The In Death Collection, Books 30-32

by J. D. Robb

  “He was both. Now he’s neither.”

  “Did you get along with him?”

  “I didn’t have any problem with him.”

  “Friendly, were you?”

  “I didn’t have a problem with him,” Bix repeated.

  “You had no problem with the fact that your partner and squad mate used illegal substances? The same substances you are assigned to get off the streets.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Don’t know anything about that,” Eve repeated. “You’re either lying or stupid. I’m going for lying as nobody stupid enough not to recognize when their partner’s riding up would make it to detective, and sure as hell wouldn’t make it in Illegals.”

  “Think what you want.”

  “Oh, I do. I think Garnet had been screwing up lately. I think he pushed at Keener.” She nudged the photos across the table. Bix barely gave them a glance. “Had to be a reason for Keener to move out of his flop and go into a hole. Had to be a reason for somebody to dig him out long enough to kill him. It’s a screwup, losing a weasel that way, especially the boss’s weasel. Then he screws up and illegally enters Keener’s flop, conducts—with you—an illegal search. When he’s called on it, he goes off on a superior—embarrassing his own and earning a rip. But he’s not done screwing up yet. He then gets high and goes after me to the point of drawing his weapon.

  “Must know he’s cooked then,” Eve added. “So he finds a drinking buddy—another squad mate, but not his partner. Then he goes back to my crime scene, breaks my seal, enters, and ends up with his throat slit.”

  Bix said nothing.

  “I think when somebody screws up that large in that short amount of time, the man who works with him knows something about it. I think when a cop’s partner develops an illegals habit, the partner—who one assumes is trained to recognize this—knows something about it.

  “What did your partner know about Keener’s murder, Bix?”

  “You could ask him.” The tiniest hint of a smirk moved his lips. “But he’s dead.”

  “Conveniently. You were military, right, Bix?” she said, opening another file.

  “I served.”

  “Weapons trained, combat trained. You know how to use a knife. Quick, silent kills—it’s an important skill.” She looked up. “Your parents were military also, and your older brother still is. It’s your heritage, so you understand the importance of following orders. When your LT gives you an order, do you follow it, Detective?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without exception? Without question?”

  “Yes.”

  “You respect your lieutenant?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re loyal to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Garnet’s behavior, his actions, his lack of discipline, lack of respect reflect poorly on Lieutenant Oberman.”

  “Garnet was responsible for himself.”

  “You know how the chain of command works, Bix. You’ve lived your life in it. Garnet was a screwup, and that makes Lieutenant Oberman a screwup.”

  That lit the first fire in his eyes. “She’s twice what you’ll ever be.”

  “I admire loyalty, even misplaced. Garnet’s actions and behavior made your lieutenant look inept, made her look like a fool, showed her to be lacking the power of command to control her man or discipline him. Her own father is disappointed in her lack of leadership.”

  “Commander Oberman’s time has passed. Lieutenant Oberman runs a tight and efficient unit.”

  “Garnet makes her third man down since she took command. That’s not real tight in my book.”

  “Homicide comes in after it’s done. Illegals works the street.”

  “Oberman rides a desk,” Eve corrected, then shrugged. “Did Garnet ever brag about how he used to bang the boss?”

  His eyes stayed cold, nearly blank, but his hands fisted on the table between them. “You deserve more than the couple slaps Garnet gave you.”

  “Want to try your hand at it? He embarrassed her, he demeaned her, he ignored her directives and put her in the position of defending herself, her command. He jeopardized your squad, Bix. What do you do when your unit’s in jeopardy?” She bit off the words, spat them out. “What do you do when your lieutenant is under fire? What do you do?”

  “What needs to be done.”

  “Where were you at oh one hundred, when Garnet went down?”

  “Home.”

  “Where were you the night Keener was murdered?”

  “Home.”

  “What is your response when and if your lieutenant orders you to eliminate a threat?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His voice snapped like a salute. “When and how?”

  “And if that order includes murder, do you question it? Do you hesitate?”

