The In Death Collection, Books 1-5

by J. D. Robb

  They hadn’t missed a beat, Eve thought in disgust, and whirled on the closest manned console. “Where’s the studio?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, where’s the goddamn studio?” She jerked a thumb toward the screen.

  “Well, ah . . .”

  Furious, she leaned over, caged him between her stiffened arms. “You want to see how fast I can shut this place down?”

  “Level twelve, Studio A.”

  She whirled away just as Feeney stepped off the ascent. “Took your sweet time.”

  “Hey, I was in New Jersey visiting my folks.” He didn’t bother to ask, but fell into step with her.

  “I need a gag on the broadcast.”

  “Well.” He scratched his head as they headed up. “We can probably finagle an order to confiscate the pictures of the scene.” He moved his shoulders at Eve’s glance. “I caught some of it on the screen in the car on the way here. They’ll get it back, but we can hang them up for a few hours, anyway.”

  “Get to work on it. I need all the data available on the victim. They should have records here.”

  “That’s simple enough.”

  “Feed them to my office, will you, Feeney? I’ll be on my way there shortly.”

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  Eve stepped off, scowled at the thick white doors of Studio A. “I might need some backup in here.”

  “That’d be my pleasure.”

  The doors were locked, the On Air sign glowing. Eve struggled with a desperate urge to draw her weapon and blow the security panel apart. Instead, she jabbed the emergency button and waited for response.

  “Channel 75 News now in progress, live,” came the soothing electronic voice. “What is the nature of your problem?”

  “Police emergency.” She held her ID up to the small scanner.

  “One moment, Lieutenant Dallas, while your request is accessed.”

  “It’s not a request,” Eve said evenly. “I want these doors open now, or I’ll be forced to break in under Code 83B, subsection J.”

  There was a quiet hum, an electronic hiss, as if the computer were considering, then expressing annoyance. “Clearing doors. Please remain quiet and do not pass the white line. Thank you.”

  Inside the studio, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Eve stalked directly toward a glass partition facing the set and rapped hard enough to have the news director go white with worry. He held a desperate finger to his lips. Eve held up her badge.

  With obvious reluctance, he clicked open the door and gestured them in. “We’re live,” he snapped and turned back to his view of the set. “Camera Three on Nadine. Back image of Louise. Mark.”

  The robotics on set obeyed smoothly. Eve watched the small suspended camera shift. On the control monitor, Louise Kirski smiled cheerily.

  “Slow down, Nadine. Don’t rush it. C. J., ready in ten.”

  “Go to commercial,” Eve told him.

  “We’re running without ads on this broadcast.”

  “Go to commercial,” she repeated, “or you’re going to go to black.”

  He screwed up his forehead, puffed out his chest. “Now listen here—”

  “You listen.” She poked him none too gently in that expanded chest. “You’ve got my eyewitness out there. You do what you’re told, or your competitors are going to have ratings through the roof with the story I’m going to give them on how Channel 75 interfered with a police investigation on the murder of one of its own people.” She lifted a brow while he considered. “And maybe I’m going to start to think you look like a suspect. He strike you as the cold-blooded killer type, Feeney?”

  “I was just thinking that. Maybe we need to take him in, have a nice long chat. After a strip search.”

  “Just hold on. Hold on.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. What could a quick ninety-second commercial break hurt? “Go to Zippy spot in ten. C. J., wind it up. Cue music. Camera One pan back. Mark.”

  He let out a long breath. “I’m calling legal on this.”

  “You do that.” Eve stepped out of the booth and stalked to the long black console Morse and Nadine shared.

  “We’ve got a right to—”

  “I’m going to tell you all about your rights,” Eve interrupted Morse. “You’ve got a right to call your lawyer and have him meet you at Cop Central.”

  He went dead white. “You’re arresting me. Jesus Christ, are you nuts?”

