The In Death Collection, Books 30-32

by J. D. Robb

  But he got out.

  She took the glass into the kitchen, deliberately and viciously smashed it in the sink. “Fucking asshole!”

  Everything that had gone wrong in the last few days had started with him. Keener slipping his collar, with the 10K? Direct line to Garnet’s screwup. If not for that she wouldn’t have Dallas on her back, in her face, in her squad. Wouldn’t have had to swallow the commander’s refusal to push the bitch out. Wouldn’t have had to humiliate herself to her stiff-necked, unbending father.

  He’d become a liability. Calmer, she poured herself another short whiskey. Liabilities needed to be corrected, and if correction proved impossible, eliminated.

  Thinking, she circled the living area of the apartment she’d furnished with care, with some style, and within a strict budget.

  She wasn’t a fool like so many who worked for her.

  Her home in Sardinia, now, that was a different matter. There she could indulge herself in the lush. She could buy art, jewelry, clothes—everything and anything she wanted. And keep the highest of high-end droids on staff to maintain the house and grounds immaculately.

  Nobody was taking that from her, much less an ex-lover who’d lost his edge, and all his appeal.

  Time to fix it, once and for all.

  She opened her purse, took out her disposable mini-’link, and contacted Bix on his.

  “Are you alone?” she asked him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Bix, I’m afraid I have a serious problem, and you’re the only one who can handle it as it needs to be handled.”

  He said nothing for a moment, just looked into her eyes. “What do you need me to do, Lieutenant?”

  15

  WHEN EVE FINISHED HER ORAL REPORT WITH Whitney on the incident with Garnet, she settled down to write it up, with the attached record.

  “Perhaps when you’ve finished that you’d be interested in hearing what I accomplished while you were out getting in fistfights.”

  “He was waiting for me when ...” She pushed up, jabbed a finger at Roarke. “You got her.”

  “Not quite, but I’m closing in there. I’ll want a bit more time to tie that knot. But I have Garnet and can serve him to you—or IAB, I suppose—on a platter.”

  She sat down, grinned—and made her lip throb again. “I love you.”

  “Excellent news. You can prove it with lots of sex.”

  “We had sex a few hours ago.”

  “No, we made love a few hours ago—angels surely wept. I want sex for this job, as it’s given me a buggering headache trying to straddle your far-famed line. I want mad sex, with costumes—maybe props—and an intriguing story line.”

  “Milking it, pal.”

  “Until it runs dead dry.” He tossed her a disc. “He owns property in the Canary Islands under the name Garnet Jacoby—Jacoby being his maternal grandmother’s maiden name. Amateur.”

  “What kind of property?”

  “A house to start, with two acres. It’s appraised at five and a half million, and some change. Jacoby paid cash. His ID has him as an entrepreneur, with Brit citizenship. He also owns two vehicles kept there, and a boat. A yacht, you could say. Jacoby is a few years younger than Garnet, has green eyes rather than brown, and lost his first and only wife in a tragic climbing accident.”

  “That’s very sad.”

  “He has a healthy account in that name, and another, smaller—I’d say backup money—in another under Jacoby Lucerne—the street where he lived as a child. Lucerne is Australian. Between the three—Garnet, Jacoby, Lucerne—they’re worth in the neighborhood of sixty million. Not bad on a cop’s pay.”

  “And he called me a whore,” she murmured.

  Roarke eased onto her desk. “I’d be very sorry if that hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t hurt me. It’s a pisser of biblical proportions to be called a whore by that motherfucker.”

  “All right then.”

  “Renee?”

  “A bit more time there. She’s smarter, and a great deal more clever than Garnet. I think I have her, but I want to finish verifying and gathering it up. You’re not going to ask how I came by the data on that disc?”

  “No. You told me you straddled the line, so you straddled it. Sorry about the headache.”