  “I do not.”

  “What did Keener have, what did he know, what had he done to make him a liability? Why did he have to be eliminated?”

  Bix opened his mouth, closed it again. He squared his shoulders. “I have nothing more to say to you. If you want to question me further, it’ll be in the presence of my department rep.”

  “That’s your right. Let it be noted that not once during this interview did Detective Bix address me as sir or by my rank. This disrespect will be included in his file. Just a little icing on the cake I’m baking,” she told Bix, then rose. “Interview end.”

  20

  HER LIEUTENANT AND BIX HAD BEEN GONE about ten minutes when Lilah saw her window. Four of the squad were in the field, Brinker off on one of his many lengthy trips to Vending or the bathroom. Sloan and Asserton sat at their desks plugging away at paperwork. Freeman and Marcell had just gone into the break room.

  Lilah picked up a report from her desk, walked briskly to Renee’s door, shoved the master she’d palmed in and out of the slot. And walked inside. The minute she had the door closed, she stuck the report in her back pocket.

  Five minutes, she told herself. Tops. Freeman and Marcell were bound to bullshit in the break room that long.

  She hit the desk first, crouching down to the locked bottom drawer. And using the skill she’d learned from her doomed brother, picked the lock.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her to find so many personal items the rest of the squad was denied. High-end—way high-end—face enhancements, a top-of-the-line VR unit with a collection of relaxation and sex programs.

  She’d already judged Renee as useless and vain.

  She ran her fingers under drawers, along their sides, checked for false bottoms. She found a little cash, but nothing over the line.

  She closed the drawer, secured it again. Careful not to disturb Renee’s pristine organization, she riffled through others. Flipped through file discs, opened and scanned a memo book, an appointment book before moving on to the furniture, the counters, the windows.

  She knew Renee had a hide in there. Knew it hid more than expensive lip dye and eye shadow, more than fancy imported perfume that sold for a paycheck an ounce.

  Her gut told her she’d hit the time to bail—sweat had begun to trickle down the center of her back.

  One minute more, she told herself, easing the seascape off the wall to check behind it, to examine its back, its frame.

  The minute she replaced it, carefully adjusting it so it hung perfectly true, it struck her.

  “You idiot,” she muttered. “You wasted those psych courses.”

  She looked at the portrait of Commander Marcus Oberman, in full dress blues.

  Too heavy to take off the wall on her own, she judged. Not unless she dragged the table under it out of the way to gain more leverage and a better angle.

  She managed to get a hand behind the frame, ease it out an inch—and cursed herself for not thinking to bring in a penlight.

  She braced the portrait with one hand, ran the other behind it while trying to angle her head to see. Eased it up another inch, praying she wouldn’t cock it off its support. />
  Her searching hand bumped something, and the surprise had her pulling the bottom of the portrait up in a short little jerk. Her breath sucked in as it continued smoothly up, hinging at the top. And revealing the safe behind it.

  She grabbed her ’link, used its camera to take several shots. Even if she’d had the time, was willing to risk the time, her thievery skills were limited to picking simple locks, not to breaking what looked to be a complex wall safe.

  Taking it slow, she brought the portrait to rights. Stepped back, checked the alignment, the position. Wiped her damp palms on her thighs. At the door she tipped one of the blind slats a fraction.

  Asserton and Sloan still at their desks. Brinker still wherever Brinker went a dozen times a day. Freeman and Marcell still in the break room. All clear.

  Move, she ordered herself. Go now.

  She pulled the file out of her pocket, stepped out, closed the door. A quick slide of the master re-engaged the lock. Hearing the quiet click, she walked briskly toward her desk. She was halfway there when the break room door opened. She sat down, aimed her eyes at her screen as if checking her data. And considered her options.

  Business as usual, she reminded herself. Head down, ass in the chair. And when her shift was over, she’d use a public ’link on the way home to contact Dallas.

  When Eve walked back into her office, Mira turned from the window.