  “You’re a witness, asshole. And you’re not going to make any further statements until you’ve made one to me. Officially.” She flicked a scathing gaze in Nadine’s direction. “You’ll just have to muddle through the rest on your own.”

  “I want to go with you.” On shaky legs, Nadine rose. To dispense with the frantic shouts from the control booth, she tugged her earpiece free and tossed it down. “I was probably the last person to speak to her.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk about that.” Eve led them out, pausing only to grin nastily toward control. “You could fill in with some old reruns of NYPD Blue. It’s a classic.”

  “Well, well, C. J.” However miserable she was, Eve could appreciate the moment. “I’ve finally got you where I want you. Comfy?”

  He looked a little green around the gills, but managed to sneer as he took a long scan of the interview room. “You guys could use a decorator.”

  “We’re trying to work that into the budget.” She settled back at the single table in the room. “Record,” she requested. “June 1—Jeez, where did May go?—Subject C. J. Morse, position Interview Room C, Interview conducted by Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, re Homicide, victim Louise Kirsky. Time oh oh forty-five. Mr. Morse, you’ve been advised of your rights. Do you want your attorney present during this interview?”

  He reached for his glass of water and took a sip. “Am I being charged with anything?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Then get on with it.”

  “Take me back, C. J. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Fine.” He drank again, as if his throat was parched. “I was coming into the station. I had the coanchor on the midnight report.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “About quarter after eleven. I went to the east side entrance, most of us use that end because it’s more direct to the newsroom. It was raining, so I made a quick dash from the car. I saw something at the base of the steps. I couldn’t tell what it was, at first.”

  He stopped speaking, covered his face with his hands, and rubbed hard. “I couldn’t tell,” he continued, “until I was practically on top of her. I thought—I don’t know what I thought, really. Somebody took a hell of a spill.”

  “You didn’t recognize the victim?”

  “The—the hood.” he gestured vaguely, helplessly with his hands. “It was over her face. I reached down, and I started to move it away from her face.” He gave one violent shudder. “Then I saw the blood—her throat. The blood,” he repeated, and covered his eyes.

  “Did you touch the body?”

  “No, I don’t think—no. She was just lying there, and her throat was wide open. Her eyes. No, I didn’t touch her.” He dropped his hand again, made what appeared to be a herculean effort for control. “I got sick. You probably don’t understand that, Dallas. Some people have basic human reactions. All that blood, her eyes. God. I got sick, and I got scared and I ran inside. The guard on the desk. I told him.”

  “You knew the victim?”

  “Sure, I knew her. Louise had edited a few pieces for me. Mostly she worked with Nadine, but she did some pieces for me and for some others. She was good, real good. Quick, a sharp eye. One of the best. Christ.” He reached for the pitcher on the table. Water sloshed as he poured it. “There was no reason to kill her. No reason at all.”

  “Was it her habit to go out that exit at that time?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think—she should have been in Editing,” he said fiercely.

  “Were you close, personally?�
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  His head came up, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to pin this on me, aren’t you? You’d really like that.”

  “Just answer the questions, C. J. Were you involved with her?”

  “She had a relationship, talked about some guy named Bongo. We worked together, Dallas. That’s all.”

  “You arrived at Channel 75 at eleven fifteen. Before that?”

  “Before that I was at home. When I have the midnight shift, I catch a couple hours’ sleep. I didn’t have a feature running, so I didn’t have much prep. It was supposed to be just a read, a recap of the day. I had dinner with some friends about seven, headed home around eight, and took a nap.”

  He propped his elbows on the table and lowered his head into his hands. “I had my wake-up at ten, then headed out just before eleven. Gave myself a little extra travel time because of the weather. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

  If Eve hadn’t watched him report on camera minutes after his discovery of the body, she might have felt sorry for him. “Did you see anyone at or near the scene?”

  “Just Louise. There’s not a lot of people going in and out that time of night. I didn’t see anybody. Just Louise. Just Louise.”

  “Okay, C. J., that’s about it this time around.”

