Vendetta in Death

by Robb, J. D.

  “I’m Homicide.”

  “Oh. God. Wait.” She hustled down a short hallway, peeked in a room, then quietly closed the door. “My son. He’s only three. I don’t want him to wake up and hear … I don’t know anything about a murder. Is it someone I know?”

  When her lips pressed together, Eve read both hope and dread on her face.

  “Do you know Nigel McEnroy or Thaddeus Pettigrew?”

  “No, I … wait, I heard about that killing uptown. The McEnroy person. I heard about that. I don’t know … I know someone named Pettigrew, but she’s a woman.”

  “Darla Pettigrew. Thaddeus Pettigrew was her ex-husband. You may have missed the reports that he was also murdered.”

  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I didn’t know either of these men.”

  “You knew women connected to them, women in your support group.”

  She went very stiff. “I go to a support group for women, it’s confidential. It’s anonymous. We only use first names.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’ve spoken to Natalia Zula, who formed the group. I’ve spoken to three other members, ones connected to the victims.”

  “But I’m not. I didn’t know them.” Stress spiked through her voice. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Would you like your drink, Ms. Ruzaki?” Though Roarke spoke gently, quietly, she jerked. “Let me get it for you.”

  He walked over, got it off the table.

  “You knew Darla’s last name,” Eve pointed out.

  “She did me a favor. She helped me.” Una took the glass from Roarke with hands that trembled.

  “You seem nervous,” Eve commented.

  “I have police in my house talking about murders. And my group, that’s private. Yeah, I’m nervous.”

  “Why don’t you tell us where you were last night, and the night before, between nine P.M. and four A.M.”

  “Oh my God, I’m a suspect. How can I be a suspect about murders of men I didn’t even know?”

  “It’s a routine question. Can you answer it?”

  “I was here.” Her eyes darted from Eve to Roarke, back again. Not in evasion, to Eve’s gauge, but with the look of prey frozen before a predator’s pounce. “I was home. I have a three-year-old. I—I’d have been studying. After I put Sam to bed, about eight, I pick up around here, then I work or study. I’m taking courses, online business and management courses. Ah—ah, night before last we had an interactive lesson from nine to ten. I can show you! And I stayed on with a couple of the other students until about ten-thirty. Then I got ready for bed. I didn’t go out at all. I have a baby.”

  “And last night?”

  “I studied until about ten. Then— Oh! Rachel came over. My friend. We had a glass of wine and talked until about eleven. Rachel, she watches Sam while I go to work.”

  “That would be Rachel Fassley? Another member of the group?”

  “It’s private,” she said as tears filled her eyes.

  “Una.” Roarke drew her attention with that same gentle tone. “Would you be more comfortable if I asked Rachel to join us?”

  “I don’t want to drag her into this. I just—”

  “We’re going to talk to her anyway.” Eve spoke crisply, letting Roarke hit the soft spots. “We can do it separately or together.”

  “I— All right. Don’t scare her. I can show you my work, show you I was online.”

  “We’ll get to that,” Eve said, and gave Roarke a nod. When he went out, she leaned into Una.

  “When we came in, you thought—worried—we were here about something else.”

  “I thought maybe it was something about my ex.”

  “You had difficulties with him.”

  “We’re divorced. I have a restraining order. He has visitation rights with Sam, but he never uses them, and I’m glad. I’ll tell you about Arlo if I have to, but I can’t tell you about what the others talked about in the group. It’s private.”

  “But Darla did talk about her ex-husband?”

  “Please don’t ask me. Please.”

  “How about telling me the last time you saw or spoke with her?”

  “Right before Christmas. She helped me get this apartment, she paid two months’ rent and the security deposit. Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me before. She’s so kind.”

  “But she hasn’t been back to the group.”

  “No. I keep hoping, because I want to thank her again.”

  “You don’t know how to contact her?”

  “No. Even if I did, it would be rude. She knows where I live because she helped. If she wanted to talk to me, she could. We don’t invade each other’s privacy.”