  “Oh, good. I didn’t know if you’d been able to make it down to observe. Do you think—”

  “What are you doing?” Mira interrupted.

  Eve saw what she’d missed through the interview high. The doctor was pissed.

  “About?”

  “Why are you deliberately baiting a man you believe has already killed at least two people in a matter of days? A man with no sense of urgency, nerves, or regrets regarding those murders? A man who has every reason to see you as an obstacle and a threat, to himself, but more important, to the woman he follows with absolute loyalty, all while knowing that woman has every motive, and would have no compunction, to order him to eliminate you.”

  “Because it’s my job.”

  “Don’t use that on me. I know you. There are certainly other ways to build and close this case, ways I have no doubt you’re pursuing. You enjoyed baiting him. You want him—through Renee Oberman—to try to kill you.”

  “Okay.” Eve moved to the AutoChef, programmed some of the herbal tea Mira drank. “I think you could use this.”

  “Don’t you dare try to brush me off.”

  “I’m not.” Eve set the tea on her desk, programmed coffee for herself. “I’m not,” she repeated. “You’re not wrong. You’re rarely wrong. I did enjoy it. Hell, I relished it. And I do want him to come at me. But I’m not wrong either. All of that is my job. Okay, maybe not the relish, but I’m entitled to some perks.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Eve.”

  “You’re damn fucking skippy it’s not. They’re cops, Doctor Mira, and cops don’t roll so easy. Bix sure as hell isn’t going to roll on Renee because I ask nice or the PA offers him a sweet deal. She’s his direct superior—his commanding officer. She’s given him a mission, made him important to her—made him her right hand, and that’s a powerful seduction. She’s created an atmosphere where they’re above the rest. Elite. Like ... like Special Forces—which he applied for and couldn’t get. They do what needs to be done—and his CO decides what that is. Following orders is part of his code, and his code is his god.”

  “You can’t tell me the only way to stop them, all of them, is to make yourself an irresistible target.”

  “Not the only way, no, but it’s a sure way, not only to stop them, but to carve them out of this department, to absolutely crush them. To make certain Renee, Bix, Freeman—every one of them—pays the heaviest price allowed by law. Every one of them, because believe me I will weed out and carve out every one of them.”

  Eve held up a hand before Mira could speak. “I’m under orders, too. Chief Tibble ordered me to take Renee Oberman and every cop in her network down hard. Bix isn’t the only one who takes orders seriously. I will take them down, and I will do everything in my power to minimize the damage to this department when I do.”

  Eve picked up the tea again. Mira wasn’t just pissed, she’d noted, she was tired and . . . sad.

  “Here. Maybe you could sit down.”

  Mira took the tea, sat. “I’m so angry with you.”

  “So noted. She has strings to pull. She has to have a judge, probably a couple of politicians. She’s got lines in the courts, in the department, maybe the lab, maybe the morgue. I’m stacking it up against her, and the rest of them, but I have to weigh that stack against her lines. She could wiggle out of this—evidence gets lost, lab results doctored, the wrong motion filed, wits vanish or recant.”

  “This entire investigation began because of a statement by what we’d agree is a sterling witness.”

  Struggling not to be annoyed—did she tell Mira how to do her job?—Eve ticked points off on her fingers.

  “Peabody never saw her. Bix’s name was never mentioned. Garnet’s dead. And if this isn’t nailed shut by the time it becomes known what she did see and hear?” Eve shook her head. “I’m her lieutenant. I’m her partner. Do you think I’d leave her ass hanging out with a target on it?”

  “No.” Mira finally sipped her tea. “No, I know you wouldn’t.”

  “Bix would stick his blaster in his ear and fire before he’d turn on Renee. Am I wrong?”

  “No. I believe he would sacrifice himself, and consider it honor, to shield her. Which means, if he does try to kill you—and you survive—you only have him.”

  “I’ve got some geeks up my sleeve, but even without that, collaring him puts a big crack in her wall. She’s disgraced, her career takes a hit it can’t recover from. And we open the floodgates to the money. Garnet’s, Bix’s, hers, the others. Explain that, bitch. She’d be scrambling. More, I think I worked Bix into casting a hard shadow on her.”