  “That’s what blockers are for. I have Bix on the disc as well. That took some doing, and I’m really going to want costumes. He’s not smarter than Garnet, necessarily, but his ass was surely more covered.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “It is. He doesn’t really spend the money, but banks it. Several accounts, various names, nationalities. He has a little place in Montana. A cabin, really, worth a fraction of his partner’s home away from home. And an all-terrain. Collects weapons under several of his aliases, so none of them cause much of a ripple. Added together, it’s quite the arsenal. Still, nothing flashy for Bix.”

  “It’s not about the money for him. It’s about the chain of command.”

  “I’ve started on the others, made considerably more headway tonight. But I thought you’d be most interested in those three.”

  “You’d be right. Anything on Brinker?”

  “Brinker.” Roarke’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Ah, yes. He’s the little chateau in Baden-Baden—going back to his roots, I’d say—the manor house in Surrey, and the three mistresses.”

  “Three? No wonder he’s asleep at his desk.” So, Lilah’s instincts were off there. “Asserton or Sloan?”

  “No, nothing as yet—and as I haven’t had a single hit on either, there’s likely not to be.”

  “Agree. Shift them over, push the rest. We serve Garnet up to IAB tomorrow, garnish him with the charges stemming from tonight’s temper tantrum with me. He’s cooked. What you’ve got? It’s the sauce.”

  “The clever cooking analogy doesn’t distract me from the fact you don’t want to serve him up alone. You want Renee sharing the platter.”

  “Be tastier,” she admitted, then waved a hand. “We’ve got to get off the food stuff. I’d rather have her nailed before I take Garnet in. Her, and the rest. But it’s not an absolute. He’ll flip if I need him to flip, and he’ll still go away a good, long time. If you’re done with this for the night, no problem.”

  “And I look like the weak sister?”

  “Don’t make me smile again. It hurts.”

  “I’ll finish it. If I get further along, I should be able to program it to complete the task while we both get some sleep.”

  “I need to contact Webster.”

  “Eve,” Roarke said as she reached for her ’link. “He’s with Darcia.”

  “Yeah, so? He needs to . . .” She broke off, winced as she had when her lip throbbed. “You think they’re having sex?”

  “Oh, at a wild, what-the-hell sort of guess? Yes. Very likely.”

  “I can’t think about that. I don’t want to know that. I know what he looks like when he has sex.”

  Roarke flicked a finger on the top of her head. “I wonder why I need to be reminded of that.”

  This time she pressed her fingers to her lip to hold it as it throbbed since she couldn’t quite swallow the laugh. “I’m just saying. I like how you look having sex better.”

  “Darling, how sweet of you.”

  “I need to scrape off the sarcasm you just piled on me, then I’ll contact him—but straight to message. I want him and the rest here by oh seven hundred.”

  Bix picked Garnet up at one A.M.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Garnet said.

  “It took awhile for the LT to get it set up. Nobody wants any mistakes on this. Like she said, you and Dallas had a confrontation. Don’t want this to blow back on you.”

  “Freeman’s got me covered.” Resentment oozed out of his pores. “If Oberman had done the damn job, I wouldn’t need to be covered.”

  Bix said nothing, then glanced over. “Dallas do that to your face?”

  Color—anger and humilia
tion—stained Garnet’s cheeks. “She’s not looking so pretty either. Cunt sucker-punched me.” The lie came so easily, as it had when he’d told Freeman the same, he nearly believed it himself. “Pulls her weapon on me. Says she’s going to take my badge. Maybe go after Oberman next,” he added, knowing Bix’s loyalties. “She’s jealous of the LT, that’s what it is. Bitch wants to take her down, cause trouble. If she causes enough, the whole thing’s going to break down. We’re all in the shit can then, Bix.”

  “I guess so.”

  “What’s the plan? You didn’t lay it out before.”

  “The boss is using a bogus weasel to tag Dallas with a tip. A big one, deals with Keener. The boss says how Dallas is hot to close Keener, really wants to tie it to use that to discredit her. So we draw her in tonight, back to the scene.”

  “That’s good.” Garnet nodded, tapped a little of his go-powder on his hand, inhaled it. He wanted the buzz, fresh and rising, when he sliced the bitch to pieces. “What’s the tip?”

