by J. D. Robb
“You sure seem to know a lot about it,” Peabody commented.
“I worked in Vice awhile and stuff.” Still he squirmed a little under her stare and gave his attention to Eve. “I could start hunting in that venue. Like you said, he’s a collector. They even got some of this stuff that leans toward the art film side. I could start with that.”
“McNab, sometimes you surprise me. Do it.”
“Want to watch some dirty discs, She-Body?” he whispered, and Eve pretended, mostly for her own sake, she didn’t hear.
“Son of a bitch.” Feeney pocketed his communicator. “We got a break. I’ve been running the like crimes, couldn’t find any in London or England for the time frame you wanted. I put a man on it to run variations of the pattern, just in case. He got a hit.”
“Where?”
“It’s a place in Cornwall, along the coast. Cops found some bodies out in the moor. They were in pretty bad shape—exposure and they’ve still got, you know, wild life around there. Thing was, they were garroted, but there was no wire, so I didn’t get the pop. Plus the locals there hadn’t hooked it into the network until two months after the crime.”
“Why do you tag it as Yost?”
“Timing fits, once they were able to determine time of death. Kill pattern fits. Both victims, male and female, were beaten badly, especially around the face. Both tranqued. Both raped. My man brought up the dead shots and compared the neck wounds, what could be made of them, and that fits. Hiker who called it in didn’t hang around for the cops. Could be he took the wires.”
“Did they ID the victims?”
“They did. Couple of badass smugglers who kept a base in a cottage up there. I can follow up on this, get more data, talk to the primary.”
“Yeah, and pass it all through to my home unit. I’m going to feed this one to the feds, too. It might get them off my back, and better yet, off my turf for a while. With that in mind, let’s pick this up at eight hundred tomorrow, my home office. Anybody gets anything between now and then, contact me.”
She hit Dickie, the chief lab tech, and hit him hard. He whined, but it was almost casually. She threatened him, then bribed him with a bottle of Jamaican rum, which completed their relationship dynamic. He agreed to put her bathroom drains on top of his workload.
Next she reported to Whitney, got his go-ahead to feed her selected data to Jacoby and Stowe. And as expected, was told she would be needed at a press conference scheduled for fourteen-thirty the following afternoon.
She brooded about that all the way back down to her office where she settled down and contacted Stowe.
The agent came on screen, her attractive face showing annoyance. “Lieutenant, why did I have to hear on a public news report of a murder that most certainly appears to be perpetrated by Sylvester Yost?”
“Because news travels, Agent Stowe, and I’ve been busy. I’m contacting you now to bring you up-to-date on this latest incident. But if you’d rather break my balls, you’re just wasting my time.”
“You should have informed me or my partner before you left the scene and had it sealed.”
“I don’t recall seeing that directive written down anywhere. This is a courtesy call, and I’m starting to feel pretty discourteous.”
“Cooperation—”
“You want cooperation, then shut up and listen.”
Eve paused, saw Stowe simmer, then swallow her wrath. “I have some data that might be of help to your investigation, and to mine, and which I believe your agency can track more quickly than mine. You want to deal, let’s deal. I’m going to be at a downtown club, the Down and Dirty, in twenty minutes. Bring something to trade.”
She cut transmission before Stowe could respond.
And she made certain she got to the D and D in fifteen, just in case.
An enormous black man with tattoos and feathers and a head as bald and shiny as a bowling ball grinned wide enough to split his remarkably ugly face when she walked in.
“Hey there, white girl.”
“Hey back, black boy.”
It was too early for the bulk of the clientele an all-nude club like the Down and Dirty appealed to. Still, there was a scatter of customers hulking at tables and a single bored dancer working up just enough energy to shake her impressive breasts to the beat of recorded music.
Crack, all seven feet of him, ran the club, but would concentrate on bouncing the more irritating of the customers out on their heads when the action heated up. He’d gotten his name for the sounds those heads made as they met concrete.
For now, he loitered behind the bar, and came up with a nasty-looking cup of black coffee.
He slid it over to Eve. “Don’t see your skinny ass in here awhile, I get to missing it.”
“Golly, Crack, you’re making me all misty.” One sip of the coffee took care of that. She hoped her throat lining would regenerate eventually. “I got a couple of federal types meeting me here.”
He looked so pained even the grinning skull tattooed on his cheek drooped. “Now why you wanna do that thing, sweet lips? You bring federal heat to my place.”
“I wanted to show them a highlight of our wonderful city.” She laughed. “And I wanted to make their clean-cut, East Washington selves see what it’s like in the real world. The female half of the team may be all right under it all, but the guy’s a butt pain squared.”
“You want me to maybe give them some grief?”
“No, maybe just one of your hard looks, the kind they’ll remember long after they’re safe back in their little field office. Oh, and you could make sure they get this coffee.”
His teeth gleamed like marble columns. “You got you a mean streak.”
“A mile wide, pal. Anything in here you don’t want the feds sniffing?”
“We clean . . . right now.” His eyes skimmed past her. “Mmm-mmm. More white meat. Whiter than white. They ever hire color in the effing-bee of eye?”
