That’s not accurate. She had contact with John Blue. Psychically.”

  “I would qualify the word contact. Ms. Sanchez had observed, through her gift, violent murders committed by one John Joseph Blue, to which he has confessed. Isn’t it true that Ms. Sanchez came to you voluntarily to offer her assistance in your investigation?”

  “No, sir, it’s not.”

  “Detective, I have reports in evidence that clearly state Ms. Sanchez volunteered her help, without any fee, to the investigating officers, and that her assistance was accepted. That, in fact, she was instrumental in identifying Blue, and thereby stopping him.”

  While he’d spoken, Peabody lifted a water glass, drank deep. Her voice was steady again, a cop’s again when she continued. “No, sir, she did not give the investigative team or the department, or the victims or the city assistance. She, in fact, hindered the investigation by holding back key information in order to kill Annalisa Sommers, which was her primary objective.”

  “Your Honor, I ask that this witness’s speculative and inflammatory statement be stricken from the record.”

  “Objection.” The PA was on his feet. “This witness is a trained police officer, one of the key members of the investigative team.”

  The dance continued, but Eve could see Peabody relax into it now. She’d found her rhythm.

  “You’ve got two seconds to let go of my hand before I use the other to punch you,” Eve said mildly.

  “Oh. Sorry.” McNab released her, gave a nervy little laugh. “She’s okay, don’t you think?”