  He set down the glass he’d guzzled from again. “I can go?”

  “Keep in mind you’re a witness. If you’re holding back, or if you remember anything not revealed in this interview, I’ll charge you with withholding evidence and impeding an investigation.” She smiled pleasantly. “Oh, and give me the names of your friends, C. J. I didn’t think you had any.”

  She let him go and brooded while she waited for Nadine to be brought in. The scenario was all too clear. And the guilt came with it. To keep both fresh, she flipped open the file and studied the hard copy photos of Louise Kirski’s body. She turned them facedown when the door opened.

  Nadine didn’t look polished now. The professional gloss of the on-air personality had given way to a pale, shaken woman with swollen eyes and a trembling mouth. Saying nothing, Eve gestured to the chair and poured water in a fresh glass.

  “You were quick,” she said coolly, “getting your report on the air.”

  “That’s my job.” Nadine didn’t touch the glass, but gripped her hands in her lap. “You do yours, I do mine.”

  “Right. Just serving the public, aren’t we?”

  “I’m not very interested in what you think of me right now, Dallas.”

  “Just as well, because I don’t think very much of you right now.” For the second time, she started the recorder, fed in the necessary information. “When did you last see Louise Kirski alive?”

  “We were working in Editing, refining and timing a piece for the midnight spot. It didn’t take as much time as we’d scheduled to finish. Louise was good, really good.” Nadine drew a deep breath and continued to stare at a spot an inch above Eve’s left shoulder. “We talked for a few minutes. She and the man she’d been seeing for the last several months were looking for an apartment together. She was happy. Louise was a happy person, easy to get along with, bright.”

  She had to stop again, had to. Her breath was backing up. Carefully, firmly, she ordered herself to inhale, exhale. Twice. “Anyway, she was out of cigarettes. She liked to catch a quick smoke between assignments. Everybody looked the other way, even though she’d sneak off into a closet somewhere and light up. I told her to pick me up a couple while she was at it, gave her some credits. We went down together, and I got off at the newsroom. I had some calls to make. Otherwise, I’d have gone with her. I’d have been with her.”

  “Did you usually go out together before the broadcast?”

  “No. Normally, I take a short break, head out, have a quiet cup of coffee in this little café on Third. I like to—get away from the station, especially before the midnight. We’ve got a restaurant, lounges, a coffee shop in house, but I like to break off and take ten on my own.”

  “Habitually?”

  “Yeah.” Nadine met Eve’s eyes, veered away. “Habitually. But I wanted to make those calls, and it was raining, so . . . so I didn’t go. I lent her my raincoat, and she went out.” Her eyes shifted back, straight to Eve’s. And were devastated. “She’s dead instead of me. You know that, and I know that. Don’t we, Dallas?”

  “I recognized your coat,” Eve said briefly. “I thought it was you.”

  “She didn’t do anything but run out for a few cigarettes. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong coat.”

  Wrong bait, Eve thought, but didn’t say it. “Let’s take this a step at a time, Nadine. An editor has a certain amount of power, of control.”

  “No.” Slowly, methodically, Nadine shook her head. The sickness in her stomach had snuck into her throat, and tasted foul. “It’s the story, Dallas, and the on-air personality. Nobody appreciates, or even thinks of an editor but the reporter. She wasn’t the target, Dallas. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

  “What I think and what I know are handled in different ways, Nadine. But let’s go with what I think for now. I think you were the target, and I think the killer mistook Louise for you. You’ve got different builds, but it was raining, she was wearing your coat, had the hood on. There either wasn’t time, or there wasn’t a choice once the mistake was realized.”

  “What?” Dazed at having it all said so flatly, Nadine struggled to focus. “What did you say?”

  “It was over quickly. I’ve got the time she left from the security desk. She waved to the guard. We’ve got Morse stumbling over her ten minutes later. Either it was timed extremely well, or our killer was cocky. And you can bet your ass he wanted to see it on the news before she’d gotten cold.”