“Sure, but working federal probably turns them white. Give me a little room here, Crack,” she murmured, then shifted on her stool. “Agents.”
“You sure pick the nicest places, Lieutenant.” With a wrinkle of the nose, Jacoby inspected a stool before gingerly sliding on.
“This is my little home away from home. Want some coffee? My treat.”
“I guess that’s as safe a bet as you’d get in a dump like this.”
“You calling my place a dump.” Crack leaned over the bar, stuck his huge face into Jacoby’s.
“He’s just being a moron.” Karen Stowe stepped gamely between them. “It’s genetic, so he can’t help it. I’d love some coffee, thank you.”
“Then you’re welcome.” With surprising dignity, Crack stepped back and worked on the coffee under the bar. His gaze slid up briefly, met Eve’s, gleamed good humor.
“You got a trade?” Eve demanded.
“The Bureau is not in the habit of bartering with the locals.”
“Jacoby, for God’s sake, fall in or shut up.” Stowe turned to Eve. “Can we get a table?”
“Sure.” Eve picked up her coffee, waited until they had theirs, then strolled away to a table in the far corner.
Stowe led off. “I picked up some information on a hit that looks like Yost. A Supreme Court judge, went down two years ago.”
“A Supreme Court justice gets raped and garroted, it makes the media wild. I don’t remember hearing anything on this. And none of my searches picked it up.”
“Politics. They covered it because the justice wasn’t alone. He was with an underage female.”
“Dead?”
“No. I’m still picking out the pieces but what I get is the kid was drugged, then bound, and locked in an adjoining room. I can’t get a name on her, can’t get past the seals, but it looks as if she was whisked away by the government. I’m guessing Witness Protection. They don’t want her talking about the judge’s bad habit of boinking youngsters. Official word is he died of a heart attack, and was beyond resuscitation by th
e time medical aid arrived.”
“That’s not bad.”
“Your turn.”
Eve nodded and managed to conceal a smile of satisfaction when Jacoby took a gulp of coffee and turned nearly the same pea-green tone as her city vehicle. While his eyes watered and he gasped, she gave Stowe the appropriate data.
“I can get the files from the Brits within the hour,” Stowe said. “We should be able to track down the hiker. The vacation or retirement property’s a good line. My data runs with yours. He’s never hit more than two at a time in the same location. If he’s planning on four here, he might want a break. I’ll put some drones on that to start, and we’ll see what they come up with. I’m going to want to talk to your husband.”
“I already gave you two for one. Don’t push it.”
Marginally recovered, Jacoby leaned forward. “We can pull him in, Dallas. We don’t need your permission.”
“Try it. He’ll eat you for lunch. Listen to me,” she said, turning to Stowe. “If he had any answers, if he had a goddamn clue what’s driving this, he’d tell me. He knew Jonah Talbot, he liked him, and he feels responsible. You get in Roarke’s face on this, you’ll just make it worse for him and get nothing for yourself. I’ve got personal reasons for wanting this guy. So does Roarke. He’ll work with me on this, he’ll work with the NYPSD, but he won’t work with you.”
“He would if you asked him to.”
“Maybe. But I won’t. Take what I’ve given you and see where it takes you. It’s more than you had when you came in here.”
She pushed away from the table, got to her feet. Then she took a good, hard look at both of them. “Let me make this clear. You make a move toward him, you’ll have to get through me. If by some miracle you get through me in one piece, he’ll slice you in half without breaking a sweat, and you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what the hell happened to your promising career. Work with me, and we’ll take this murdering son of a bitch down. You can have the credit, I don’t give a shit about that. You try an end run around me toward Roarke, I’ll burn you.”
She turned on her heel, strode to the bar, and slapped down credits for the coffee.
“Kicking ass, white girl,” Crack said with a wink.
“I haven’t even started.”
Stowe blew out a breath when Eve stalked out. “Well, didn’t that go well?”
“Local heat,” Jacoby said in disgust. “Who the hell does she think she is, dicking with us?”
“A good cop,” Stowe snapped back. Christ, she was tired of playing with Jacoby. But he was her ticket to the Yost investigation. “One who’ll protect her personal and professional territory.”
“Good cops don’t marry criminals.”
For one long moment Stowe just stared at him. “You really are an idiot. Ignoring that supercilious and ridiculous statement, whatever the suspicions are about Roarke’s former activities, nobody, nobody in any law enforcement agency on or off planet has any documentation, any proof, not even any they could cook up out of steam, that links him to any crime. And the point here, Jacoby, is in this matter he’s a victim. He knows it, she knows it, and we know it. So cut the crap.”
He was annoyed enough to take another gulp of coffee before he remembered. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m trying to remember. I’m pretty sure it was law and order. I don’t think that local heat has any trouble remembering that.”
“Like hell. She was holding out on us. She’s got more.”
“Well, gee, Jacoby, you think?” Sarcasm dripped, frigid as icicles. “Of course she was holding out on us. In her place we’d do exactly the same thing. But the point is, she told the truth. She gave us straight leads, as far as they went. And when she said she didn’t care who got the credit for taking Yost down, she meant it.”