  Calmer, Mira sipped again. “You showed him, by his own words and demeanor, to be a soldier—one who follows orders without question, one with intense loyalty to Renee. Not a man who goes outside his CO, who breaks ranks and acts on his own volition.”

  “So I also have a top shrink up my sleeve, because you’d testify to that, in really big, fancy words. Janburry and Delfino, the cops on Garnet’s case, they’ll draw in on Bix. If Bix makes a run at me, he’s going to end up with his face on the sidewalk and a cop’s boot on his neck. I hope it’s mine, but I’ll settle for any cop’s boot.”

  “I know she observed as well. You wanted her to so you could let her know you’re looking in her direction. You did that because it will unnerve her, anger her, and—you hope—push her into giving Bix his green light. But you also did it, Eve, because it’s personal.”

  “It’s absolutely fucking down to the bone personal.” And a relief to say it. A goddamn thrill to say it. “She’s spit on everything I value, on everything I am. On everything I made myself out of a nightmare she can’t even conceive of. It matters.”

  “Yes,” Mira murmured. “Yes, it does.”

  “When I take her down I’m doing it for me, for the badge, for the man who trained me, taught me, who helped make me someone who deserves to wear it. But that’s only part of it. I’m doing it for you, goddamn it.”

  “Eve—”

  “Be quiet,” she ordered, and stunned them both. She had to get it out, she realized. Had to, here and now, let this vicious stew of emotion roiling in her guts spill over.

  “I’m doing it for Whitney, for Peabody, for every man and woman in my bullpen. I’m doing it for every cop she killed and a dead junkie. I’m doing it for every cop who deserves to wear the badge. And though I’ll do everything in my power to bring them all down, I’m doing it for every cop she turned into a disgrace.”

  She stopped herself, took a breath. “If you know me, I guess you should know that.”

  “I do. I
know that very well. I let it be personal, too. You’re personal to me.”

  Eve felt the little pinch under her heart. “Are we good?”

  “I can’t help but wish you hadn’t made your case so well; then I could still be angry.” Mira rose. “I’m not going to bother to tell you to be careful. I don’t need to tell you to be smart. Do you have questions for me?”

  “You’ve already answered one of them. Just one other. I figure I know the answer, but it never hurts. Does she know I’m daring her to sic her dog on me?”

  “While she knows now you’re looking at her, and looking hard, she’d never put her life at risk. I don’t believe she can conceive of you doing so, not for something as unimportant to her as justice, as honor. If she sics her dog on you, she’ll believe it’s her idea. And it should be soon.”

  “Okay.” The sooner, the better.

  “Are you having nightmares, Eve? Flashbacks?”

  “No. Not really. Not in awhile. It feels, mostly, done. It’s never all the way done.” Still down there, she thought, down in the deep, but ... “It feels mostly done.”

  “All right.” Mira took Eve’s hand in hers for a squeeze. “Thanks for the tea.”

  Alone, Eve started to check in with Peabody, then Janburry tapped on her doorjamb.

  “You clear, Lieutenant?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, have you been waiting?”

  “No problem. Might’ve had a little one if you’d managed to get a confession on our dead guy.”

  “That’s going to take a little more work. I just set up the play, passed you the ball. Could you close the door, Detective Delfino?”

  After she had, Delfino leaned back against it. “Renee Oberman,” she said. “Commander Oberman’s baby girl.”

  “Is that how you read it?”

  “He’s the reader.” She jerked a thumb at her partner. “Me? I smell it, like shit and blood in the water.”

  “She’s got a descriptive idiom,” Janburry commented. “I’m wondering if we can borrow your homework, Lieutenant, seeing as we missed a couple days of school on this.”

  “I haven’t been given full authorization, but I can tell you we’re both looking in the same direction. I could give you this.” She took a disc out of her pocket. “It would save you some time. But before I do, let’s make a deal.”