  “We accommodated him, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah.” Eve nodded. “You did.”

  “You think it was easy for me?” Nadine’s voice, raspy and thick, burst out. “You think it was easy to sit there and give a report knowing she was still lying outside?”

  “I don’t know,” Eve said mildly. “Was it?”

  “She was my friend.” Nadine began to weep, tears rushing out, pouring down her cheeks and leaving trails in her camera makeup. “I cared about her. Damn it, she mattered to me, not just a story. She isn’t just a fucking story.”

  Struggling to carry her own guilt, Eve nudged the glass toward Nadine. “Drink,” she ordered. “Take a minute.”

  Nadine had to use both hands to keep the glass even partially steady. She would, she realized, have preferred brandy, but that would have to wait. “I see this kind of thing all the time, not so different from you.”

  “You saw the body,” Eve snapped. “You went out on the scene.”

  “I had to see.” With eyes still swimming, she looked back at Eve. “That was personal, Dallas. I had to see. I didn’t want to believe it when word came up.”

  “How did word come up?”

  “Somebody heard Morse yelling to the guard that somebody was dead, that somebody had been murdered right outside. That drew a lot of attention,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Word travels. I hadn’t finished my second call before I caught the buzz. I hung up on my source and went down. And I saw her.” Her smile was grim and humorless. “I beat the cameras—and the cops.”

  “And you and your pals risked contaminating a crime scene.” Eve swiped a hand through the air. “That’s done. Did anybody touch her? Did you see anybody touch her?”

  “No, nobody was that stupid. It was obvious she was dead. You could see—you could see the wound, the blood. We sent for an ambulance anyway. The first police unit was there within minutes, ordered us back inside, sealed the door. I talked to somebody. Peabody.” She rubbed fingers over her temples. Not because they hurt; because they were numb. “I told her it was Louise, then I went up to prep for broadcast. And the whole time I was thinking, It was supposed to be me. I was alive, facing the camera, and she was dead. It was supposed to be me.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be anyone.”
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  “We killed her, Dallas.” Nadine’s voice was steady again. “You and me.”

  “I guess we’ll have to live with that.” Eve drew a breath and leaned forward. “Let’s go over the timing again, Nadine. Step by step.”

  chapter thirteen

  Sometimes, Eve thought, the drudge of routine police work payed off. Like a slot machine, fed habitually, mindlessly, monotonously, so that you’re almost shocked when the jackpot falls in your lap.

  That’s just the way it was when David Angelini fell into hers.

  She’d had several questions on small details of the Kirski case. The timing was one of them.

  Nadine skips her usual break, Kirksi goes out instead, passing the lobby desk at approximately 23:04. She steps out into the rain, and into a knife. Minutes later, running late, Morse arrives at the station lot, stumbles over the body, vomits, and runs inside to report a murder.

  All of it, she mused, quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  As a matter of course, she ran the discs from the security gate at Channel 75. It wasn’t possible to know if the killer had driven through them, parked a car on the station’s lot, strolled over to wait for Nadine, sliced Louise by mistake, then driven off again.

  An assailant could just as easily have cut across the property from Third on foot, just as Louise had intended to do. Gate security was to make sure that there were parking facilities for station employees and that guests weren’t infringed upon by every frustrated driver looking for a place to stick his car or minishuttle off the street.

  Eve reviewed the discs because it was a matter of routine, and because, she admitted to herself, she hoped Morse’s story wouldn’t gel. He’d have recognized Nadine’s raincoat, and he’d have known her habit of cutting out for some solo time before the midnight broadcast.

  There was nothing she’d have enjoyed more, on a basic, even primal personal level, than nailing his skinny butt to the wall.

  And that’s when she saw the sleek little two-passenger Italian model cruise like a shiny cat to the gate. She’d seen that car before, parked outside of the commander’s home after the memorial service.