The Unquiet

by J. D. Robb; Mary Blayney

  It didn’t take him long. As he moved down the line of lockers uncoding the locks, she called Peabody in for the search.

  And hit pay dirt in Pachai Gupta’s.

  Eve took out the silver pipe.

  “Weighted it for extra punch. And he didn’t even clean it thoroughly,” Eve noted. “There’s still some blood, some matter. It shows some nicks and dents where it hit bone.”

  “He loved her—Darnell.” Peabody shook her head. “It was all over him, Dallas. Love and grief, all over him.”

  “He wouldn’t be the first to destroy what he loved. But this is so damn stupid, so careless. Steal the serum by unlocking the cabinet rather than busting it up. Then just leave one of the murder weapons in your work locker?”

  “A frame-up? It makes more sense to me,” Peabody said. “I know I did the interview, and I hate thinking I missed anything, but a frame-up makes more sense.”

  “He’s got this in the locker, but doesn’t use it. Kills Billingsly, and unless he’s really stupid, knows we’ll search the lockers, knows we’ll question the fact the serum cabinet was opened with its lock code. He’s unstable, and the drug makes him more so, but he’s organized. Takes care not to be seen coming in—but does murder, then shows himself.”

  “Because he wanted us here,” Peabody concluded. “Following the bread crumbs to Gupta. No, not crumbs. Big, chunky hunks of bread.”

  “Reads that way. Seal it up, get the weapon taken to the lab for processing. And let’s have all our players picked up, brought in.”

  She walked out with Roarke. “A frame-up, if that’s what it is, that’s human. So’s screwing up and leaving evidence where it can be found, if that’s what it is. Either way, with the weapon, the DNA, we’ll lock it down.”

  “I have every faith. I’m going into the office.”

  “Now? It’s . . .” She checked the time as they stepped outside. “It’s shy of five a.m.”

  “Should I point out you’ve been working since shortly after two? I’ll get my own jump on the day, and as I’m curious enough, I may come down to Central later, watch you lock it down.”

  “If you need the car, I could—Guess you don’t,” she added when a dark limo glided smoothly to the curb. “I’m going to hit the lab first, give Dickhead a push. A DNA match will save the innocent bystanders from a round in the box. Thanks for the bribe.”

  “Never a problem.” He touched her cheek. “Take care, will you? This one gives me a very uneasy feeling.”

  “Too many old horror vids, and an Irish nature. I think I can handle some murderous scientist.”

  “Try not to punch him. You’ll set the healing on that arm back.”

  She watched him drive away, then went back in to talk to the head sweeper and get Peabody for the trip to the lab.

  Dick Berenski’s ink black hair was slicked back over his eggshaped head. Rather than his usual lab coat, he wore a multicolored floral shirt that would have made even McNab wince.

  “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Clothes. It’s five-fucking-a.m. I’m not officially on yet. And I want a bottle of single malt scotch for the game.”

  “We already agreed to terms.”

  “That was before.” He shot her a sour look, and since the last time she’d seen him he’d been scarily sweet—and in love—she assumed there was trouble in paradise.

  “Before what?”

  “Before I got here and found Harpo pulling an all-nighter.”

  “Why is that my problem?”

  “She’s on your hair—first murder—and you’re not going to like it.” He played his spider fingers over his comp. “She’ll come out here.”

  “What about my skin?”

  “She goes first. And I want that scotch.”

  “Fine, fine, if you give me something I can use.”

  “Oh, I’ll give you something.”

  Harpo, all spiky red hair and tired eyes, walked out from her section into Berenski’s. “Yo,” she said to Eve and Peabody, then dropped onto a stool. “You tell her?” she asked Berenski.

  “I said you’d do it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay. So,” she said, swiveling to Eve. “On one hand this is totally iced. On the other, it’s majorly fucked.”

  “What is?”

  “The hair. I’m the goddess of hair and fiber, and if I can’t ID it, nobody can. And I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sorry, I’ve been at this all night. I’m a little wired on Boost.” She gestured with the jumbo tube in her hand before she took a gulp.