  “I didn’t ask; don’t need to know. The lieutenant said she’d get Dallas there, she’ll get her there. We take care of business, and that’s that.”

  “She might call it in.” Garnet tried to figure the angles through the rush in his head. “Tag her partner anyway.”

  “So what if she does?”

  “Yeah. We do them both.” He was eager for it. “Maybe better that way. Better yet if we have somebody to pin it on. The whole thing—Keener and the two bitches.”

  “The boss is working on it,” Bix said simply, and pulled to the curb.

  “Dallas is mine.” Garnet patted the sheath on his belt. “You remember that.”

  “If that’s how you want it.”

  “Did you bring me a piece? Bitch took mine.”

  “We’ll take care of it inside.”

  Bix didn’t speak as they walked the short distance to the abandoned building. He knew there were probably some eyes on them—on two men in black—but it was unlikely they’d be approached. People rarely approached him looking for trouble. His size backed them off.

  If anyone did, well, he’d do what needed to be done. He had orders, he had a mission. He would follow orders and complete his mission.

  He unsealed the door, opened the locks.

  “Dark as a tomb in here. Smells worse.” Garnet reached in his pocket for his penlight. “It’s a good place for her to die.”

  He played the light around the ruined space, calculating the best kill spot. “I want her to see me do it. I want her to see me when I cut her.”

  Bix said nothing. He simply yanked Garnet’s head back by the hair and dragged the keen edge of his knife over Garnet’s throat.

  And it was done.

  He took a moment to be sorry when Garnet fell to the floor, blood and breath gurgling. He hadn’t liked the man, not particularly, but they’d been partners. So he took a moment for a little regret.

  Then he pressed the master he’d used to unseal the doors into Garnet’s hand, slipped it into Garnet’s pocket. Removed Garnet’s disposable phone, his wallet, put them both in a bag, along with the knife he’d used. He’d dispose of them elsewhere.

  He drew out the baggie of the powder Garnet had grown too fond off, dipped the dead’s thumb and index finger in it to leave more trace, then added it to the disposal bag.

  It would look, in a way, very much as it was. Garnet had come to the scene for a meet, and the meet had gone south. His killer had taken whatever was of value from the corpse, and let it lie.

  Bix straightened, cleaned the blood off his sealed hands. He turned and walked away, leaving the door open as a man might when running away from murder.

  Back in the vehicle he drove north, putting some distance down before he contacted his lieutenant. “We’re clear, Lieutenant.”

  Her acknowledgment—a nod as if she’d expected no less—rewarded him. “Thank you, Detective. Be sure to dispose of the weapon before you go to Garnet’s and remove anything that needs removing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  While Bix circled around to dump the contents of the bag in the river, Roarke stepped into Eve’s office.

  She was, he noted, starting to fade. And he imagined if he drew blood from her and ran it through an analyzer, it would register outrageous levels of caffeine.

  “Marcia Anbrome.”

  Eve looked up, blinked. “Who?”

  Yes indeed, fading fast. “Take a moment,” he suggested.

  “Who the hell is Marcia Anbrome? I just need to finish this backtrack on the—Shit. You got her?”

  And she’s back, Roarke thought. “I want to put a bow on it, so I’ve got it running on auto to tie the ribbon, but I’d say I—or we—have her.”

  “Anbrome—that’s a—what is it—anagram. Oberman, Anbrome. Marcia—Marcus. It’s a goddamn testament, or finger in the eye, for her father.”

  “And I imagine Mira will have considerable to say about it.” He walked over, put her current work on auto himself, shaking his head even as she started to protest. “You have a briefing in less than six hours. She has a home in Sardinia,” he continued, drawing Eve to her feet. “And a flat in Rome. Her passport is Swiss. They’re excellent credentials, by the way,” he added, leading her toward the bedroom. “She must have paid a hefty sum for them. I’ve found properties and accounts worth upward of two hundred million. I think there’s a bit more tucked here and there.”