  She looked up as the door opened, and relief spilled out when a woman—trim, blond, in flannel pants and a sweatshirt—came in.

  “Oh, Rachel.”

  “Easy does it, Una.” She had a sharp, native New Yorker voice and a no-nonsense attitude as she walked over, sat next to her friend. She gave Una a pat on the knee. “Okay, what’s all this about murder?” She took a glance at the device in her hand, set it on the table. “My boy’s across the hall sleeping. I’ve got a monitor on him in case.”

  “We’re investigating the murders of Nigel McEnroy and Thaddeus Pettigrew.”

  “I heard there was a second one, but … Wait a minute. Pettigrew. That’s not Darla’s ex, is it?”

  Una gripped Rachel’s hand, nodded.

  “Well, shit.”

  “Two members of your group,” Eve continued, “or former members, had a connection to the first victim.”

  “Who?”

  “Rachel, we can’t—”

  “Una, honey, two murders. Cops gotta do their job. My husband was killed. Best man I ever knew. The cops did their job, and the one who took him away from me and our son’s in prison because they did.” She looked back at Eve. “Who?”

  “Jasmine Quirk, Leah Lester.”

  “Jasmine, Leah.” Rachel shut her eyes. “Let me think. Didn’t they come as a set, Una? I mean one brought the other in, if I remember right. It’s been awhile since they came around. I think one of them moved. They worked together, and the big boss raped them.”

  “It’s their story, Rachel.”

  “And they’ve already told me,” Eve put in. “You’re not disclosing anything I don’t know. Nigel McEnroy was the big boss.”

  “Holy shit.” Rachel blew out a breath.

  “Let’s get where you were out of the way. Last night,” Eve said, “and the night before. From nine P.M. to four A.M.”

  “I’d have been going through the nightly battle of getting my boy in bed about nine, both nights. Once I won the war—I always win—I had my weekly marathon with my mom—she and my pop live in Florida now, so we blab on the ’link for an hour or so every week. Then I conked out watching some screen. Last night, same battle, same victory. Then I paid some bills, folded some laundry, and to reward myself, came over here with a bottle of wine, gabbed with Una for a while. I guess we broke up about eleven. We had work the next day.”

  “Your data indicates you have professional mother status.”

  “Yeah, I do, and I need it.” Direct in every way, Rachel pinned Eve with a hard look. “You can be a jerk about it and report me, but once a week Una and I clean the public areas of the building. We get a break on the rent that way. It’s under the table. I also get a little bit from Una for watching the adorable Sam. I don’t report either.”

  “It sounds as if you’re an enterprising woman,” Roarke said, and earned a smile.

  “I’m a widow with a growing boy. I have to be enterprising.”

  “Why are you in the group?” Eve asked.

  She heaved out a breath. “Gotta go there. Okay. I managed a small office, and gave that up after we had Jonah. Chaz and I both wanted to give him a full-time parent for the first couple years, and Chaz made a lot more than I did. I was starting to think about maybe easing a toe back into the workforce, just part-time, when that hy
ped-up junkie son of a bitch killed my husband.”

  Now Una moved closer, slid an arm around Rachel. “So I stuck with professional mother status until Jonah started school. Then I took a job managing another small office—a father-son deal. Travel brokers—brokered luxury resorts and houses worldwide. Good hours, decent pay and benefits. I could walk Jonah to school, then go another couple of blocks and be at work. I had a friend who picked him up with her kid, took him home after school. Everything close by, so I’d swing by and get him around five, and be able to put dinner together, spend the evening with my kid. It was perfect.”

  “Until?”

  “The dad portion’s off for a few days, traveling to check out some new properties. The son portion locked the office. I didn’t see him do that, didn’t notice until he came at me. We were going to have some fun, that’s what he said. Let’s have some fun while he’s shoving me against the wall, grabbing my tits, trying to pull my clothes off. I’m going to admit that at first I was so shocked I just kept asking him to stop and trying to stop his hands. Then I got pissed, really pissed, and I kneed him in the balls just like my pop taught me. First time I had to use the move, but it worked.”