  “Have you tried the new black cherry flavor?” Peabody asked her.

  “Yeah, but it’s got an aftertaste. I’m pretty well hooked on the Lemon Zest. It’s got a nice zing.”

  “I like Blue Lagoon. There’s something about drinking blue that feels energizing.”

  “Excuse me,” Eve said, brutally polite. “This talk of flavors and favorites is fascinating, but maybe we could take a moment to discuss—oh, I don’t know—evidence?”

  “Sure,” Harpo said as Peabody cleared her throat. “I got hair from your crime scene. ID’d some from each of your vics, no prob. Got some not theirs, but no roots. So no DNA for you on that, but I started a standard anal. You want to eliminate animal—like a rat, or a stray cat, whatever. And I could—I figured anyway—give you some basics. Synthetic, human, if it was treated, color, and like that. But I can’t, ’cause it’s not.”

  “Not what, Harpo?”

  “It’s not synthetic. That’s solid. But it’s not exactly human and not exactly animal. It’s sort of both.”

  “It can’t be both.”

  “That’s right.” Harpo pointed a finger tipped with a metallic purple nail. “But it is.” She glanced at Berenski for permission, then used one of the comps to call up her file. “What you have here,” she said, tapping that bright nail to the image, “is human hair, and this”—she split the screen with a second image—“is ape.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Science says. See, on the human hair the cuticle scales overlap smoothly. On the ape hair, they’re rough—they, like, protrude. Get it?”

  “Okay, yeah. So?”

  “So this—” Harpo added another image. “Okay, this is from your crime scene. It clearly shows characteristics of both—rough and smooth—on one strand. What you got here, Dallas, is mutant hair. It’s like somebody mated a human with an ape, and here’s the hair of the result.”

  “Give me a break, Harpo.”

  “Science doesn’t lie. It screws up sometimes, but it doesn’t lie. I ran this through everything I’ve got and did the same with the other strands the sweepers sent me. Same result. About two this morning, I gave up and tagged my old man—”

  “Your—”

  “My father’s head of forensics at Quantico. Look, Dallas, it’s not like I go running to Daddy whenever I hit a snag. In fact, this is the first time ever because it’s way out of orbit, and he’s the best there is—anywhere.”

  “Okay, Harpo, okay. What was his take?”

  “He’s stumped, just like me. This sort of mutation shouldn’t be possible. But I’ve got hair—five samples—that says it is.”

  “So, you’re telling me I’m looking for an ape-man? Seriously?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re looking for, is what I’m telling you. Come on, Dickie, give her yours so she stops looking at me like they let me out of the ward too early.”

  Berenski folded his arms. “Harpo got what she got, and I got what I got. You got green skin.”

  “I know that, goddamn it.”

  “I mean green. Not makeup, not tinted. It’s green down through the subcutaneous tissue. Your vic got some blood along with the flesh, and that’s not right either.”

  “Green blood?” Eve asked, ready to be annoyed all over again.

  “It’s red enough, but it’s not human. Not all the way. I get what Harpo got on the hair. A combination of human and ap
e. DNA’s like nothing I’ve seen before, and I’ve seen it all. It is what it is,” he snapped out before Eve could protest. “You’ve got some mutant freak running around killing people. I want some fucking coffee.”

  He shoved up, stomped away.

  “His girlfriend dumped him a couple days ago,” Harpo said. “He hasn’t said it, but we figure. He’s been hell to be around since. But he’s right. It is what it is. My old man, he’d like to consult on this if you give him the nod.”

  Eve squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to get DNA from the suspects. When I do, can you match it to this?”

  “Dickie’s got DNA from the skin and blood the vic scraped off. He can match it if you get him the killer’s. You get hair, I can match it. But it shouldn’t be a problem to find some half-ape guy with green skin. Right?”

  “Jesus,” was all Eve could think of.

  Wisely Peabody kept her thoughts to herself. She managed to be wise until they’d gotten back in the car.

