Treachery in Death edahr-40

by J. D. Robb

  “But though drinking, excitable, edgy, and running high, I bet he didn’t give his pal any details about said line.”

  “Nary a one.”

  “Nary.” Now Eve grinned. “I like that. Nary a one.”

  “He reads a lot,” Delfino supplied. “Considering fresh lines and excitable moods, it’s just head-scratching that Garnet didn’t in turn tag his partner in this investigation. Then again, maybe he was a selfish bastard or thought his partner was a dickhead.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see what Bix has to say about it.”

  “Looking forward to it. Well, shall we proceed?” Janburry said to his partner.

  “See? Reads a lot.”

  Enjoying their rhythm, Eve split off to prepare for the interview.

  In her office, she put together what she needed, then sent memos to Whitney and Webster, leaving it to them to inform their superiors of the interview she’d scheduled. She put in a request for Mira to observe, if possible.

  Then she tagged Feeney.

  “Progress?”

  “Nobody likes a nag.”

  “Hey, it’s been hours.”

  “Not in e-time. We’re getting there. We’re close.” He crunched down on one of his habitual almonds. “It’s not like replacing a mother-board, you know.”

  “Fine. You should be aware I’ve just come from pissing Renee off, adding some more pressure. She said she didn’t like me.”

  “That must’ve hurt your feelings.”

  “They’re bruised. I ratted her out to her old man re Garnet’s temper tantrum last night, and if he didn’t head down there and give her a spanking, I’ll dress like McNab for a week. She called me a bitch, right to my face.”

  “I’m shocked by her use of harsh language.”

  “I could barely conceal my pain and embarrassment. I also tweaked her boy, Bix, and have him scheduled for Interview in a few minutes, regarding Garnet’s possible use of Renee’s weasel, the now deceased Keener, as Renee graciously opened that door.”

  “She’s going to want to do more than use harsh language on you.”

  “You think? What’s Peabody’s status?”

  “She’s hunkered down in your office here. That’s all I know.”

  “Roarke?”

  “What am I? The freaking hall monitor?” The screen filled with his aggrieved face. “He’s doing rich, important-guy shit. He’s in and out.”

  “Okay. Keep me updated. Text only.”

  “When we’ve got it, you’ll know. Otherwise, don’t bother me.”

  “Jeez,” she muttered when he clicked off. “Temperamental geek.”

  She started down to Interview, and spotted Baxter at Vending.

  “Did you close up the wit?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” He chose a coconut cream bar, which made her stomach curdle. “You want?” he offered, obviously in a generous mood.

  “Not if I were trapped under the rubble of a fallen building for five days and it was my only possible sustenance.”

  “I like ’em.” To prove it, he ripped the wrapper, bit in. “Trueheart and I are working the suspect in Interview. We’re taking a break so he can sulk and reflect on the error of his ways. Funny thing, when I came out I saw an Illegals detective going into B. Bix.”

  “Do you know Bix?”

  “No, I haven’t had that pleasure. So how did I know it was Bix, you may ask.”

  “I may.”

  “I call it cop curiosity.” He took another bite, chewed. “My LT is butting heads with Illegals LT Oberman, I just have to find out a little more about the opposition and her crew. Hence, my recognition of Bix.”

  “Hence,” she repeated. “You must read a lot.”

  “I’ve been known to crack a book. Now my cop curiosity extends to Bix in Interview, perhaps sulking.”

  “Perhaps.” She hooked a thumb in her pocket. “I can’t tell you, Baxter.”

  “Well.” He bit, chewed. “If and when, I’d like in.”

  “Why?”

  “Is that yet another rhetorical question?”

  She had to laugh, but shook her head. “A storm’s coming.”

  “As a trained observer with considerable cop curiosity, I already figured that. If you need another umbrella, just let me know.”

  “So noted.”

  “Meanwhile, it may or may not be of interest to you but there are mutters that you’re after Oberman because she’s on the fast track to captain, or because she has bigger tits. Or because she spurned your sexual advances.”

  “You made that last one up.”

  “Actually I didn’t, but I wish I had. Those mutters aren’t getting far as they’re overpowered by louder mutters that Garnet was an asshole and Oberman didn’t rein him in. Or that you spurned her sexual advances. Mostly the other mutters haven’t gotten a foothold because people are more scared of you than Oberman.”

  “I like fear. It’s versatile.”

  “In the right hands.”

  She left him contemplating his choices for washing down the coconut cream and walked into Interview, where she’d kept Bix waiting.

  “Record on. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, entering Interview with Bix, Detective Carl. Detective, I’m formalizing this as our discussion will involve another police officer whose death has been deemed a homicide and is being investigated by other detectives. Do you understand and agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to Mirandize you to keep this interview formal, and to adhere to the letter of procedure.” She read him the Revised Miranda. “Do you understand your rights and obligations in this matter?”

  His jaw twitched, just a little. “I’m a cop. I know what being Mirandized means.”

  “Excellent. Detective, your direct superior is Lieutenant Renee Oberman, Illegals, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Under Lieutenant Oberman you have often partnered with Detective Bill Garnet, of the same squad.”

  “Yes.”

  “Most recently, you and Detective Garnet were assigned as lead investigators on the Giraldi case. According to my information, Detective Garnet believed that case was about to break.”

  “We were pursuing several lines of investigation.”

  Eve opened a file, skimmed it as if looking for specific data. “Were any of those lines of investigation pursued due to information received from your lieutenant’s CI, Rickie Keener, now deceased?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  She cocked up her eyebrows. “You had not solicited information from that source?”

  “No.”

  “Had Garnet?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “It runs a very high probability, Detective, that as both Keener and Garnet were killed at the same location, their murders are connected, either by perpetrator or purpose, or both.”

  “I don’t believe Keener was murdered. I think he overdosed, as his kind often do.”

  “That determination isn’t yours to make, Detective. It falls to the ME, to me, to the evidence, which all weigh in on homicide.”

  She closed a file, opened another, exposing Keener’s crime scene photos, then slid out one of Garnet’s and set them side-by-side.

  “It would be a very strange coincidence if Detective Garnet was murdered in the same location and his death had no connection to Keener’s. Adding to that, you and Garnet entered Keener’s residence, after his death, and performed an illegal search.”

  “We believed we had cause, and did not—at that time—know Keener was dead.”

  “The cause being a possible connection to your investigation.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you had not solicited Keener prior.”

  “I didn’t. I said I had no knowledge whether Garnet did. He said he had a hunch, that we needed to give Keener a shake.”

  “What was the hunch? What was the purpose of the shake?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She leaned back. “You an
d Garnet were working what you consider a major case, one you believed would shortly break. He has a hunch, and you both go to the flop of your lieutenant’s CI. But you don’t ask why, or what you’re looking for when you conduct the illegal search, you don’t ask how Keener might be connected to your investigation.”

  Bix shrugged, the first move he’d made since she’d come in to the room. “Garnet wanted to give him a shake. I backed him up.”

  “You don’t have much cop curiosity, do you, Bix?”

  “I do the job.”

  “You follow orders. Did you consider Garnet a partner or a senior detective?”

  “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.”

  Twenty

  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.