She shoved her untouched coffee aside and got to her feet. “I wish I could say the same. I wish I knew I could say I didn’t care, and mean it.”
chapter ten
Eve’s intention was to go straight to her home office, run more data, gather whatever fresh information the rest of her team had shot over, then follow up on the nibble the feds had passed her way.
Plans changed the minute she was through the front door. She wasn’t surprised to see Summerset in the foyer. The fact was it no longer seemed her day was complete if she didn’t exchange a few pithy words with him every evening.
But even as she opened her mouth for the first serve, he was cutting her off.
“Roarke’s upstairs.”
“So? He lives here.”
“He’s disturbed.”
Her stomach sank. Neither of them noticed that when she started to strip off her jacket, Summerset not only helped her out of it, but laid it neatly over his arm.
“What about Mick?”
“He’s out for the evening.”
“Okay. No help with a distraction there then. How long has he been home?”
“Nearly half an hour. He’s made calls, but has yet to go into his office. He’s in the master bedroom.”
She nodded, started up the stairs. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I believe you will,” Summerset murmured.
She found him in the bedroom. He was taking a call on his headset rather than the ’link, and stood looking out one of the tall windows to the gardens that were wild with spring.
“If there’s anything I can do to help you with the arrangements, or anything at all . . .”
As he listened, he threw up the window, leaned out as if, Eve thought, desperate for air.
“We’ll all miss him, and very much, Mrs. Talbot. I hope it’s some comfort to you to know how much Jonah was liked and respected. No,” he said after a moment. “There are no answers to the why. That’s true, yes. Will you let me do that for you and your family?”
He said nothing for quite some time, and Eve had been on this side of enough victim survivor calls to know how much grief and confusion were pouring out of Talbot’s mother.
And into Roarke.
“Yes, of course,” he said at length. “Please contact me if there’s anything else I can do for you. No. No, it’s not. I will. Good-bye, Mrs. Talbot.”
He drew the headset off, but stayed at the window, his back to the room. Saying nothing, Eve crossed to him, slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to his back.
She felt his body, already tensed, brace.
“Jonah’s mother.”
“Yeah.” She held on. “I heard.”
“She’s grateful to me for offering to help. For taking the time to offer my personal condolences.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, and violent with sarcasm. “Of course, I didn’t mention he’d be alive if he hadn’t worked for me.”
“Maybe you’re right, but—”
“Fuck maybe.” He snapped the headset in two, heaved it out the window. The abrupt movement knocked Eve back a step, but she had her feet planted and was ready to face him when he whirled.
“He’d done nothing. Nothing but be mine. Just like that young maid. And for that alone they’re beaten and raped, and their lives ended. I’m responsible for those who work for me. How many more? How many will be betrayed to death simply because they’re mine?”
“This is what he wants. You questioning yourself, blaming yourself.”
The mad that Feeney had predicted was there now. Ripened to bursting. “Well, he can have it. I’ll take a bloody ad out.”
“Give him what he wants,” she said evenly. “Let him know he got to you, he’ll want more.”
“Then what?” He lifted his hands, and they were fists. “I can fight what comes at me. One way or the other I can take it on. But how do I fight this? Do you know how many work for me?”
“No.”
“Neither did I. But I ran figures today. I’m a wonder with figures. There are millions. I’ve given him millions to pluck from.”
“No.” She moved forward, wrapped her fingers firmly around his forearm
s. “You know better. You’ve given him nothing. He takes. Your mistake will be to give him part of you. To let him know he has it.”
“If I let him know, maybe he’ll come at me.”
“Maybe. I’ve thought of that, and it worries me. But . . .” She ran her hands up his arms, down again in an unconscious effort to soothe. “That’s mostly when I’m thinking with my heart. When I use my head, it doesn’t play. He doesn’t want you dead. He wants you wounded. Do you understand what I mean? He wants you broken or in turmoil or . . . he wants you like this.”
“For what purpose?”
“That’s for us to figure out. We will figure it out. Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“Sit,” she repeated, using the cool, unbending tone he often used with her. When his eyes flashed, she turned away to pour out a snifter of brandy.
Briefly, she considered slipping a soother into it, but he’d know. She could attempt to pour it down his throat as he’d done to her, but she didn’t think she could pull it off.
Then they’d both be mad.
“Have you eaten?”
Too distracted to be amused by the sudden role reversal, he let out an impatient breath. “No. Why don’t you go to work?”
“Why don’t you stop being so stubborn?” She set the brandy on the low table in the sitting area, put her hands on her hips. “Now, you can sit down or I can take you down. A little hand to hand might make you feel better, so I’m up for that.”
“I’m not in the mood for a fight.” And because he wasn’t, but in the mood to brood, he walked over and sat. “Screen on,” he ordered.
“Screen off,” she countermanded. “No media.”
Now his eyes glinted. “Screen on. If you don’t want to watch, go away.”
“Screen off.”
“Lieutenant, you’re treading a thin line.”
Temper rerouted outward, toward her. Just as she’d intended. It wasn’t iced yet, no, not yet, she thought. But that would come.