  “You know Harpo’s solid. And Dickhead’s a dickhead, but he’s one of the best there is. If they both come up with the same results, and really, when you look at the killer, he’s just not . . .”

  “Human? Bullshit. Bullshit. And one more bullshit. They’re doing some sort of weird experiments in Rosenthall’s lab. Something unauthorized and twisted.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. They created a monster—a killer ape-man monster. And now it’s broken out and wreaking havoc on the city. And—”

  “Don’t make me slap you. It’s so damn girlie.”

  “Not when you’re on the receiving end.”

  “Experiments,” Eve continued. “The serum. It screws up the DNA, causes severe anemia. Louise said that could cause a green cast to the skin.”

  “All the way down?”

  “Obviously.”

  “But the face, Dallas.”

  She wanted to believe it was prosthetics, a device, some sort of elaborate mask. But . . . “I don’t know, but we’re going to grill Rosenthall like a trout until he clears this up. Mr. Hyde,” she muttered. “Maybe that’s not so far off.”

  “Mr. Hyde?” Peabody scooted up and over in her seat. “Oh, oh, Rosenthall created the evil Dr. Jekyll. No wait, Dr. Jekyll’s the good part. Hyde’s the evil one. But they’re the same person. Rosenthall’s Mr. Hyde!”

  “D minus, and only because you got the names right. Why would Rosenthall kill Jennifer Darnell—in that manner? That personal, intimate manner? The killer wanted her, and couldn’t have her.”

  “Back to Pachai.”

  “Think about it. You said he loved her—and wit statements indicate she was interested. Now maybe he moved, she decided she wasn’t interested after all. But who’s the odd man out in this? Who got Darnell and her friend the jobs at Slice? Gets her and her friend work, but she’s more interested in Gupta. And golly, where do we find one of the murder weapons? In Gupta’s locker—with blood and brain matter still on it.”

  “Ken Dickerson. It is a frame-up.”

  “Gupta’s Rosenthall’s assistant. Dickerson’s still an intern. Gupta’s caught the eye of Darnell, even though Dickerson went to his uncle and got her work—then did her another favor and got work for Vix. Gupta comes from a family of doctors, scientists, and had a leg up since his father knows Rosenthall. Dickerson had to work his way through, push for scholarships. And Gupta’s still ahead of him.”

  “Why not kill Pachai?”

  “One of the first three vics got wind of something Dickerson was up to, so they had to go. What better way to destroy Gupta than by killing the girl he loved and pinning it on him? Whatever he’s on makes him feel superior, but that was already in there. It makes him feel powerful, free. It makes him happy, and more, he’s found out killing makes him even happier. He destroyed the lab, took the serum. He doesn’t want anyone else to have what he’s got. It’s all his.”

  “It plays, but it doesn’t explain the mutations.”

  “So Rosenthall better,” she said as she pulled into the garage at Central. “We’ll take him first.”

  TEN

  As Eve headed down to Homicide, Arianna sprang up from a bench in the corridor and rushed toward her. “Lieutenant Dallas, please, can you tell me what’s happening? The police came to my home this morning. They said Eton’s been murdered.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “God. But when? How?”

  “Shortly before one this morning, in Dr. Rosenthall’s lab.”

  “In Justin’s lab? But I don’t . . .”

  She closed her eyes a moment. “How can this be happening? They said we needed to come here—Justin and I. They took him somewhere else, wouldn’t let me stay with him. They just said I had to wait. It’s been more than an hour.”

  “I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I’m going to be talking to Dr. Rosenthall shortly.”

  “But what happened? My God, this is a nightmare. Eton murdered, and in Justin’s lab.”

  “Do you know why Dr. Billingsly would have been in Dr. Rosenthall’s lab at that time of night?”

  “No. No. He shouldn’t have been. He’s not involved in Justin’s work. The killer must have been after Justin. After Justin.” Arianna rubbed a hand between her breasts back and forth. “He was going to work late, stay in his office again last night, but I asked him not to. I asked him to come home with me, stay with me. I wanted him with me, and I was upset enough that he gave in.”