  “Good for you,” Roarke said.

  “Yeah, well, I went a little nuts after, yelling at him, threatening to sue or go to the cops, and he just started laughing. He told me to go ahead, how nobody would believe me. His father owned the place, and his father would believe him, and I’d be out on my ass without a reference. Shit like that. The guy’s rich, spoiled, good-looking, with a wife and a kid. He says how I’d be smart to just lie back and enjoy it because I’m fucked either way.

  “And he was right, I could see it. I’ve got a kid to think about. So I grabbed my things and got out. Refiled for professional mother status. I didn’t know how much it shook me until I caught myself making excuses for not going out, and when I had to, looking over my shoulder. And that started pissing me off.”

  When Una offered her fizzy water, Rachel took it, drank, breathed out. “Thanks. Anyway. When I saw this flyer for the group, I thought maybe that’s something to do. At least I can talk about it. I couldn’t afford to get my head shrunk, but this was free. And it helped, a hell of a lot. Some of the women, most of them, had it a hell of a lot worse than me, and more than that, they listened, they cared. Now I go for them, for the ones who need someone to listen, someone to care.

  “Maybe one day I’ll gear myself up to get another office job, but it’s tough knowing I’ll get asked why I left my last job so fast.”

  Roarke pulled a case from his pocket, took out a card. “Contact me when you’re ready to look for that office job.”

  Rachel glanced at it. Her eyes popped wide. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “Not in the least. I value strong women who know how to listen and care. I married one.”

  Staring at the card, Rachel shook her head, slowly, side to side. “This is a really strange night. Do you know who this is, Una?”

  “He’s a police consultant.”

  “It’s frigging Roarke.” At Una’s blank look, Rachel shook her head and laughed. “Una’s a little insular, what with shaking off the asshole she married, working, raising a kid. I’ll explain later,” she said to Una.

  “You joined the group due to the asshole you shook off?” Eve said to Una.

  “He used to hit me, knock me around, and make me have sex.”

  “Say the word, Una.” Rachel patted her arm. “Say it.”

  “Rape.” Una breathed in and out. “He hit me, and he raped me when he got drunk, when he felt like it. I was afraid to do anything about it for a long time. I was always afraid. I was more afraid after Sam because he said how he’d hurt Sam, or he’d take him and I’d never see him again. He even went to jail once for it, for a while, but it just made it worse. He always found us. Then, like Rachel, I heard about the group. I didn’t say anything the first couple times—nobody makes you. Then I finally talked about it. Natalia helped me and Sam get into a shelter, a really safe place. I got a divorce. He didn’t care so much after that. I don’t know why.”

  “She doesn’t get child support,” Rachel said. “He’s supposed to, but he doesn’t, and she doesn’t report it.”

  “He leaves us alone. That’s enough. Rachel told me this apartment was going up, and I’d saved, but it wasn’t enough. Then Darla helped. She said one day I’d help someone else. Maybe Arlo doesn’t know where we are. Maybe he does, but doesn’t care. But you’re always afraid.”

  “You talked about all of this in the group?”

  “Sure.” Rachel shrugged. “That’s the point.”

  “Did you name the man who assaulted you, or the business, did you use your ex-husband’s name?”

  “Probably. You start getting wound up. I probably said something that like asshole Tyler—James Tyler’s the asshole. And I know Natalia counseled Una not to let Arlo make her live in fear. You, well, you need to put a name on that fear to beat it back, you know?”

  “Yes. I need to speak to the other women in the group. I need full names.”

  “I guess I know a couple, but I don’t see …” Rachel trailed off before her eyes popped wide again. “Oh my God.”

  “Rachel, we can’t betray a confidence.”

  “Jesus, Una, don’t you see where she’s going? Oh my God, you’re saying you think someone in the group is doing this? Is killing guys who screwed with us? Killing them.”