  “I don’t get it. If she’s accumulated that much, why the hell isn’t she in Sardinia rolling in it? Why is she still pushing her way through the department, aiming at captain—and maybe commander? Why is she still on the job when she could be lying on the beach fanning herself with her own dirty money?”

  “I’m probably the wrong one to ask.”

  “No, you’re exactly the right one.” She sat on the arm of the sofa in the bedroom, pulled off her boots. “And I know the answer. It’s the rush, the challenge, the business. And hell, if you can make a couple hundred mil, you can make four hundred. She’ll never give it up. It’s not just what she does, it’s who she is.”

  “As I’ve picked my way through her life—lives, I should say—I’d agree. She does spend time as Marcia. She keeps a private shuttle in Baltimore, flies over once or twice a month, depending. She generally spends an extended time there in the winter, sometimes in the summer as well. But she spends a great deal more time here, running that business.

  “And here,” he told Eve, “she lives precisely within her means. A bit too precisely. Every bill paid upon receipt, and no purchases—that show—that would squeeze her very strict budget. No luxuries, none. So I’d say when she indulges herself, it’s in cash.”

  “Everything’s precise with her, which means the books for her business will be very accurate, very detailed. Strong thinks there’s a hide in the office. I’d bet she has a copy there, another at her apartment. That’s control. That’s being able to open them up and gloat over all those tidy columns while her father watches her from the wall.”

  After dragging on a sleep shirt, she rolled into bed. “It’s all the same. Money is power, power is money, control holds both, and command opens doorways for more. Sex and command are tools for creating more money and power, and the badge? It’s a gateway. Killing? Just the cost of doing business.”

  “There are others like her.” Sliding in beside her, Roarke drew her close. “I’ve known them. Even used them when it seemed expedient, though I preferred, until more recently, to avoid cops altogether.”

  “There’s more of us than them. I have to believe that.”

  “Since I’ve been exposed to how real cops work, think, what they’ll risk and sacrifice, I can say one of you is more than a dozen of them. Let it go now.” He brushed his lips over hers. “It’s smarter to go into a fight rested.”

  “You gave it up for me. You were mostly out of that kind of business when we got together, but you gave up the rest for me.”

  “The rest was more a hobby by th
at point. Like coin collecting.”

  She knew better. “I don’t forget it,” she told him, and closed her eyes to sleep.

  Her com signaled at four-twenty and, cursing, she groped for it.

  “Dallas.”

  “Lieutenant. Detective Janburry from the one-six. Sorry to get you up.”

  “Then why are you?”

  “Well, I’ve got a dead body here, on your crime scene. Your name’s on the seal.”

  “Off Canal?”

  “That’s the one. I’m on the DB, Lieutenant, but wanted to give you the heads up. Especially since the vic was on the job.”

  Her belly contracted. “ID?” she demanded, but already knew.

  “Garnet, Detective William. Illegals out of Central.”

  “I need you to hold this until I get there. I’m on my way now. Don’t transport the DB.”

  “I can hold it. I’m primary on this, Lieutenant. I didn’t inform you to pass this ball.”

  “Understood, and the tag is appreciated, Detective. I’m on my way.”

  She tossed the com down, pushed out of bed to pull at her hair, to pace, to curse. “I set him up; she took him out. Goddamn it, goddamn it. I could’ve taken him in. I could’ve slapped him in a cage, put the pressure on with what I had. But I wanted more. I wanted to make them sweat. I wanted more time to put it together, to see what she’d try next. Now he’s dead.”

  “Don’t you stand there and take the blame for one dirty cop killing another.”

  “I made a choice. The choice killed him.”

  “Bollocks to that, Eve.” Roarke said it sharply enough to stop her, to make her turn. “His choices and Renee’s killed him. Do you think she couldn’t have gotten to him in a cage, had him done?”

  “I’ll never know now. I miscalculated. I didn’t think she’d risk bringing this kind of attention to the squad, adding another avenue of investigation. She outplayed me on this.”

  “I disagree. You’re angry, and foolishly guilty, so you’re not thinking it through.”

  “I’m thinking it through—Garnet’s dead.”