  “You left the Center together?”

  “Yes, about eleven thirty, I think. I had a fund-raiser, and called Justin from the car when I left.”

  “Did anyone stay in the lab?”

  “I don’t know. Justin met me out front. We were together all night. I swear it. You can’t believe Justin had anything to do with this. I know people talk about Eton being jealous of him.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes, but Justin isn’t bothered by it. We—God, it seems cruel now—we’d joke about it sometimes. Can I see him now? Do we need a lawyer?”

  “He’s not under arrest, but I need to ask him a few questions. If he wants a lawyer present he can have one. Peabody, why don’t you take Ms. Whitwood to the lounge? She can wait there while we talk to Dr. Rosenthall. It shouldn’t be long.”

  As long as it takes, Eve thought as she headed toward the first interview room.

  Justin straightened in his chair when Eve entered.

  “So it’s true,” he said, “about Billingsly. He’s dead.”

  “Yes. Record on, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, in Interview with Dr. Justin Rosenthall on the matters of Darnell, Vix, and Bickford, case number H-45893, and Eton Billingsly, case number H-43898. I have to record this. Procedure.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m also going to read you your rights.” As she did, Justin said nothing. “Do you understand your rights and obligations?”

  “Yes. You think I killed them?”

  She let the question hang a moment. He looked worn-out, she noted, as Arianna had.

  “All the victims were connected to you and the Center. Billingsly was murdered in your lab.”

  “In my lab?”

  “Yes. There are questions that have to be asked, but first, I’d like a sample of your DNA.”

  “My—all right, but it’s on file.”

  “Just consider it a spot check.” She took out a swab.

  When it was done, she went to the door, passed it off to the waiting uniform.

  She sat at the table across from Justin. “What was Billingsly doing in your lab?”

  “I have no idea. He shouldn’t have been there. He shouldn’t have been able to get in without my authorization. How did he?”

  “He cloned your swipe card and had a recording of your voice.”

  Justin simply stared at her. “He went that far? He disliked me—that’s not news—but I can’t believe he’d go as far as breaking into the lab. And for what?”

  “Would he have business with your assistan
t or interns?”

  “No, none I can think of. And he knew none of us were there. I saw him before I left, and he commented on the fact that I was actually going home.”

  “You didn’t get along.”

  “Not well.” Justin braced his elbows on the table, pushed his hands over his face, back into his hair. “That’s no secret, as he made it very clear he didn’t think I was good enough for Ari—and he was.”

  “That must have pissed you off.”

  “Some,” he admitted. “But frankly, I didn’t give Billingsly much thought. Arianna loves me; we’re about to be married. And my work occupies the rest of my thoughts at this stage.”

  “What is this stage?”

  “We’re about to begin the next round of testing.”

  “Meaning?” Eve said as Peabody entered. “Peabody, Detective Delia, entering Interview. Go on, Doctor.”

  “We’ve injected a test group of lab rats with specific addictive substances over a course of time.”

  “You’ve made addicts out of rats?”

  “Yes. We observe and monitor, chart, record. Now we’ll inject them with the serum, run them through tests. Once we—”

  “You don’t test on human subjects.”

  “No. That’s months off, maybe years. This isn’t a quick process. We can’t risk testing an unproven substance on a human being.”

  “It must be tempting to push it some, to kick up the pace.”

  “You don’t go into research to rush.”

  “Do your assistants ever get antsy?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Maybe your assistants want to take it up a notch, show off some, impress you.”

  “They’re young. Sure, there’s some frustration, impatience—competition from time to time. But we have a very strict protocol, a timetable, procedures that must be followed not only for success but for safety.”

  “Who has access to the serum?”

  “It’s locked in the lab, in an environmentally controlled case. No one but myself and Pachai have access. You don’t think Billingsly tried to—”

  “The case was open,” Eve told him. “And empty.”

  “Empty?” Looking stricken, Rosenthall rubbed at his temple. “The serum’s gone? God. God! We’re so close. A competing lab? Espionage? Would Billingsly have done that?”