  She shifted until she faced Una, until she gripped her arm. “That’s making us a part of it, Una. Whoever’s doing it, they’re making us part of murder. We won’t be part of that. Una, we’ve got kids. We’re trying to be people they can be proud of, depend on. We can’t be part of this.”

  “Nobody in the group would do something like this,” Una insisted.

  “Then give me names,” Eve said simply, “and we’ll clear it up.”

  When they left, Eve had three more names, and a possible fourth, as the women disagreed whether one of the group was Sasha Collins or Cullins. They did agree however, she’d recently joined the group after an assault by an ex-boyfriend, and was somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties.

  “And so are we off to another interview?” Roarke asked.

  Eve, already busy searching for a Sasha Collins or Cullins, just shook her head. “I’m going to set up interviews at Central tomorrow. Bring them in.”

  She kept working as they stepped out of the elevator. “I’ve got a Sasha Cullins who filed a police report on an assault six weeks ago. One Grant Flick, pled guilty—likely because he jumped her outside her apartment building in front of witnesses—is currently serving his time.”

  She put her PPC away. She’d nail down the rest at home, have Peabody arrange the interviews.

  “You’re thinking,” Roarke began when they crossed the small lobby, stepped outside again, “now that you have several names, the odds of identifying the entire group tip in your favor.”

  “That’s right. We got lucky with these two, because Fassley, particularly, is sociable, she’s in the group now to reach out, to lend others support. So she gets closer to other members. She and Ruzaki are friends, neighbors, even coworkers. They talk, share. So, between them, we get more names.”

  “And you’ll find one who knows another, and so on.”

  “That’s the dream.” She glanced up at him as they walked. “Would you really hire her? Fassley?”

  “If she passes a background check, proves competent—as I expect she would on both counts. She has quality. I appreciate quality. And will you, Lieutenant, take a closer look at this James Tyler?”

  “Unless he ends up in the morgue before I close this, yeah. If he went at her, he’s gone at others. I can reach out to somebody in Special Victims, put him on the radar.”

  “You’re worried someone will end up in the morgue.”

  Eve scanned the street, the sidewalk, the people strolling or stampeding along.

  “It’d be
crazy to risk going after another target tonight, but she could easily do the crazy. And no matter how hard I’m leaning toward Pettigrew right now, I don’t have enough. Hell, I don’t have anything. Not anything to justify a search warrant, not even enough to put a stakeout on her place.”

  “Because anyone in the group would have, at the core, the same motivation.”

  “So I have to find more.”

  “Then you will,” he said when they reached the lot. When they got into the car, he glanced at her briefly. “You know you must, so you are, looking beyond what your gut tells you. You’re working to identify and interview everyone in the group.”

  “That’s just basic cop work.”

  “That may be.” He wound the spiffy new car up the levels. “But as you do it, you’re eliminating. You crossed two off your list tonight. You know they weren’t covering for each other,” he added.

  “Not impossible, but not probable. Neither own vehicles, neither have licenses to drive and never have. Both have young children—and it’d be easy to check if either got somebody to watch the kids while they went out and murdered somebody. And they’re both the wrong build. No place private or secure enough in that building to kill people. If they have access to a place that is, that brings yet somebody else into it.”

  “And you think this is a solo act.”

  “Feels like it. I don’t think the killer signs the poems Lady Justice as a dodge. That’s how she sees herself.”

  “I agree. As someone enforcing justice, and a lady.”

  Frowning, Eve shifted. “I hadn’t juggled in the second part. Sees herself as a lady. Not just female. Maybe. Maybe that’s part of it, part of her. Something to think about. Me, it irritates the crap out of me when somebody calls me lady. But she embraces it.”

  “Define lady” he invited.

  “Delicate female wuss.”

  Laughing, he grabbed her hand, tugged it to his lips. “And yet you are, and always will be, my lady.”

  “That doesn’t charge my batts. You define lady—outside the marriage rules.”

  “In general terms then? A woman well-mannered and well-bred—”

  “Leaves me out.”